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anteroom-of-death · 24 days

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Teacher's Pet part 17

Synopsis: The Doctor muses on the nature of what he could do, the reader is a willing accomplice to her own life.

A/n: first off, I'd like to thank @queerconfusionthings on the slightly darker tone of this chapter and our long talks about 12, it changed this chapter. You get me in a way precious others do...and to all my readers, yall are best. To my mutuals, I'd die for you. Especially those who don't share my needs here. Love u.

It started to border on experimental. So many untapped valleys and choices he could make now that his pet fawn was solidly by his side, and now bound to leave him, no matter how dire the situation or how many red flags or fears the ghosts of his past could bequeath to her. (Y/N) was firmly in his grasp. Perhaps indefinitely.

There were certain thought experiments that were hypothetical that he was taught at the academy. How to not just bind a weaker species to your mind not just in mind, but in blood. The facets of addiction was the singular universal trait of all sentient life in the cosmos. He admitted that he was becoming as addicted to her as she was to him, and those nasty substances she would take.

He was of half a mind to remove their influence on her body and substitute them for him. As they walked through Kew Gardens, he mused on that. Take the urge that crippled her for drinks and cigarettes to the point of clouding her thoughts at times, bind those starved out brain cells to the idea of him. The swap from nicotine and ethyl alcohol to the Doctor would he fairly easy to do.

Ultimately, after she flashed him a smile and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the loo, he decided against it. For now.

She was getting beyond handsy…almost to the point of him being begged to fuck her in public. Maybe the switch was happening naturally. The addiction to the physical was clearly getting stronger…

Wouldn’t he be so lucky?

He’d have another full-scale rifle in her mind soon to assess the current situation!

Maybe he was more like the Rani than he’d previously assessed…

Wouldn’t that just choke the life from Missy? Her precious parallels dashed in the face if him ending up much more like their estranged friend turned mutual foe.

Whatever the case in this poorly-plotted and infinitely nailed-out love story he was crafting, the Doctor was sure of one thing. His reputation as the universe’s biggest savior, it’s self-inserted martyr needed to stay intact. Missy knew to some extent. Missy could feel and reveled in his own self-corruption at the hands of this mere human.

Missy would, even if she wanted to escape, keep this secret. Their rivalry and comrades and millennia-long bond, despite how fucked up it was, or how many times they’d kill or fight one another was iron-clad.

Honor among thieves or something…

The idea of some sort of vivisection briefly clouded his vision as he saw her exit the toilets. She was beaming. She held her jacket in her hand and her teeth caught in the light.

He decided against that idea.

There were opportunities endlessly flowing out.

“Hey, I’m absolutely starving!” She pulled him by the ties on his hoodie. “Do you want to go to a pub after this? There’s got to be a really good one that does a lovely roast dinner or something.”

Totally clueless, totally obvious to the danger she was in. So fine-tuned to weird shadows and knew when a human man on the street was up to no good. She didn’t know that the real predator was getting the aglets of his hoodie flicked around.

Poor her. Poor little fawn. Fully in the wolf’s maw and her neck was already snapped. Lost in the too-dark woods, separated from her herd. Only the guidance of that would come had made a meal of her. And was toying her corpse out further…

He felt his cock stiffen.

Maybe he would take her tonight. Just until bleeding. See how far her dependence on her would go. Maybe degrade her a bit.

If he could, he would. Wasn’t it his right?

He did own her, after all. Everyone from the team at UNIT to that last scrappy remnant of Torchwood saw her over-the-moon, fully-tethered ache for him…

They all picked up on something far more grasping than mere companion in their relationship. He wasn’t risking her life and breaking her spirit on planets far outside her home solar system. A dark, full-bodied compatriot. An equal lover. Perhaps they would arrive at the conclusion of his idea of settling down on Earth.

Not like their human opinions mattered in the end…

“Yes, of course.” He returned her eager, lavish smile with one of his own.

He slammed these thoughts back in the dark chest that was his mind. For now he’d just play with her hormones and her mind. Just put them at maximum. Continue this charade.

Keep everyone and everyone in the dark…

It was a great rest of the day, a butterfly landed on her arm. She delicately picked it up to rest on her finger and it stayed put as if she was her own form of magic. The little insect crawled around and she led it to rest on his jacket.

“He’s probably picking up the sugar scrub I used last night.” She rationalized.

“Or you’re just preternaturally sweet.” He let out the cheesy line as it flicked itself off his being and flew into the air. She shot him a bemused sideways glance. When she finally got it off her finger and it was firmly on his being she slightly shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Obviously, it didn’t take a liking to him.

It’s instincts were far better tuned.

He took her to the closest pub. It wasn’t doing a roast dinner that night. She was put out, but ordered chips with a gin and tonic and some little sandwich thing.

His Earth girls really loved their chips.

Maybe that was his type? Little, bold Earth girls with loud minds that could devour nothing but chips for all eternity and be perfectly happy doing so.

He could live with that…

She went out for a cigarette and he mentally made contact with Missy.

She ‘picked up’ the mental receiver.

‘How goes London, you filthy old man?’ The words shot into his mind like an icicle from a roof.

‘Fine, just curious, how much attention did you pay to Professor Hedflonhorzthenethar’s lessons on groove-making in lesser species?’

‘Rapt, Doccy. Why?’

‘Send me your memories, I’ll Amazon a tuba to my office.’

Another betrayal of the morals he started this regeneration with…

‘Let me see you do it. I’ll only do it if you do it now and let me look through your eyes!’ It was sharp, it felt like she was beside him shouting it.

He gave her permission to see through his eyes. He sighed and whipped out his phone, ordered a tuba and closed up the connect to his eyes.

The entirety of her memories regarding the lessons pinged into his brain like an email or perhaps a text notification…

His little fawn slid back onto the barstool next to him as Missy closed the line…

‘Don’t break her yet! I want to be her friend! I’m so lonely!’

He could still feel her teasing pout lingering in his brain. Perhaps she left it as a taste of his own medicine.

“The night’s getting cooler.” (Y/N) informed.

“Pity, you’ll need to cover up.”

Her mind was clearly projecting images of her taking him to the toilets and fucking him in the stall. Loudly.

Her mind was wandering, she kept admiring the line of his brow and the way his fingers crossed over as he held the glass of Fanta he was slowly sipping. She needed him in ways that would shock perhaps even Captain Jack Harkness or perhaps that smaller, dark shadow that used to follow him around, John Hart was his name?

A pathetic kicked dog that craved the Captain’s attention…

Just like him and Missy.

He shook his head at that particular parallel.

Probably the advantage of dating someone in her profession. She knew what was avant-garde in sex!

Or at least for a human of her time period that had never been off-planet…

The Doctor let his mind wander into hers. Despite her clear projection, he wanted to see exactly what the damage of the last night was. She was chattering on about a philosophy book she picked up for between clients and for downtime at work. She completed it and wanted to share her critiques of it and her ways she’d probably improve upon the messages. As well as what she liked from it- she wasn’t all kvetching, no appreciation, after all.

In all honesty, he loved the wild tangential spin she loved. He felt some remorse about how deeply he had rummaged in her brain. She still was, in a sense, her own. Just now permanently entangled in his web. Like a rat in a glue trap, but only she didn’t grasp how sticky the glue was…. She was fully mentally tethered. He’d have to be more careful, he didn’t want to lose her, or push these experiences too deep. Losing this spark of ingenuity and tired vivaciousness would be a sin worse than anything else.

He swallowed another sip of his Fanta.

It seemed a bit shaken, but he swept those away. Kept them as salacious afterthought. Bonded the memories from today that were pleasant to her already aching neurotransmitters. Amped up her hormones a tad bit.

Anyone around her, even a stupid human could probably hear her mind now. It was both very intrigued by the subject matter of the book but also so desperately needy for her Doctor. He could feel her aching cunt and body responding from here. Anybody with a pulse could probably get her drift.

He'd probably, if anyone was sensitive enough, have to start beating them off with a stick!

That could be fun, lure her further. Let her know that she was only safe with him…

He ran the possibilities and scanned the bar, seeing if he could play any games.

Sadly not.

He decided against that for the moment.

Especially since something told him that she’d have precious little trouble fighting for herself. Unless he purposefully put her mind in a state of freeze, he doubted that a pub brawl based on her appearance would faze her. She, like most human girls, had been numbed to that sort of violence.

She’d probably have to come in and save him, by the looks of a few of the other patrons here…

He dissolved that idea. He couldn’t risk breaking his promise to her and regenerating on the spot if she was frozen, meant to witness. His superior genetics and all that may come with was no match for a gone-to-seed ex-rugby player nor someone who clearly worked security. As he finished his assessment of the crowd in the pub.

His mind games would have to play out in other ways still…

Just adjust the plans that he had. And take in the information Missy had pinged him.

The illusion of free will still reflected true, right?

His old pal, Plato did some allegory with a cave…sadly he wasn’t paying attention when the man was speaking. Missed the point, invented a self-lubricating spatula for flapjacks.

Oops.

He’d never say he was depriving her of that outright, no too controversial. Too salacious. Guidance, yes. A dual corruption arc? Definitely.

Daddy knows best, rung through his skull. An old line he told Kate about the poison to kill the Zygons…

Paternalistic? Yes.

How could he not be? A human is so young and weak compared to most species out there. Let alone him and his!

After all, he was her teacher. Her educator.

These thoughts, mixed with how strong she was fantasizing about fucking him, and her natural allure…he was shocked that he wasn’t bursting through his trousers, exposing himself to all to see.

He'd fuck her tonight. Not only did she clearly need it, but if he didn’t give in, he would probably act out.

He had fully surrendered himself to current path he was on. Yes.

He’d not destroy her entirely. Take away what enchanted him to her. That would be a sin graver than killing her outright. She had goals and dreams. They had discussed at such at length. He’d let her have those. So long as she’d never stray from his clingy side.

He half-wished he could summon a past version of himself, or perhaps a future without risking too much. Just to confer and pass back ideas.

All he had was Missy.

Or to sneak off and search for the Rani.

And they’d destroy him with zealous help.

No! He was alone in this path. Only solace was Missy and her enjoyment of his fawn and petty need to be good and please reform for her release. He walked his path utterly alone.

The evening wound itself up. The Doctor had to pounce. To claim what little of his fawn lay left unclaimed. Ruin her forever. Claim her indefinitely…

He paid their bill and ventured into the night.

A pep laid in his step, his cock still semi-stiff. He’d destroy her to rebuild her.

Teacher’s Pet.

He’d have his fun next term. Make her into a professor’s aide. Push her servile nature to him into a possibly public place. Show her off, perhaps even.

But for now? He was about ready to explode. His balls ached, and his hearts were full.

All in the name of love, right?

Or obsession…

Either way, still to have someone as alluring with such a firm form like (insert a description of your body, reader…) and a mind as hard in her ideals, but so easy to toy with?

Ecstasy…

#personal #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #12th doctor x you #you x 12th doctor #reader x 12th doctor #uhhhhh #yea #self insert #peter capaldi #yay #teacher student #i wrote this #i am not responsible for your milage may vary #hahaha

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right-there-ride-on · 2 months

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Deciphering the Civil War Arc

I will openly admit that even on my third readthrough of SBR this is probably the arc I had the hardest time grasping. It's clearly thematically rich, but what, exactly, is it trying to say? This is my attempt to better understand what the hell is happening in this stand battle.

I'll start off with a little bit of Hot Pants and Johnny, because their parallels fascinate me.

HP revisits the idea of 'sacrifice', one of the most prominent themes in SBR (brought up even in a light way during the very early chapters, when we see Gyro must choose between what to carry with him into the race, tossing aside whatever he decides not to take.)

Notably, Johnny and Gyro just had another arc dealing with the idea of 'sacrifice': Sugar Mountain. Johnny has already sacrificed the corpse parts to save Gyro (quite a few times, actually). The difference here is that the sacrifice is no longer governed by an equivalent exchange.

We know HP began collecting the parts for the Vatican in order to try and do something that would earn them 'forgiveness' for the death of their brother. Now, under the effects of Civil War, it's shown that the 'sacrifice' of the parts (to a supposedly 'larger cause' (namely Valentine, though this could be substituted with the Pope)) demonstrably did nothing to alleviate their personal guilt. How awfully Christian. HP advises Johnny to hold on to the corpse - if giving up the corpse parts to a larger cause did nothing, then perhaps holding onto them will unlock the path to forgiveness - but before the conversation can continue HP's guilt quite literally begins to suffocate them.

We now introduce the idea of not only 'sacrifice', but 'sins' and 'purification'. Guess the Christian influences aren't only aesthetic after all.

Of course, it's 'pure water' (holy water) that can purify one's guilt (guilt being the end result of committing a sin).

Now the idea of 'sacrifice' is being correlated with the ideas of both 'sins' and 'guilt'. A sin here is, essentially, the idea of 'sacrificing' for an unworthy cause (e.g. killing someone for a selfish reason).

Chapter 56: Civil War (Part 1)

We cut to Gyro encountering Axl Ro and Civil War. These are Civil War's first words, which tells us something about the theme of the arc. The question being posed is, put simply: Are your sins ('sacrifices') worth the guilt you now carry?

SURPRISE STARPANTS PARALLELS:

HP too is seeking the corpse parts to find forgiveness (to bring their 'negative' up to 'zero'!). There are some differences worth noting: HP kept the cause of their brother's death a secret, while the cause of Nicholas' death was quite literally shouted to the entire staff by Diego. The guilt ate at them inside, so they turned to God to find forgiveness. Johnny, meanwhile, pretended not to give a fuck about anything to avoid being constantly told to his face by George that his brother's death was his fault. HP hid among the holy while Johnny drowned in debauchery. But both of them seek forgiveness and some sort of return to normalcy, which they both believe can be achieved through the corpse. Through the corpse, all 'sins' can be forgiven - even sins committed in the corpse's name (think of all the people killed in the corpse's wake, noted by Valentine in Chapter 86: Ball Breaker (Part 3) - he literally calls Johnny a sacrifice!)

HP's backstory is immediately followed by the return of Johnny's own ghosts - he himself says that he's haunted every night by his guilt, manifesting inside and outside of dreams as Danny. Yet, even though Johnny claims he can shoot it (put his guilt behind him), we see that he continues to waver. Johnny, like HP, is caught between selfishness, guilt, trauma and redemption.

Johnny's illusion via Civil War is literally Nicholas parroting back the rhetoric about his death that George and Johnny believe about Johnny himself.

Chapter 57: Civil War (Part 2)

Ok, manifestation of trauma and guilt is here. How do we beat it? Jesus Christ himself gives Johnny some extremely cryptic hints.

We'll round back to this. I'm not even sure my interpretation is correct, but hey, that's what this whole exercise is for.

'Pure water' (holy water) only works for a while. Guilt (in the form of Danny) continues to hound Johnny, while HP and Gyro are literally being suffocated by their own. Furthermore, even once Johnny confronts what he perceives to be the source of his guilt (manifested via Civil War), we see that killing Axl Ro does nothing but strengthen Civil War, because in order to 'purify' himself of his 'sins', Johnny has sinned once again (by killing selfishly). The guilt thus compounds, unloading Axl Ro's guilt onto Johnny while Axl Ro, through the 'sacrifice' of his life (generally seen as the most selfless act one can do - think Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, which I'm sure the location of this arc is a reference to), is the one actually purified.

This is not a condemnation btw I think Johnny should be allowed to kill whoever he wants.

Chapter 58: Civil War (Part 3)

Axl Ro, through the 'sacrifice' of his life - or, more accurately, through having the resolve to sacrifice his life - is the one to achieve purification. Someone committed the ultimate sin against him, leaving him 'purified'.

He even spells it out for us:

The pursuit of the corpse has caused countless casualties. Those who were 'enemies' to Johnny and Gyro were 'allies' to Valentine. It really does come down to perspective. Anyway, the point is, Civil War has now condemned Johnny as the ultimate sinner. 'His' guilt (Axl Ro's) begins to quite literally start tearing Johnny apart.

Jesus again warns Johnny:

Jesus essentially guides Johnny through his trauma, helping him understand that he’s worthy of forgiveness and thus deserving of healing - but only if he himself has the resolve to move forward (and fight for the corpse). It's quite interesting that Jesus appeared to Johnny instead of, you know, the person of faith in the next room. Could it be because, as Johnny implies in Chapter 56: Civil War (Part 1), HP hasn't 'truly' devoted themselves to God, but rather is using religion to try and alleviate their guilt (because it turns out they were not actually gathering the parts purely for the Vatican, but also for themselves)? I can't say. I'm not well enough versed in theology to even begin unpacking that. Anyway, Jesus helps Johnny understand the truth of his trauma, and the 'sins' he supposedly committed against Nicholas and his father. Prior to the confrontation with Axl Ro and his vision of Jesus, Johnny even states, "I didn't throw him away! You threw me away! You didn't even come to my races! You didn't even come to see me in the hospital when I got shot!" (Chapter 58: Civil War (Part 3))

Some part of Johnny already understood he was unfairly blamed for Nicholas' death, but that's still guilt (his greatest 'sin') that he's carried with him up until this point. His heart is wavering because some part of him doubts he's even worthy to have the corpse parts - doubts he's worthy to be forgiven. But with Jesus' final warning, Johnny finally understands that Nicholas' death is not his burden to bear, and he no longer wavers on what must be done. He resolves to complete the corpse and be 'purified', even at the 'sacrifice' of his life.

Still, we're in the middle of a stand battle. Johnny is still under the effects of Civil War, but this guilt isn't his. Axl Ro is the one running from his guilt, his sin, his sacrifices. He allowed a massacre to occur in exchange for his own life - hardly an equivalent exchange. He's in the one in possession of the corpse, but he is unworthy of it.

Axl Ro becomes so enraged at the thought of someone like Johnny touching the corpse that he 'sacrifices' Johnny in order to keep the corpse to himself - thus committing the ultimate sin and condemning himself once again.

Chapter 59: Gettysburg Dream

Johnny, however, has been purified. We see through Axl Ro's comments and panic what kind of person he really is. He looks down on Johnny, calling him 'trash' and cursing him out (while holding the Holy Corpse!) This is a common theme is Steel Ball Run. We see it with Blackmore and later Valentine too - each of them proclaims themselves the only ones worthy of the corpse. Why? Well, their goals are loftier than Johnny's, better by default simply because they claim it's for a noble cause. Their sins should be forgiven because they did it in the name of good.

Yet, from what I know of the Bible, Jesus wasn't the sort of person who would have accepted that argument. In fact, Jesus was well-known as a miracle worker and man of the people. He probably would have much preferred healing a disabled man to helping a man kill a young girl (Blackmore), aiding a Confederate soldier (Axl Ro), or making one people's superior over others simply according to which nation they belong to (Valentine).

SBR ended with the corpse locked away, everyone left alive concluding such a thing shouldn't be in the hands of anyone. So, despite Gyro and Axl Ro's protests - is Johnny threatening to destroy the corpse truly a bad thing? Does anyone really 'deserve' the corpse at all?

Should anyone truly have the power to decide who deserves to be forgiven? To decide which causes are just and which ones are not? To decide what peoples deserve the right to good fortune?

To decide who has worth and who doesn’t?

Final notes:

In the case of Nick's death, Johnny was not guilty. In the case of collecting the corpse parts and being willing to kill to keep them? A little blurrier, but by examination of the text we see that, a majority, if not all of the time, Johnny and Gyro only kill in self-defense. It's not really a 'sacrifice' (sin) then, but an equivalent exchange - someone attempted to take their lives, and that person's life was taken instead.

Notably, self-defense (or rather, the protection of another) is the same excuse Valentine uses at the end of Chapter 59: Gettysburg Dream, and we see that he is free of the effects of Civil War.

I think (and this is a pretty big I think), Civil War's themes culminate in this: You cannot earn forgiveness as long as you deceive yourself about your sins. Whether the guilt is yours or forced onto you by somebody, you need to understand it. Forgiveness will not be achieved through sacrifice and sinning, but by being able to look yourself in the mirror and be okay with what’s happened to bring you to where you are.

To put it simply, don't run from your guilt / ‘sins’ (as HP did through the church, and as Johnny did when he shot anyone but himself) and don't blame others for your mistakes / guilt (Axl Ro). The only way to be truly ‘purified’ of your guilt is to have grace with yourself and find the resolve to move forward.

Civil War, the arc and the stand, is about overcoming trauma, forgiving your mistakes and accepting redemption.

I am totally open to discussing this further, as even now I am not so sure about this conclusion. This was just my reading and I'm very open to hearing that of others!

Thank you for reading.

#i had to reread ball breaker to get a quote and i started crying #johnny joestar #hot pants #axl ro #civil war arc #steel ball run #sbr #jjba #this also doubles as my post about johnny and hp parallels btw.#araki was so wrong for not resolving hp's arc... HOW WAS IT GOING TO END??#HP and Johnny should have hung out more btw. they would be besties #dare i tag #starpants #my posts #sbr analysis #steel ball run analysis

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jimmy-johns-was-taken · 10 months

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What I think of you based off your favorite creepypasta

Please keep in mind that this is just my opinion !

Jeff the Killer

Anger issues much? And is that hot topic merch? Definitely an emo, but your music taste is amazing! You don’t back down from anything and you defend your friends a lot. Your also very opinionated, nothing wrong with that I guess. You definitely had a major crush on him and read those fanfics about him coming to your room and taking you to live in the slender mansion. Are you ok, mentally? I believe you like spicy food (every JTF fan I’ve met likes spicy food, so it’s now a stereotype). Also, your loud.

BEN Drowned

Fun fact : you cant cut everyone off and then expect to be mentally ok. You play video games not only because you like them, but you use them as an escape from reality. You probably hate it here on earth most of the time, but believe that there’s some good and something worth staying here. You had a weird childhood (FNAF, creepypasta, etc.) and might have been bullied for it, but now your cool and still like all that stuff. Your music taste is also great, but stop running from your problems. Honestly, I feel like if your a BEN fan, then you’ve been a fan of him for a long time now.

Eyeless Jack

Similar to BEN, you can’t just cut everyone off. Also books are not a substitute for people, go outside. Your definitely some kind of “special” student (like you know those gifted classes? At my school we called them special classes but they were the gifted classes it think. Anyways you were in those) and your burnt out. You probably want to go into medicine, or something really complex like that. Also, you thirst over this man so much, it’s a little concerning. Take a break from everything, just chill. Your music taste is ok, but you’ve got great taste in men. You might be a mom or therapist friend.

Ticci Toby

ADHD? Autism? Your somewhere on scale. How are those sensory issues? You seem like the kind of person who was “special” or “gifted” and you sat alone at recess picking at grass. Your competitive and enjoy the party when it’s people you know, but if it’s people you don’t know your not cool at all. Your awkward, but it’s ok! You probably had some kind of emo phase and at one point you kin him (that’s saying you don’t right now). Your music taste is cool. Also stop feeding the raccoons on your back porch and trying to justify it, I know your trying to build an army and it won’t work.

Tim / Masky

Two words : Daddy Issues. Like bro, take a chill pill. Your anger is violent, you probably have a hole in your wall where you punched it, but your working on it. You possibly smoke, or think smoking is hot. Your definitely a Marble Hornets (SlenderVerse in general) fan and have been for awhile. Your also really into the trope where the proxies have the personalities of the Heathers and your Veronica. You also really like true crime, like to a scary amount. Your music taste is cool, could be better I guess. Also, stop trying to hide from your problems, it’s better to face them.

Brian / Hoodie :

Your quite, but really cool. Similar to Tim, a big Marble Hornets / SlenderVerse fan. You like photography and urban exploring, as well as ghosting hunting. I feel like you had a Sam and Colby and/or Buzzfeed Unsolved phase at some point. Another true crime fan, but you enjoy fictional stuff like slashers more than real stuff. Speaking of, stop trying to hide from reality. It’s better to face it, but your smart and I’m sure you can figure it out. You find yourself in holes a lot, but you manage to get yourself out of them. Great music taste, your the dad friend, and overall super cool.

Jane the Killer

Your either thirst over her or kin her or both. You have great taste in just about everything, music, fashion, anything. Your probably some kind of goth, but if not goth then metal head. You had an Evanescence phase and don’t even try to tell me you didn’t because I know you did. A lot of people fall for you, and you have so many people on a leash, but you sometimes find yourself using them for your gain. I think this is something you don’t mean to do, and when you do it you feel terrible. Your an over-thinker, but don’t worry, your cool and look great.

Nina the Killer

Was invader zim your favorite childhood show? Or was it the grim adventures of Billy and Mandy? Either way your emo and scene, and your very proud to be one! Your proud to be who you are, and that’s amazing! Sometimes you get insecure, but I promise you looked great. Honestly, you strike me as the kind of person who either looks emo and listens to emo music, or the kind of person to look cute and soft but like to like grindcore and black metal. You hide from your own problems but jump head first into small issues. Take some time to yourself and just settle down. Don’t let anyone fuck with you or your style either, I love you and nobody should diss on the scene Queen.

Horray! Post! Sorry it’s longer than my normal content, I felt like writing more. Can you tell who my favorites are?

Request are currently Open !!!

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #ben drowned #eyeless jack #jane the killer #jeff the killer #nina the killer #ben drowned headcanons #eyeless jack headcanon #nina the killer headcanons #what I think to you #just my opinion #some of these are very on point #headcanon

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obscuriites · 2 months

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octopath 2 as pokemon trainers! extended commentary (SPOILERS FOR BASICALLY EVERYONE'S STORY) under cut so it doesn't take up 2+ pages. Please do not think too hard about the trainer sprite choices 💗

Okay! Some of these were really easy to make (Ochette, Castti and Temenos), and some were... a bit of a challenge (Partitio and Throné)

Ochette:

VERY self explanatory. Solgaleo is Juvah (white lion), Decidueye is a combination of Mahina and Ochette's hunter class (owl and elemental arrows), Thieval is.. a fox resembling Akalā that's physical based, Shiny Magikarp is Acta (not that good, evolves after putting in a lot of effort), Turtonator is Tera (anatomy, typing), and finally, Articuno is clearly Glacis (Legendary ice bird)

Ochette's whole story is about collecting legendaries, of course her team is half legendaries and pseudo-legendaries

Castti:

Here, we start to have some more pokemon that integrate character's personality. Mega Kangaskhan is Castti's very mother bear-esque personality, nurturing yet ready to chop off someone's limbs anytime. Combusken is also an extension of this (with Castti often being called a mother hen). For some reason to me, Combusken felt more fitting to me than Blaziken, probably because it resembles a chicken more.

Lapras! This one has two reasons. It knows Sing (Castti's nighttime path action knocking people out), and Surf (We all know Castti's history with maritime traveling). Its personality also matches with Castti's drive to care for everyone.

Breloom was chosen because of its Poison Heal ability combined with it's grass/poison duotyping. Torkoal is similar as it was chosen because of it's drought ability. Both of these tie into her final chapter.

Mamoswine is Wooly-Ooly 🙂

Throné:

Lillipup is her buppy 🙂... + the pokedex entry for shield

Klefki is Throné's keys for her collar coming from her parents (Klefki can learn thief, her thief parents carry her keys)

Tandemous, the Couple Pokemon, represents Mother and Father! They both teach moves to Throné that she uses throughout her life (Charm, Thief, Substitute, etc.)

Sneasler is Throne's (NO ACCENT, MY CTRL-V BROKE FOR TUMBLR ONLY.) collar, with the ability Poison Touch. Its lone wolf personality, combined with its general abilities works well as Throne.

Seviper is a black snake. Dodrio is meant to represent the structure of The Blacksnakes though, constantly fighting with its other heads until one becomes the "leader".

Overall I did try to give Throne more speedy pokemon to fit her class and Aeber's Reckoning.

Osvald:

Drampa! This represents his fatherly personality that he keeps behind his scary looks. It's very Osvald-coded to me, can you please just look at its pokedex entries? (burning homes to the ground. haha. it's almost like his third chapter... and his backstory)

Charizard is his ever-burning flame in his chest, his life. Blaziken is like this except for its extra fighting typing as well as it's ability to learn Knock Off, an move that damages opponents while also removing their items (Mugging)

Alakazam... let me just pull up the dex entry. This also ties into Osvald's "Calculations complete!" battle line.

Golurk is Rita (I didn't want to do Golem the pokemon so I chose the next best thing, and the ghost typing helps. I'm so sorry.), Kirlia is Elena (beautiful child, only becoming more beautiful through a better environment)

Partitio:

This is a trainwreck (cue boos). Partitio is the result of me throwing things together despite him being one of my favorite Octopath characters.

I tried to give a lot of his pokemon a secondary business advantage!

Fidough is one of these! It's bread, one of the things he could barely get enough of as a child. Fidough can kickstart the fermenting process w its yeast and it's adorable. Its also Garnet 2, less of a meanie.

Shuckle... hah. Shucks. Another one for the business advantage of berry juice (unless that harms it. then it's there for comedy). Good at foraging, probably a Partitio trait.

Snorlax um... rest move... Partitio's nap action. Needs high friendship to evolve.

Rapidash is from Partitio being described as a wild stallion as well as it's ability to learn Ember, magic that Partitio also knows.

Meowth is there because it holds an Amulet Coin, acting as the Grows on Trees ability

Musharna is Partitio's dreams and how he's made his big dreams help the whole world defeat poverty 🙂

Agnea:

Okay, there's a lot of obvious dancers here. There's also a lot of grass/bug types to show that she's a countrygirl from the Leaflands

Hitmonlee is there because it's the first kicker of the fighting types (Dancer's Ruinous Kick). It's flexible also, like Agnea (I assume superstar dancers are ?? really flexible???)

Leavanny, while it is graceful, only knows Swords Dance. Leavanny is actually meant to represent Agnea's father, with its ability to make clothing (See below).

I chose Oricorio's Baile form as Agnea wears a more flamenco-esque dress

Swoobat is there because of its klutz/clumsy ability (we are introduced to Agnea by helping her find her lost purse), and because of its heart stamp attack (This references the travel banter between Agnea and Temenos in her final chapter where he tries to teach her how to remember each of the 8 gods, "Dancers seal with a kiss".)

Clefairy is just very Agnea to me, very cute and adorable little fairy.

Roserade is a straight forward Agnea reference, grass dancer

Temenos:

We start off with a Crick reference right away: Honedge. It's a steel-ghost, just like Crick 🙂. Unevolved base form pokemon, like how Crick is only a "newly anointed knight". Also bc Crick uses swords, I'm sorry.

(Mega) Houndoom is Temenos, the Pontiff's Hound. Having Temenos be a dark type fits him best, considering how he barely fits into the church and brings down the Sacred Guard.

Lycanroc's Midnight form is what Roi looks like to me. That's it.

Hatterene is Temenos'... off-putting nature ("Omg so cute ^_^ wait holy shit what's wrong with you" energy) as well as his inquire ability (see below). Disarming voice is like Breaking during an Inquisition in my head. Dazzling Gleam is like Holy Light. Misty Explosion is like Temenos' EX Heavenly Shine, except with swapped consequences (Misty Explosion wipes out your entire HP bar, Heavenly Shine wipes out your entire SP bar).

WOOLOO. MY LITTLE LAMB!

Zoroark is Temenos' mask, that only comes off at the very end of the game. He's the black sheep of the church. He's lonely, but he's there. Does anyone hear me. Literally look 🔽

AND FINALLY. HIKARI:

Samurott. It's a sword-wielding pokemon. It's a samurai. Hikari needs water.

Machamp is Mugen, look at those arms.

Braviary is an eagle, like Kuzan! With the psychic typing of its second form, it reminds me of Kuzan's transition in the end from being Ku's greatest tactician to Oboro of the Moonshade Order who revived Vide.

Arctozolt is Rai Mei, electric ice type (electric abilities living in Stormhail). The only one in pokemon.

Mightyena is well. Hikari's loyalty reminds me of pack animal behavior (lovingly). It also knows Swagger and Taunt which reminds me of Incite.

Marowak is there because Bone Rush reminds me Aggressive Slash as both are multi-hit moves. See also, its dex entries

#octopath traveler 2 #octopath traveler ii #hikari ku #temenos mistral #agnea bristarni #partitio yellowil #osvald v. vanstein #throne anguis #castti florenz #ochette #these were originally supposed to be gifs. it went badly.#cringe is dead i say as i shake while posting this

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pelgraine · 2 months

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trying to sleep on this Ides of March and my brain is apparently determined to mull over Halsey & Miranda from S1 v S2 instead.

[halo spoilers ahead]

Like, Halsey is cold on a level that no one other than the Spartans and those intimately involved with the Spartan project can appreciate. I mean, she subjected her only child to the trauma of seeing the death of her flash clone - a violent death of someone that looked and acted and spoke exactly like her mother.

Sure, maybe some part of Halsey cared enough to warn Miranda she was chasing a ghost. But did Halsey believe Miranda would put the facts together? Did she want Miranda to put the facts together in that moment, or did she just not want Miranda running after the escaping Halsey? Did some part of Halsey think hey, she's hated me for years, it's not going to affect her watching my clone die, maybe Miranda would celebrate she's finally gone?

Regardless of her motivations - regardless of Halsey telling herself time and time again everything she did was for the greater good of humanity - she, at that time, did not appear to care for Miranda at all. Miranda had to see her mother's clone die a violent death, and this shortly after her actual mother having apparently pretended to be sorry convincingly enough to play on Miranda's emotions and steal her biometric credentials so she could, in effect, sabotage a great many things whilst using Miranda's identity.

But in stark contrast and prior to all that we have (in episode 5) the moment where we know, and see, that Miranda's ship has been hit by the Covenant. Halsey sees it happen and sinks into the chair like maybe her knees gave out. Yet only moments before she'd given the order to take the artifact onto Miranda's ship as the only suitable option. You could be forgiven for assuming Halsey was grieving the likely loss of their only chance to get the artifact safely out of the Covenant's hands.

But then we see Halsey ordering the ramp to Miranda's ship to get dropped and two figures stumbling out, and we all realise it's Miranda assisting that private who was injured. Halsey, looking genuinely terrified, calls out Miranda's name and immediately dashes out into the middle of a live battlefield to get to her. Miranda narrowly escapes being blown up and is blown over by the shockwave, and we see Halsey running in to pick her up and put an arm over her shoulder so she can help Miranda stumble to safety.

Then we get Halsey's interviews where we find out exactly how awful the whole Spartan program is, and Miranda is thinking just how misguided she was in her younger self's feelings being replaced as Halsey's child with the substitute Spartan children.

Everything that comes after that reinforces the idea that Halsey doesn't or cannot adequately value Miranda's feelings or wellbeing.

The more we learned about exactly the kind of things Halsey has done and subjected others (primarily the Spartans to), the more convinced I was she was a complete sociopath who was incapable of feeling the full spectrum of emotions and who didn't experience empathy. As the episodes went on I started to question that conclusion because it seemed increasingly apparent that Halsey did genuinely care for and likely loved both Jacob and Miranda Keyes, regardless of her either (ruthlessly) squashed or diminished capacity for empathy.

Then we have S2 e06 and e07. I've mentioned e06 with Halsey and Miranda in another post so I won't go over that again here.

In e07 there's so much I don't even really know where to start. Rewatching part of it now and it occurred to me that while Miranda is testing Halsey's trustworthiness for the information not contained in her notes (as she should, given all the shit Halsey pulled in S1), there's two things that really jumped out at me here. Firstly, it's the fact that Halsey seems to be genuinely grateful to have a scientific mind on her level to talk about these discoveries with, one who Is equally enthralled by it all (personal and professional contentions between them aside), and that is likely a major motivator for opening up instead of hoarding knowledge.

Second, there's the thought that Miranda had all of Halsey's personal logs and research because as far as anyone really knew, she was dead.

Thirdly - as we find out later - that an evident motivator behind Miranda's actions and obsession with her mother's work is because she's been searching for the meaning behind her mother's actions her whole life. Searching for meaning because if maybe she understood Halsey's motivations better she'd feel closer to her mother, something it seems Miranda has been pretending she found distasteful and wanted least, but has evidently subconsciously been wanting for a very long time.

It's curious that Halsey doesn't answer Miranda's 'who else knows about this' question, and I'm thinking that this means the full extent of Halsey's research and discoveries that eventually led to the Spartan program, and that the reason Halsey doesn't answer because maybe the only other person who knew as much as she did about it all is Jacob Keyes. And I like to think that maybe Halsey moves on/sidesteps the question because she doesn't want to put Jacob in a bad light, given the circumstances.

And maybe Miranda knows that and lets the question go for the moment, but she's clearly thinking about it because we get a brief shot of her in the background just watching her mother while Miranda is clearly tense as hell, shoulders rigid and creeping up toward her ears. Then she starts to talk about what happened. She's not asking Halsey questions, merely voicing statements, because it's evident some part of Miranda already knows her father gone. She just hadn't wanted to lose hope.

And Halsey is standing there, face and body language looking simultaneously wildly uncomfortable and increasingly grave as the conversation progresses, like some part of her wants to be kind and comforting to Miranda except she's been suppressing her instinctive emotional responses for so long it's like she's forgotten how to do so anymore, and she's desperately trying to dig up those forgotten memories because she realises she doesn't want to cause Miranda any more harm than she already has.

And we get that tiny little lip wobble and big eyes from Miranda as you literally see the reality of the news settle into her, while she tries not to cry in front of Halssy. And we get Halsey stumbling over her words (a rare occurrence) when she tells Miranda that she was there when Jacob died (when Halsey walked away alive and Jacob didn't,) and stuttering again as she calls for Miranda to wait (and not walk away).

Then we have the discovery of the constellation key map and Halsey whispers "now, that's something" in awe. (Which I'll get back to later 🥺)

They get the extremely cool constellation lock open and Halsey steps forward onto the bridge a moment after Miranda calls out "Wait, what if..."

When they're racing back over the bridge and Halsey gets enthralled by the evidence of a whole city below them like she's a moth about to get burned by the light and Miranda's tugging on her arm, trying to drag Halsey to safety, Miranda calls out Halsey's name four or five times in increasingly desperate tones.

It's only when the glass bridge is what looks like millimetres from cracking under Halsey's feet does Miranda let out a frantic "Mom! Please!" And the spell the undead city laid on Halsey is broken.

Halsey's look of shock suggests that Miranda maybe hasn't called her Mom in years (likely decades.) It's the trigger that saves her life just in time.

Then Halsey, like an addict, immediately demands they return to the cavern of likely death, before shortly proving she knows that she and Miranda are a little too much alike in some respects by demanding Miranda reveal the fact she got the object the entombed scientist was holding (protecting?). Miranda looks hesitant, almost shuffling in place in reluctance to trust Halsey, before giving into the need to share the discovery. She passes the object to Halsey who looks thrilled and Miranda gazes back to her with an expression so reminiscent of a child pleased that their parent is proud of them.

Later, Miranda reveals the extent of her fascination/obsession with the site and Halsey's notes, when talking about her staying late and working alone with just Halsey's notes for company for the last five months. I'm curious about the phrasing of "it felt like talking to who you used to be," because it both gives away so much and raises so many questions. Just from that I get the impression that at one point Miranda used to enjoy Halsey's company, used to appreciate their conversations and the like - which made me wonder at what point did it all start really going downhill between them and how long ago it was. I wonder if they've worked together on other research projects in the past, perhaps part of what makes them so familiar with how each other operates even while estranged.

More than that, even, is the striking degree of vulnerability that Miranda is willingly displaying here despite everything Halsey has done (in season 1 particularly) and despite her valid mistrust. Miranda so clearly very much wants to connect with the only family member she (presumably) has left, invariably letting Halsey know how important she is still to Miranda in the process. Miranda's words of "And don't worry. If you never get there, I will," have a multitude of layers. Spoken to the table instead of directly to Halsey's gaze, they become a sort of teasing echo to all their previous tension and 'anything you can do I can do better'-style competitiveness - while retaining that shy undercurrent of attempting to reassure Halsey that her work matters to Miranda, that Halsey isn't alone in her efforts and that someone else will pick up the ball and keep running with it when she can't, if only because they share that common ground together with the same goals.

That little tentative half-smile that Miranda gives in response to Halsey's reply of "I believe you" with her steady gaze is also telling - it underlines the implications that I've mentioned above. When Miranda unexpectedly manages to get the object open she breathes our 'Halsey' like it's reflex after so many years of doing so, to get her attention - but then she looks up and - after (more or less) finally allowing herself to be emotionally vulnerable in Halsey's presence - says "Mom?" upon realising Halsey isn't right there with her.

We get a drawn-out camera shot of Miranda alone in an otherwise dark room, looking confused and a little lost, Halsey nowhere to be seen. It echoes their earlier conversation - Miranda is alone again because Halsey is not who she used to be, whoever that was.

Miranda looks back down at the object, overwhelmed by the potential gravity of the discovery she's made, but the halfway between a sigh and a laugh she breathes out seems both celebratory and in resignation - as though she's disappointed at Halsey vanishing right then and also disappointed that she's at all surprised to have thought Halsey would actually be reliable enough to be there and share in the celebration with her.

Miranda says "Now, that's something," in awe of the discovery in her hands, in much the same way Halsey said earlier in the episode. It makes me wonder if Miranda is just echoing what Halsey said before, or if it was a regular habit of Halsey's to state the phrase upon discovering something new and inspiring that Miranda picked up by association.

Now that I think about the episode again, what's the bet that Halsey ran off to try and get into the forerunner lab again but gets waylaid by either Cortana or a security lockdown of the base before she had the chance to get infected by the Flood? Oh no, now I'm thinking about Miranda trying to save Halsey from doing stupid life-threatening things again and now I'm even more keen to see next week's episode.

#I'm in a glass case of emotions 🥺#halo tv spoilers #halo series #halo season 2 #miranda keyes #catherine halsey #halo tv show

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bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus · 4 months

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Winter Solstice Writing Event and Teaser for Bloodhound

Woohoo! A teaser for Bloodhound and another piece for the Solstice!

For context, this is a 'Ghost x reader' where the reader is running away from a private military facility, called the Foundation, which makes 'Black Widow-'like soldiers out of girls they kidnap and lycanthropic bioweapons to watch over them.

Phillip Graves has unfortunately become one of those shapeshifting soldiers and is tasked with retrieving the reader and one other target. He's been put in a team with soldiers like him, along with two child-soldiers to help. He's also managed to find Valeria, an ex-employee of the Foundation, and get her to do some of the work for him.

Warnings: Strong language and violence!

Her resolve was breaking, crumbling away like sand through her fingers. She was faltering, stumbling over a root as she dragged her body to continue on. Valeria looked behind to see she had lost sight of the base. Slowly, she returned her gaze to what was in front of her: the vague path back to their camp.

She had cast that awful mask aside, leaving it to be found at the edge of the base, where the back of that dilapidated building met the woods, hoping you’d find it and that it’d light a fire under your arse.

A life taken was, in her eyes, better than a life doomed. At least, with murder, there came some form of closure. Some form of a definitive… end.

How long until it would set in? Until he’d unravel and consume them all?

Consume you?

She prayed that the anger she had seen in your face, as she had grabbed a fistful of your hair, bringing your bloodied visage to look upon hers, meant you had it in you to fix this. There was a good chance you’d reject Ghost and flee the moment you discovered his newfound nature. And… you’d be right in doing that- you know, to kill him before he’d get into their hands. Valeria hoped you’d stab him with a silver stake in his sleep or do her the kindness of making him scream. Oooh. Something inside her giggled with sadistic joy at the thought of an Arcadian Son screaming in agony at the hands of a lamia. What a triumph that would be! An arrogant man with strength he didn’t deserve nor need, squirming about at the feet of a trafficked child. Valeria hungered for that, and she had found a substitute in reigning supreme over the Las Almas Cartel but, now that she thought about it, it wasn’t the same. It was play. It was her living in a fantasy, rehearsing all the things she wanted to say and do to her overseer. There were many people that sat at the back of her mind, giving voice to her innermost doubts and fears, whom she wanted to see burn by her hands, and he was one of them. That heartless fucker who managed to worm his way into her very being, one who she’d still want to see in awe of her, to feel a swell of pride as she’d slit his throat.

Every Arcadian Son was the same. Every single one. They all did nothing but hurt, exploit, and terrorise. Throwing around their gifts without a care in the world and making sure everyone was constantly feeling their anguish, their pain.

But what about mine?! What about my pain?!

She trudged on, doing her best to halt the tears pooling in her eyes. In an ill attempt to self-soothe, Valeria found her arms slowly snaking around her, her body pulling her into an embrace. It stung as the cartel queen felt a tear trickle from her eye, rolling down her nose, clinging to the end. Then another, and another, and another once more. Valeria wanted to beat someone half to death. She wanted to feel powerful again, toying with people. She had thought that all these years she had spent on herself, spoiling herself rotten with an underground empire and plenty of men to crush beneath her boot, she had grown. And yet, here she was, a sobbing, snivelling mess, nothing more than a weak, little girl.

Little girl.

“You wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for me.”

Little girl.

“I will always be with you.”

Little girl.

“You will always be scared of men like me. You will always be scared of men.”

The way those words had been uttered to her, all those years ago, with no anger, no emotion behind them, uttered like cold, hard facts. As if she was made to be a certain way. As if she couldn’t escape her nature. As if she was destined to be a caricature, an idea of a person. It was as if everything Valeria had ever done had meant nothing, because all this she had created, had accumulated, had achieved, was merely boiled down to a response to him. Essentially, Valeria realised that she was and would always be nothing more than his lamia.

A quivering breath escaped her, and she became still. Glossy brown eyes stared into the middle distance.

She could have said no, died in defiance.

And yet, she obeyed.

How far was she from camp?

“Valeria?”

Quick as a whip, she snapped back to reality and saw Graves, directly in front of her, standing amidst the shrubbery. His posture indicated he was concerned, slightly leaning forward, one unsure foot put in front of the other, hands hovering in place, shaking with slight trepidation. To him, she didn’t look well. Something about her indicated she wasn’t entirely here and as for her slightly unkempt armour and bloodstained face, Phillip feared she wouldn’t be able to give a decent report.

Still¸ he sighed, no harm in tryin’.

“Valeria?”

“You disgrace the army.”

Every single fucking man she had ever met had, in some form or the other, left a nasty mark on her. Every. Single. Fucking. One.

As she watched Phillip approach her, with a patronising dose of caution, her lip curled.

“I want the missiles. I want the target. And I want Hassan. And you’ve got ten seconds or I’m going to show you the difference between military and me.”

Phillip Graves was feeling sorry for himself now, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be back to his usual self, or perhaps even worse.

“Valeria?”

“What?!” she snapped.

“Have you delivered the package to the target and…”

She could tell he was looking her up and down.

“… Did the renegade do that to you?”

Valeria wasn’t fooled by his softened voice. She took a disgusted step back as he took one towards her.

“What do you think?” Valeria sighed, making to brush past him and collect her things at camp so she could leave this promptly.

He grabbed her, hard, by the wrists. She looked at him like he wasn’t even human, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, a face depicting someone who was taken aback by not a man, but an animal.

“I need a full report of what happened,” he spoke to her like she was a mere child.

She looked at him, trying to find his eyes behind that blank visor. Although there really wasn’t much of a height difference between them, she felt as though he was consuming her whole field of vision. Angry tears should have told him enough, but it was evident that he wanted to hear it from her lips.

“Let me go.”

“I need a report.”

“Let me go.”

“You can have your tantrum afterwards, Garza. I need a report. You do realise that this is technically a mission-”

She pulled away, trying to break free of his grip, but to no avail. Over his shoulder, she could see the tantalising shape of camp. Valeria wriggled, demanding to be released. Phillip’s grip only tightened.

Stop.

STOP!

Valeria kicked him, screamed at him and, in a moment of brief freedom, before he’d trap her in his embrace once more, she hit his armoured chest. Again, and again and again. All that came out of her were shrieks and curses that sounded as though they had been trapped in her gullet for centuries. She punched and punched his chest, fighting to break free from his grip as he reestablished control. Graves supposed he’d let her have her moment for a few seconds, however, he soon grew tired of her hysteria.

“Valeria… Valeria, will you just… Val-”

He sighed.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GIVE ME THE GODDAMN REPORT!” he roared.

Then, Phillip fell silent, as if surprised by his own voice. He sounded a lot worse than he did when she last spoke to him, merely hours ago.

Valeria glowered at him but did as he said, regaining composure. She was breathless, panting as her whole body rose and fell in time with her stifled gasps for air. Her hands were raised in front of her, held in place by his, almost framing her face.

“The renegade was there. They saw me. And as for the target… Riley’s received the package.”

He eyed the woman, seeing if he could smell any lies on her. However, it seemed she was telling the truth. Phillip let go of her hands and watched them drop to her sides.

“Clean yourself up and go log it on the lexicon-thingy. I received a call from them not too long after you left. They said they want to hear it from you.”

She pushed past him, wiping away the salty water on her lips with the back of her hand.

Dawn would be approaching and with it, heaps of planning for the final stage. They hadn’t been here for long, but to Phillip, he felt as though he had aged aeons. A sliver of him had just made its absence finally known, having spent the past few days teasing him with its liminal existence. Absentmindedly, he rested a hand on his chest, picking at the crevices of his armour as he stared off into the middle distance. He wasn’t the same. He’d hit rock bottom and now had to get on with things despite it all because he didn’t have anything else to do but that. Never had a man truly encapsulated the word ‘undead’. Phillip Graves in a sense had died in Las Almas, in that tank, at the hands of John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, but he hadn’t been reborn or redeemed in any way. The man was a soulless continuation of the previous iteration. Although he knew the inescapable reality of his situation, he couldn’t fathom it: particularly the fact that he was alive. This didn’t feel like being alive, though. He was simply… going through the motions. There was no agency here. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he did have some agency which led him to the decision he had been procrastinating on making.

The matter of the girls.

***

“What?!” 72’s voice cracked; her indignation just barely being contained. “What do you mean we can’t go?!”

Phillip winced a little, trying to find the correct footwork needed to get around the girl and get on with his life. Much to his chagrin, though, the young lamia firmly placed herself in front of him, blocking his path with her feet squarely placed hip-width apart and her arms crossed. She had an aggravating scowl on her face as she looked up at him.

“Kid…”

“Kid?” she scoffed.

“72,” he sighed, pausing for a brief moment to collect his thoughts, “you and 23 need to stay put. For your own safety. You know, I’m doing this for your own good.”

“We’re supposed to be working,” she growled, “We’re supposed to be on a job.”

Phillip noticed the way her brows lowered, eyes narrowing, it brought about a sense of familiarity to him, like he’d seen that expression elsewhere but couldn’t quite place it.

Him.

Suddenly, he was aware that he was pulling the same face under his helmet.

“You’re going to be doing me a lot of favours by staying back here. So, stay.”

“But-”

“That’s an order, 72!”

She was taken aback by his raised voice, her lip trembling a little as her mind couldn’t make up whether she should be scared or continue to be angry. Graves rose to his full height no longer bringing himself down to meet her eyes, thinking that had done the trick.

He gently moved her out the way and walked past, feeling an odd sense of pride that he’d managed to avoid a teenage girl’s wrath successfully.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Phillip stopped dead in his tracks.

“Are you scared you’re going to hurt us?” 72 taunted, “I know that you were the one responsible for 23’s injury after we extracted the drug lord.”

He couldn’t… He couldn’t even bring himself to look at whatever smug grin she was probably pulling, knowing full well that it would send him over the edge. The last thing he needed right now was an excuse to lose it, especially when she was in the line of fire.

“You…” He could hear his voice had become gravelly once more, like it had done so when he’d yelled at Valeria. “… You, young lady, are skating on some mighty thin ice.”

“I don’t even need to read your mind to know you’re full of guilt.”

“72-”

“We’re here for you! We’re your lamias! You can’t just leave us here, they’ll find out we weren’t working properly, and they’ll do something about it!” she cried, throwing her arm out and vaguely upwards.

He turned to face her.

“I’m supposed to be dead. I was supposed to be in a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, not atoning for my fucking sins but here I am yet on another mission… with two children that I now have to make sure don’t get fucking killed because...”

“Because?”

“I’ve killed so many people. I’ve been a damn good contractor. But I draw the line here. I draw the line at children.”

“We’re not just children.”

“No, 72, you are and you’re in my care. I tell you what to do and you do as I say. That’s the fuckin’ deal. Got it?”

Her lips were pulled into a thin line.

“Got it?!”

She hung her head low.

“Yes, sir,” 72 said, resignedly.

He nodded to himself.

“Go into your tent and stay there until I come get you for food or whatever. If you need anything, you call me, and I’ll let you out.”

Tail between her legs, she sulkily walked back to her flimsy shelter. He watched her unzip the flap and crawl in, hearing the shrill sound of the zipper being angrily pulled along the teeth. Phillip found himself lingering a little longer, watching her silhouette greet 23’s in the warm glow of the hanging torch he’d managed to fish out of their bags for them when they first set up shop here.

Though it stung, Graves knew it had been the right thing to do. They weren’t built for the battlefield, and he’d got a glimpse of that when Valeria had been taken.

23…

His mind was still foggy on what exactly happened with her. As much as he wanted to ask, he feared it would either confirm his suspicions or leave him with only more questions. And so, Phillip had opted to wallow in his apprehension, hoping that once he’d finished this mission and hopefully be rid of them, he could either forget about his guilt or drown it in a fuck ton of alcohol like he used to.

Taken a heavy hit? Simply rock up to the nearest bar in the area and drink and drink and drink.

Having awful flashbacks to Al-Mazrah? Sip some tequila, then sip some more tequila… then keep sipping until you’ve somehow arrived at the next day with only faint recollection of how exactly you got here.

Phillip wondered if he could even get drunk anymore thanks to his newfound condition. Perhaps that’s why the rest of the Arcadian Sons seemed so… excessive, the senseless violence and enforcing of power kept them from acknowledging the tragedies that were their own existences. Maybe he should get with the programme.

No…

It felt wrong.

Then again, he’d most likely done just as bad before. Still, his previous transgressions never made him feel like this, even thinking about spilling blood made his stomach both churn and burn with hungry excitement. It would be giving into something, something that was steeped in sin.

He needed to get this job done and hope the Foundation would give him another one so he would have no time to be alone with his thoughts.

***

You took another pump of soap and rubbed it into your hands before bringing them under the tap once again. Warm water washed over you as you picked at your nails, trying to get the last bits of brown, dried blood which were stubbornly sitting in the crevices of your fingers. Eventually, you looked back up to see the red smeared across the lower half of your face, coming to almost a point, where the source was: your nose.

Damn it.

The blood was beginning to dry, becoming a nasty crust over your skin. You couldn’t help but stare at yourself- bloodied, bruising with tearstains to boot.

You thought about the lamia once more. You had been doing so for some time now, her face briefly gracing your mind’s eye with her presence. You wondered who exactly she was, not from an identity perspective but rather, you were curious about her intentions. It was just… why?! Why was she there? Why did she help you? Why help and still work for the Foundation? Why show such solidarity, tell you about the Arcadian Sons in the forest, undeniably a few kilometres away, and yet, still, presumably, enter to confirm your location?

Or was this all a ruse? No… it couldn’t be!

It wasn’t like you were going to wait around to find out, you were going to pack your shit and leave first thing in the morning. You swore to yourself that come dawn tomorrow, you were out of here.

You just hoped that the Arcadian Sons weren’t planning anything tonight.

They couldn’t be that fast, could they?

They could. They very much could.

Damn it.

You sighed, watching your reflection frown. All you really had going for you at the moment was the hope that some god above would take pity on your plight and have the Arcadian Sons miss their window of opportunity.

A long sigh escaped you as you rested some of your weight on the sink.

Ghost’s bout of nausea hadn’t been helping the overall atmosphere in the base either. He’d hogged the bathroom pretty much all morning, vomiting loudly. Soap had been lingering outside for pretty all of it, occasionally knocking on the door to ask the man if he needed the medic… to which Ghost would reply with, “No. Gaz is keeping ‘em occupied anyway. Besides, I think I just ate-” and then he’d get cut off by puking back into the toilet bowl.

You were curious about what exactly was wrong with him but hadn’t had an opportunity to even catch a quick glimpse of his state, with Kate and Price immediately pulling you aside to ask about the events that had transpired last night the moment you were out of the medical room. Alejandro and Rudy had also interrogated you but that resulted in them having more questions.

Bewildered was the word you thought best described the base at the moment.

A pit was slowly growing in your stomach. You were dreading what nightfall would bring. They were coming for you and there are only so many times you can escape the Foundation’s clutches before luck runs out.

You were glad you had packed your silver-plated knives and stake.

***

The clues at the bottom of her crossword were slowly blurring into one inky blob on the page. A pen, slightly shaking with mild anger, hovered over the third row spanning across the answer area. Usually, 72 would make light work of this, but today, she seemed preoccupied.

23 looked at her with caution from across the tent as she fiddled with the new compression bandaged Phillip had quickly slipped onto her slowly healing knee. The swelling had gone down a little, but it still looked sore. She watched, with increasing anxiety, as 72 grew more and more tense. Eventually, she caved and lashed out with a loud growl, throwing her pen to the side.

“You okay?” 23 asked with trepidation.

“Can you believe he’s making us stay here? Instead of, you know, letting us do our jobs?”

23 shrugged, turning to pick up her camcorder and searching for the switch as 72 continued her rant.

“Like, the Red Room clearly thinks we’re ready or we wouldn’t have been deployed, you know? His report is what’s gonna get us out of the Red Room and actually into a definitive pack. That we’ll stay in…”

She drew her knees to her chest, hugging the newspaper.

“… Instead of being passed from one packmaster to another.”

23 shrugged.

“Maybe he’s right,” the girl suggested, flicking through her footage.

72 grumbled.

“We’re going to end up paying for this. We always do,” she mumbled into the paper, “He thinks he’s doing the right thing but as soon as he mentions on the final report that we did nothing-”

“How do you even know he’s gonna say that?” 23 looked up at her with an exasperated expression, only emphasised by the blue glow from the device’s screen highlighting her features.

“Because he has to?!” 72 sat upright. “They’ll ask.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Why are you sticking up for him?!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! You’re on his side!”

If 23 had pearls, she’d be clutching them in response to such a false and heinous accusation.

“72, I’m not taking anyone’s side. We both know that he’s nice so he’s not going to do anything to get us in trouble, okay?”

“He’s the reason your knee’s fucked up.”

72 pointed at the bandaging on the girl’s leg. 23 cast her gaze downwards and to the side, covering the dressing with her hands.

“Are you scared of him? Is that what it is?” 72 asked, before bringing her hand to her forehead. “Oh my God! You’re scared! You’re doing as your told for once because you’re scared of him!”

“I’m not scared of him! Besides, it was my fault my knee’s screwed up, I was the one that tripped… It’s just-”

“Just what? Scared the big bad wolf is gonna eat ya?”

23 glared daggers at her.

“No, I’m not scared. I’m just being reasonable. Maybe, he has a point. Maybe, we should stay here.”

72 leaned back, her eyes narrowing.

“If I left and followed them to the base, would you let me do it alone?”

Silence fell upon them briefly, only the sounds of awkward rustling filled the tent.

“Well?” 72 asked impatiently.

“I mean…” 23 trailed off, scratching her upper arm idly as she thought.

“Yes or no!”

Kate’s fingers were interlocked, her hands tightly wrapped around one another, in a ball, resting on her head as she looked at the ground. Y/N was in their prime. They knew. She, on the other hand, clearly was losing touch and at an alarming rate.

“Fine!” the girl groaned, throwing her head back.

***

Price sat across from her, a steaming cup of tea sitting atop a small table was the only barrier between the two. He let out a sigh, the air whistling a little as it left his nose. His hands were comfortably placed on his lower abdomen, a contrast to his right leg, which jigged up and down, giving away his brewing anxiety. The captain was growing to resent this silence, waiting and wanting Kate to fill it because he couldn’t, he had no words.

The tense quiet was what was left of Alejandro’s panicked anger and Rudy’s unsuccessful attempts to quell it. He had shouted, paced, accused and demanded that Y/N needed to leave. Kate had stated that she could only let Y/N go once the contact had confirmed it was safe, and as much as she hoped you’d agree, you took Alejandro’s side.

You would leave come tomorrow’s sunrise and just hope that by the time you’d reach the border, the people Kate had been talking to would be there to greet you… like the angels at the Pearly Gates.

Marks of Alejandro’s outburst were everywhere in this room: the door only now just ceasing its swinging from when he’d stormed off, the slam of his fist still ringing in Kate’s ears, the scattered papers and the empty dossier precariously hanging off the table’s edge.

Price’s brown eyes looked over to the old electric fan atop one of the filing cabinets, feeling himself become engrossed in its soothing blanket of white noise as it whirred away, fighting to do its job.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken on Y/N.”

Quickly, he turned back to Kate.

“What?”

“We already have enough shit going on. Y/N… I didn’t need to add them to the list of our problems,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“No… No!” he implored, scooting his chair, trying to close at least some of the distance, “You did the right thing.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes intense, darting, doing their best not to give away her bubbling emotions.

“It’s difficult to see that right now. We’re here because Alejandro is allowing us to be here, he’s already jumping a lot of hoops for us.”

“And you’re doing the same Y/N. We don’t leave each other. Where would they be right now if you hadn’t found them?” Price asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Dead,” Kate stated, plain as day, “Or worse.”

Price’s eyes creased and his mutton chops rose as he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Exactly. And besides, neither of you have screwed us over. They said it themself, the soldiers after them won’t come for us if we keep out of their way.”

“Usually, John.”

#winter solstice 2023 #winter solstice writing event #cod mw22 #cod mwii fic #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #phillip graves cod #cod mw2 werewolf au

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sunshinesebby · 1 month

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top 5 horror films!! you can substitute another genre if you don't like horror but i'm curious :3

hii Mint <3

for someone who writes horror i haven't watched that many horror movies bc i am incredibly sensitive and will have nightmares for months but i have been getting more into it

1. The Ring.(US remake 1+2) In my early teens for a while I hosted halloween parties with a sleepover where we binged horror movies and this was always one. It scared me really badly but also. I really empathized with Samara the vengeful ghost. Sometimes I would go outside at night and imagine i was talking to her. So uhh yeah lmfao

2. The Name of the Rose. More of a thriller than a strict horror movie but it was my mom's fave movie so saw it super young it def felt like horror. Old movie that takes place in a sinister abbey, there's messed up murders and it's about sin and forbidden knowledge and gloomy monks and books that can kill you...marked me so much aesthetically and like vibes wise

3. The Ritual - watched this along with @superion-artworks the other day bc she said sanctuary reminded her of it and it was honestly a beautiful movie. Like scary yes but very poetic and cathartic

4. Jennifer's body. Also a recent watch and man I wish i had watched this when it came out, not just bc Amanda Seyfried was part of my bi awakening but bc the themes are just so great. codependent homoerotic formative friendships ftw

5. The Vvitch also watched this with Soupi and it's so well done and atmospheric and fucked up and rich. Incredibly unpleasant to watch and yet at the end I felt something really transcendent which i feel is the whole point of horror

Honorable mentions : Annihilation, Crimson Peak, Fear Street Series, I Know What You Did Last Summer (also a sleepover horror movie nostalgia bc it's not good)

#tag game

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askthedarksidersfam · 1 year

Text

In the Pines

Chapter 2: Morbid Curiosity

Summary: A first meeting with the new soul, but there is more to this strangely dressed man than you expect. Especially when the Dead Court demands his presence to the King.

A/n: This series is slowly becoming a favorite of mine, but why is plot so hard to make. And apologies for the longest wait ever 😭. The band Ghost do be pulling me out of my writers block bless Life Eternal. Please excuse any typos or format weirdness. It's a much shorter chapter this time y'all.

The method of dying isn’t a stranger to War. It is an unwelcome experience than a closely held fear that all creatures hold close to their chests. He wouldn’t be one to boast about having been through the whole shebang of death, but he wouldn’t shy away from exclaiming he doesn’t fear it.

This time however he can’t ignore the waves of shame that ache like a slug to the gut. Indeed, he’d felt shame when he perished in battle when carrying the Ravaiim relic to safety. But this was beyond what he felt all those eons ago.

A failure to keep a relic away from enemy hands was vastly overshadowed by the obliteration of War’s image, his legendary honor. All knew of War’s pride of being the warrior he was, the oaths he’d made and the extensions he’d reach to see them fulfilled. He’d been a poster child, in a sense, of the perfect enforcer of the Balance.

The favorite of the Council with his diligent work ethic, outshining them all in how he’d throw himself into his duties. As if he’d have something to prove despite the need not to.

How far he’d fallen…

Stripped of his power, thoroughly chewed out by them and put under their chopping block to serve as their punishment for a supposed crime he didn’t commit. After War opened his eyes, he didn’t need to see the sickly green hue clinging to his being to know he’s been transported to the Kingdom of the Dead. The stench of stale air and a musk of the ever decaying souls assaults his nose. Beneath him is a ground devoid of any green, and instead substituted with layers of dust that flutter through the air at the slightest disturbance.

He can still feel the vague wetness of tears that trail his cheeks. The rider never felt more vulnerable than before.

The racing images of the past events came flooding through his mind, from the moment of the call to his arrival. The chance meeting with Abaddon…

Abaddon. He must be here, War vaguely thinks between the onslaught of thoughts that plague his mind. If he can find him here, then he will find out why he was there… one way or another…

But that very thought sends a wave of anger through his chest, as War is only able to reflect on the accusations and confusion that follows. What purpose did the Archangel serve among the ranks, he was leader of the Hellguard, a division dedicated to the protection from Hellish infiltration of protected areas, especially the borders of Heaven. They were not at all meant to march at the front lines of the Apocalypse as it wasn’t their duty.

Yet there they were, among the ranks fighting with just as much ferocity as the summoned legions. The gears in his brain churned at an incomprehensible rate as he tried to key together this mystery.

What purpose did they serve, and what secrets are they hiding?

Something greater was at play here. Abaddon, the Call beckoning him to do his duty, and no sense of his brothers and sister in the Earth.

All at once, the frustrations bubbled and broiled over within the Horseman. The memories that lay bare across his vision began to crumble and branch into webbing cracks as his own wrath, hot as frothing lava, rose in terrible tidal waves, fueling dead veins with his famously irremovable ire.

Then, akin to a weakened dam holding back a tsunami, the images of his mind, and the last of his reserves, explode in an extraordinary display.

Pulling his lips back to unleash terrible canines, War’s prosthetic arm clenched tight enough to nearly break the metal fingers. Eyelids snap open to reveal the blazing glow of glacial blue, near blinding as they’re fueled by his rage. He raises his fist above his head and, in one great swell of strength, swings it down with a terrible velocity as War unleashes an agonized bellow of betrayal. The momentum of his arm stops short, colliding with the ground below, stone beneath shatters upon impact. Dust flies everywhere as the shockwave sends throughout.

War doesn’t need to see the ground to know he’s left a crater.

Though he doesn’t need air, War huffs as greatly as a rhinoceros. The fire within him surges through his body, showing no signs of slowing down soon. The rider can only stare hatefully at the cobblestone below as he tries to ride out this immeasurable wave.

For an immeasurable amount of time, the Nephilim stays motionless, sucking in deep lungfuls of dust laden air before forcefully exhaling. His right arm, the flesh one, shakes with tremors under his gauntlet, before it slowly spreads across his body.

The great injustice of it all enraged War greatly, but he can’t reflect upon what the Council said to Fury of their elder brothers being absent. Strife had been sent out on a mission according to them, but Death’s case had his mind reeling.

The Eldest had done this before, in the distant past. Disappearing for five hundred years without a trace until finally showing his face in the wake of the Council’s urgent summons. He had disappeared, likely for his own sake of solitude after the Nephilim’s fall.

But what reason had he now to disappear? Where could Death go that not even the most sensitive ears or eyes could detect him on the furthest comer of Creation?

He wouldn’t abandon them. Not again…

So caught up in the haze of his muddled thoughts, War doesn’t hear gentle footfalls coming up to his side. His hood, far over his head, obscures his peripheral vision and had he noticed, he’d be ashamed for letting an unknown person get so close.

But he doesn’t scold himself as he’s still caught in the fray. At least, that is until he hears a throat be cleared before asking him a question he’s never been directed to in his eons of existence.

“Hello there sir. Are you alright?”

——

The behemoth of a man doesn’t move when you call out. But you know he’s heard you if the tensing of his body is any indication. His face is obscured by the hulking copper pauldron and blood red hood pulled far over his head, blocking off any view of his features.

There’s a tremble to his figure, albeit faint, you can spot the quivers beneath his strange armor. You’d would’ve guessed him to be a frightened Angel if it weren’t for the lack of wings and the doubt of seeing one so scared. Demon was far out of the question due to the obvious absence of a tail, malformed wings or the faint sulfur stink they possessed (a surprising fact to learn).

Was this stranger human? The question rattled in your head as you took in his huge figure, the apex of his shoulders were equal to yours at your full height. But the sheer size of him alone suggested Maker, but even this beast of a man would be minuscule compared to Engri.

But it didn’t matter who or what he was, but rather, the shaking that didn’t cease even as you both stood in silence. A pang of sympathy wells in your chest, remembering how you were just as frightened when you first arrived.

‘He could probably use a hand, after who knows what he went through.’ You shudder at the thought of the untold horrors that he must’ve endured at his death.

‘Friendly face…’ you remind yourself as you clear your throat and try again.

“Sir, are you alright?”

This time you get a reaction. The man’s head whips around in record time, near startling you as you’re suddenly stared down by the mysterious newcomer.

Behind the copper pauldron and his hood, you spot two bright eyes staring you down, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. They’re pupilless, glowing like sulfur fire with just as much intensity. The twin flames stare you down like a wrathful lion roused from slumber, and you the culprit.

You can’t help but find yourself lost in the void, sinking further into the crashing storm of anger and despair. It’s too powerful to pull away now, and you can’t gather the strength to as you spot something within him.

For just a moment, in the moment that time was creeping between the two of you, there was the slightest hint of fear swimming beneath the surface. As quick as you caught it, it was dashed away as those wild and raw eyes hardened. It was not unlike watching the surface of magma cool into solid rock, but beneath did the liquid fire still burn.

Caught up in the swirling hues of burning blue, you failed to catch the stranger’s face contort into something more offensive. If you did, you would’ve wisely backed away instead of gawk dumbly as lips pulled back to reveal glimmering teeth.

“What?” He snarls the question at you, the deepness of his breathy tone pulling you in like a magnet. You still don't give an answer, caught between the urge to swallow up your concern and run and to stay and comfort the man. If you could call him that.

Quicker than you’d expect a man his size to move, the stranger throws himself backwards. Adopting a protective stance, his left arm is poised to cover his body more effectively as he bares his teeth warningly. Simultaneously, you jolt back instinctively putting distance between you and him.

How ironic.

Dead as dust trying to keep alive as if you still possessed a beating heart and blood in your viscera. Even more so considering how you’d been so adamant on approaching him first.

Briefly, there’s a thought that comes into mind, asking if this was a wise idea. But what could one soul do to another when both are dead?

You doubt the dead can be killed again. With that logic you feel less insecure about an attack. So you gulp down your nerves and clear your throat.

“Everything‘s okay,” you begin, arms held up placatingly as the man eyes you warily, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Not that you could even land a single blow on your best day.

The man thinks the same, as his lips pull into a deeper scowl as his nose curls. Though he has no discernible pupil, you can feel him sizing you up. Definitely determining you to be as much of a threat to him as a fly is to a lion.

Seconds tick by like eons, neither one of you twitching a muscle as you stare each other down. One with barely restrained apprehension, the other suspicion and lingering animosity.

Until finally, the man curls his nose with a huff.

Completely unimpressed, he motions to leave you in the dust, metaphorically and literally as he spins on his heel and makes his way out of the tiny pocket of room off the road. The ground below shudders with a muffled tromp, displacing dust to flutter into the air and stray pebbles to rock.

If you’d a moment to think about his sheer impact on the ground, you probably wouldn’t have so brazenly charged forward to meet with him again. Hellbent on trying to understand what was his grand plan here.

Maybe you would’ve wisely backed off, especially when you were so hesitant to approach due to the very threat of bodily harm. Even beyond the grave. You’d definitely be reflecting on this tonight to find the answer to this crazy ass decision. But the only answer you’d receive after racking your brain to find is probably “whoopsie” or “I’m not fucking up my first day of Soul Guiding”.

Just as your hand is about to make contact with the man’s armored arm, there’s a great flash of gray as the world suddenly spins on it’s axis. Roughly your back slams into the ground as the beanie hugging your head jostles loose, half handing to your skull. If you’d any breath it’d be knocked clean out, but all you do is gawk, breathless regardless.

In one swift motion you’d been slammed into the ground with the giant of a man hovering over you. Enormous legs cage you in as he keeps a grip so ironclad on your guilty arm you can legitimately feel the pressure near breaking. You fear he’d break your bones had you not been so caught up in staring him down, dead heart lurching in your throat.

Pinned, outsized and far in over your head, the only plausible thing your panic riddled mind can do is teeter on the precipice of two options. Gather the last remnants of human survival and urge you to break loose or relive the last moments of your life cornered in that concrete trap like you are now. The only difference you felt was no roaring of blood into your ears nor the stir of a certain pounding cardiac organ.

You swear in this very moment this man was really those hound monsters in disguise, ready for a part two in their revenge.

Get off.

You see those hungry eyes through the cracks. Blues bleed into fiery orange, the shadows eclipse into coal black leathery skin.

Get off.

Pulled back lips contort into snarling maws like permanent grins. Bare gums glinting with teeth bigger than your arm. A heavy pant like laughter among the prowling pack that close in on their prey.

GET O F F !

The crushing grip melds into the pain of your arm — your missing arm —

You can taste the blood, feel it running down your throat and flood your lungs-

G E T O F F !

The proximity between him and you is near atoms apart. You feel the wisps of breath he exhales, fluttering over your cheeks like ghosts in the wind. There is no heat, unlike the breath of the hounds whose felt hotter than the pits of Hell. A complete antithesis-

“GET OFF ME!”

The shriek echoes across the empty field, rattling the naked limbs of a nearby tree and disturbing the dust to flutter around the air. Dancing between the two of you carelessly.

The man above you does not move as you demanded, instead he keeps his grip steady, the only indication of him listening to you are his raised brows and slightly widened eyes. Clearly surprised by the outburst. But he still doesn’t make a single move, instead vying to keep you pinned as his lips form words that your brain fails to comprehend. It’s only after a few seconds of silence after his words have passed his mouth did your brain catch it like a delayed echo.

“Who are you?! What is the meaning of this?” Though he near splits your ears with his bellow, the demand sounds as if you’re hearing him with cotton stuffed in your ears. And underwater.

When you don’t give an immediate answer, his patience seems to wear thin, given by the deepening furrow of his brow. Vaguely you think how it’s even physically possible before your ears pick up on a voice ring through the air.

“I-I just-!”

“It will do you good to let them go boy!”

Both you and the man’s head swivel to the origin of the newcomer. Poised for attack, the stranger is dressed in armored regalia, finely detailed with bone imagery long since worn down. He carries a glaive, or at least an imitation of the weapon due to its dramatic length of the blade. It’s pointed in your general direction, but not at you. But the head of the man above you.

He stares you down with well worn eyes, cataracts cloudy yet sharply focused on you.

The stranger doesn’t give away what he feels about the situation, but from the pinching of his brows and snarling of teeth, he doesn’t like what he sees.

The soldier jabs the weapon, the edge near kidding the red hood of the man above. He merely grunts at the proffer of the metal blade, unphased about this. Which was rather ironic given his need to attack weaponless you.

“I will not ask again! Let the ‘uman go.” He snarls, dripping with authority to make you rigid upon hearing. The man above you snaps his head between you and the newcomer, brows pinched together as you shoot him a weary grin, silently begging he’d listen.

“Yeah, uh, please let the human go…” you say weakly, struggling under his grip as you feel an atom more confident with this stranger. Though that is promptly squashed when the man glares daggers into you, sending a wave of cold dread shooting through your chest. The crushing grip tightening even more.

“I am not asking you again boy! 'ave you no sense o’ honor that you’d attack one without a weapon?!”

That gets his attention.

His ironclad hold violently wrenches free, and you immediately scramble out from underneath him. You drag yourself away from the man and put some distance between you and him, with the stranger as a barrier. Despite not knowing either, you’d take your chances with the soldier rather than the goliath.

The guard shuffles until he’s blocked the view of the red hooded behemoth, weapon poised at his head. He tilts his head back to eye you as he calls out. “You alright ‘uman?” Dazed, you can only offer an unsure grunt, grasping at the arm with fresh indents in the dead skin. You wince as you doubt there’s a chance it’ll recover.

“Y-yeah.” Is the feeble answer.

He grunts before turning his attention to your attacker, whose face is twisted into a vicious snarl half hidden by his hood. Those blue eyes are pure murderous as he glares at your savior. However, he is completely unaffected, instead vying to puff his chest out and raise his shoulders. Immediately, the man becomes larger than he already is, the armor assisting him as the oversized pauldrons that sweep towards the air flare out like boney wings.

The tension growing between the two is heavy, like a thick fog and tingling with electricity. Though you’re not caught in the middle of it, you can feel the sharp sting that leaves you dizzy.

Just when you’re sure the fog will stretch out to you and wrap you in the static blanket, it’s so abruptly interrupted.

“I do not know why you attack this ‘uman, but know that this will not go unnoticed by me. However that is not why I am ‘ere,” the man straightened his posture as he keeps his glaive pointed straight at the man, “I am ‘ere to escort you, Red Rider, to the King, for you are hereby summoned to appear ‘fore the Dead Court.”

That gets your attention.

Engri had spoken of the monarchy and his exclusivity on the few to no guests he harbors in his Court. In fact, practically no one has made company with the king in the last century other than his guards and royal advisors and overseers.

Not that making company was as simple as approaching the throne room and waltzing in to share your grievances. Between the tales of the men of the Arena who’s battle prowess could match that of the aged Maker and cynical advisors, you’d heard of one such obstacle to meet the king.

The Arena and its heralded unbeatable Champion.

Engri had shared the stories of the Champion, a creature of bone and sinew nigh invincible. How she’d faced the beast before in boast, promising to bring the skull to the Court not for an audience, but to wipe the smirk off their smug faces when they claimed she’d be unsuccessful as the others. And they’d been right.

The monster was unpredictable in its attacks and twice as formidable in strength, even against a seasoned warrior as Engri. In the end, the battle mage decided it best to abandon her quest and turn tail to save herself the near severed limbs during the excursion.

That was the only ticket to meet the king.

And this guy gets a free fucking pass.

A trickling sensation of horror and suspicion runs up your spine as you wearily eye the stranger. What had he done to warrant the king’s audience per his demand?

Probably something terrible. Right?

The “Red Rider” or he’s been addressed, near snarls at the soldier whilst rising to an impossible height. Your eyes shamelessly bugle from their sockets as your jaw fails to keep itself hinged while you wordlessly gawk.

You knew he was tall from how he nearly reached your shoulder on his knees, but not like this. He towers over the soldier who himself boasts an impressive height, and his glaive stands taller than his helmet which adds a few extra inches. You doubt your head even reaches the bottom of his sternum if you stood on your toes.

“What would your king,” he spits the word out like rot on his tongue, “want with me? I am no stranger to this realm nor am I a foe.”

The soldier doesn’t stop the scoff, making the taller shoot a nasty glare. “Do you think us so shut in from the world of the living we do not know o’ your affairs?” The hooded man immediately stiffens, your head tilts as you questioningly stare at the accused wondering if-

“I've done nothing of the sort. I am not guilty of the crimes the Council accuses me of!” He bellows, voice so powerful you can feel it punch you in the chest. Though the other male seems completely unaffected, not even a flinch.

“Whatever those slags o’ molten rocks decide is not my concern. I am here merely to escort you to the Court.” He cooly says.

Council? Crimes? Molten rocks?! What in fuck’s name are they talking about?!

Too caught up in the haze, you shake your head in efforts to clear the very muddled thoughts you’re trying to piece together. You don’t even register their conversation.

Yeah, the man straight up attacked you, but he hadn’t seemed to do so blindly. Though the whole parameters of why he’d think of you as a threat doesn’t click.

But beforehand, prior to his… lashing out, he seemed completely caught up in himself. The scream you’d heard, how the raw bellow was pained, opposite to his aloof attitude. How he sounded so… betrayed?

Scared.

Like when you first opened your eyes on the cobblestone road.

A pang of sympathy worms it’s way through your chest, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste of the past. A frown stretches across your lips, remembering that wretched feeling.

Why should you not extend that mercy to him? Because of some self preservation to your corpse? A guard claiming he’s to be punished for a possible crime? Your survival instincts screamed not to, and logic dictated that this was none of your own business.

But the man’s protests of innocence were too heartfelt. Too… fervent.

Unlike the aged corpse of a soldier, you listen to those cries. You know them well. Distant wails that cut through the ears of the endlessly noisy city like a gunshot. Too many times you lie awake on your bed, listening helplessly to the sound.

You once burst out of your room with an urgent desperation to quell those cries. Tirelessly searching for the endless laments, overwhelmed to find the city overrun with souls that scream for a life stolen away, of being lost with this insufferably ceaseless city.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help anyone. It seemed as if the screams were not from souls, but part of the very ambience of the city.

You barely slept a week after that, regardless of your exhaustion.

This man, this soul- you can’t bear the thought of leaving him to his fate. It’s selfish but you don't want to bear another moment in the city after the day is done. Returning to that unshakable tune. Maybe this once, you could quell this one’s cries so he wouldn’t join that accursed choir.

Leaving him to go to the Court did not sit right in your gut. You couldn’t stop it, but maybe you could sway them.

Engri’s talk of the King did not soothe your nerves however. But in spite of that, you do not stop yourself from the words that spill out your mouth just as the soldier was about to escort the soul out.

“Uhm,” you scramble to your feet, something more dignified if it weren’t for the dust and beanie falling out of place, “wait right there! I’m coming along!”

The soldier snorts, actually snorts before he can cover his mouth with a hand. That near permanent grin of a half rotted skull seems to widen as he attempts to collect himself. You scarcely notice curious blue eyes drift your way as you pull your beanie back over your scalp, suddenly bashful.

“You ‘ave no business with the King,” he declares, tone trembling with barely held back chuckles, “it’s ‘im that the King wants, ‘uman. You’ve no idea of what magnitude the offense this one has committed.” The Red Rider shoots him a poisonous glare from behind.

“Well, I don’t happen to believe that!” You lamely retort, chest clenching at your weak protest that makes both men take pause. The soldier eyes you with suspicion while Red remains otherwise impassable, other than the slightest widening of his eyes behind his hood.

You absently wonder if he is even affected by your protest. Something within your dead chest screams that it does, that he is in fact, thinking about what you’re doing, but your head seems to think otherwise, filled with doubt.

Your brain weighs the outcomes of both possibilities at blink-fast speed, considering both extremes that could come to haunt you. Either one, this man is indeed what the guard claims, to have committed the worst of crimes, hiding behind a red hood and devastatingly convincing face to trick the bleeding hearts into his scheming and letting him roam free.

Though the worst possible crimes he can commit in this godforsaken realm such as murder was null and void, that didn’t make him less of a threat. You could let him walk free, unpunished and unforgiving into this world, here forever if you can even convince the Court.

Or…

This man is indeed innocent. A victim of circumstance, or even a setup if his protests have any hint of what had happened. You could save him from taking the fall and being wrongly punished for someone else’s crimes. You couldn’t imagine living, or rather, continuing on this dead life with that on your conscience for eternity. Not even after a million years could you imagine that the guilt would even erode in the slightest.

Then, you think about when you first laid eyes on him, how frightened he was, that scream, and those wild eyes that you almost drowned in. There was a deep powerlessness that you recognized that you couldn’t forget.

You’ve seen that look in the eyes of your fellow humans as they were slaughtered on the streets, hopelessly overpowered in the eyes of Angels and Demons. Pure, unadulterated terror soaking into the very bone, leaving no atom unmarred. Then, a ringing in your ear turns into his scream and it blends in with hundreds more you hear a familiar voice come through.

“‘M off tae take ‘em to the city,” It’s Engri’s voice from hours ago, “I doubt there won’ be any other souls while ‘m gone,” you had decided to stay behind, using the excuse of wanting to help ferry souls as a reason not to go back to that wailing city. You did want to help, but you never expected, well, this.

“Well, what should I do if someone comes and they won’t go with me?” You asked, unsure of what to expect, to which she had answered simply.

“Then follow ‘em wherever they go. With time, they’ll go with you.”

Sucking in a breath, you hope this won’t be the biggest mistake of your undead life. Squaring your shoulders and straightening your spine, you boldly stare the guard in the back as you unsteadily declare,

“Take me with him to the King’s Court, I am acting as his voucher of character.”

Sometimes, the heart is bigger than the head.

#I am so sorry for taking forever 😭#In the Pines #war #war x reader #darksiders #x reader #reader insert #dead kingdom #undead oc #fic #chapter #I finished this instead of studying lmao

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nabtime · 10 months

Text

Our Empty Graves IV

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 4: sing to me (cause i can't hear myself)

Chapter Summary: Red Hood and Danny have a talk over soup

Chapter Notes: title from Sing to Me by MISSIO Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

What the hell had he gotten himself into now?

Danny hadn’t laid on a couch in what felt like years. Graveyard benches, tree branches, and mausoleum roofs were very poor substitutes for cushions or mattresses. The couch was rank and decrepit and leaking stuffing all over the place and it felt heavenly. There was also a weirdly abundant supply of ectoplasm just floating around the place. Ancients he hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant. He better not have invaded another ghost’s Haunt. He did not want to deal with a territorial asshole trying to fight him off when he needed to heal. He was not leaving this couch for anything.

Warily he gathered up the ectoplasm telekinetically and wrapped it all around himself like a faintly glowing blanket, soaking it in with a small contented churr from his core. He still thought it was weird-all the animal like noises he could make. Noises that were instinctual and part of Core Speak, which was a lesser form of Ghost Speak. Ghost Speak itself was less about words and more about emotions and the vague intention of thoughts. Like when sounds and colors could convey a certain feeling or impression. He’d used a bit of it to talk to Red Hood even though Ghost Speak was something humans couldn’t understand or even perceive. It was an unconscious habit- Ghost Speak was the only way he could communicate with the other ghosts (not that they cared much for what he had to say most of the time) and he couldn’t even try to talk to anyone else usually.

It was nice that Red Hood still seemed to be able to understand him, it felt good to ‘talk’ with someone willing to play charades.

But, Ancients, what an embarrassing conversation. He’d been so delirious from being punch drunk and having blood loss. He was lucky he couldn’t talk because he couldn’t imagine what kind of filth he would’ve been spewing, waxing poetic about Red Hood’s juicy ass or something, if he could’ve. Just because it really was a juicy ass didn’t mean Red Hood had to know. Although, he probably already knew that. Man couldn’t walk around with that much cake and not know it. So, Red Hood didn’t have to know that Danny knew about and appreciated his ass. And thighs. And arms. And tits. Aaaand- he really needed to think about something else.

Red Hood being surprisingly hilarious? He called him Ghostbuster Reject and he didn’t even know Danny was a ghost. Not to mention all the names for Batman like Goth Furry Man and Mr. Dark and Stormy Night. He could tell that Red Hood was keeping back more of them too. He’d take any silly nickname Red wanted to give him if it meant he didn’t have to go by the stupid name he’d given himself.

Fetcher the Fetch. Red was right, it made him sound like Moon Moon. It would have to do though. He couldn’t spread the name Phantom around, couldn’t risk the GIW or his parents trying to find him in Gotham. The city had enough of its own problems without the property damage and disregard for by-standers that came with either group.

He felt bad that he’d only given Red Hood the partial truth. He was a Fetch, but that wasn’t exactly a term well used outside of ghosts and the Realms. Fetch- the apparition of a being yet still alive. The ghost of a living person. Both alive and dead. Half ghost and half human. Not that Danny felt all that like a human anymore. He hadn’t changed in a long time and the only reason he knew he still had a side of himself still alive was the faint heart-beat that thumped just under his core.

He still felt a tad guilty about hiding the whole “dead guy” she-bang from Red, but he didn’t need some weirdly nice Gotham Rogue knowing his entire being was against the law. That he could be turned over to the government for a hefty bounty. Didn’t matter that the guy had saved his skin, he’d been betrayed more than once and he wouldn’t risk it with a stranger. He also didn’t want to cause trouble. Red Hood looked like a guy that could handle himself but also someone who would protect his own to the last. He didn’t need anyone getting shot on either side because of him. The GIW didn’t care about collateral damage and they really wouldn’t care about hurting people they thought didn’t matter and destroying homes already falling apart. It was unfair and maddening, but it was how they worked. Ruthless and unforgiving.

Was it sad that the ghosts he used to fight to protect the town were now the least of his problems? Most of them had been scared off by the GIW after they’d gotten more competent and started experimenting. After the Anti-Ecto Acts got passed, most of the regular ghosts had made themselves scarce. Only the more powerful guys had dared to step foot into Amity, and then they became Danny’s problem. And then the whole mess with Pariah had happened and then none of the ghosts wanted to go top side. No, Danny’s post in Amity, stuck as it was in the zone, had become more about preventing humans from entering the Zone than the other way around. He had to stop the occasional reckless spirit, but for the most part they stayed scarce.

He hoped the Realms would be okay while he was gone. Who knows what his parents or the GIW could get up to in his absence.

He dozed on and off for a good bit, sleep light as it always was in ghost form. He could avoid eating when he was Phantom by absorbing ectoplasm, and he could get by with much less sleep in this form as well. But when he was injured, especially as injured as he was now, he needed to rest to get better. Needed to conserve energy and soak. Like a nice bath. A ghostly hibernation.

He started to feel better each time he blearily woke before going back down.

One of the times he could hear clanging and shuffling, like someone making food in a kitchen. He figured Red Hood would have gotten take-out. Was he making food? Maybe he was just dreaming. Dreaming of a better time in a more familiar kitchen…

It was all vague sensations and feelings. Just the warm light of the sun streaming in through the kitchen window. Just the suggestion of a fresh breeze blowing through and stirring up the scent of spices permeating the cramped space. The susurration of curtains in the wind. Just the faintest sound of humming and soft laughter. Like he’d fallen asleep in the kitchen and he was hearing everything through a drowsy fog.

It was warm. The oven was on. There was something giving off steam on the stove. He could hear pots clanging and utensils clinking. He could hear murmuring and rustling. There was the sensation of closeness and a sort of comfort and togetherness he rarely felt. It felt like contentment. It felt like love.

“Hey, sweetie,” his mom said, voice soft and dulcet. He could feel a warm hand rubbing his back. “It’s time for dinner now, sleepy-head.”

He said something in reply but he couldn’t hear it. He felt dizzy, like the room was spinning and everything he’d felt started to distort and spiral. His mother said something again but her voice came out cold and distorted and angry.

“What did you do with my son?”

“Hey,” a gruff voice, still staticky from being filtered, spoke as he was shaken awake. He blinked as the dream he’d been having floated away from his mind, forgotten as he rose from Nocturn’s hold into the realm of the wakeful.

“Black-white-and-green-all-over,” the voice said again, a hint of amusement lacing the words, “time to wake up and smell the bacon.”

“Food’s ready,” Red Hood said, straightening from where he’d been hovering over Danny to wake him.

Mrrp?

His core let out a little sound, much like a cat just being woken. Cats and ghosts had a lot in common, sounds wise, and he was discovering new sounds he could make all the time. Most ghosts could just talk and Core Speak was considered something more intimate, to be used with close friends, lovers, and allies. But for him, it was the only way he could communicate until he could find a way to learn sign. His core seemed particularly talkative around Red Hood, too. Strange. Maybe because Red was the first person he’d encountered in ages that didn’t want to immediately kill him?

“Hohmy-god.”

He blinked, stretching and tilting his head in question. What was that about?

“You’re adorable, kid,” Red answered, teasing.

Red Hood had his hands on his hips, arms bare in all their glory without his jacket, and was wearing an apron. A red apron with frills and a cute little skull printed on it. Who was this man to call Danny the adorable one?! Clearly he hadn’t seen himself in a mirror. It didn’t matter at all that Danny couldn’t see his face- the personalized apron was more than enough. Did he make that? Did someone else make it for him? He had so many questions he couldn’t ask.

Danny chose to just flip him off instead.

Red shook his head and headed back into the kitchen. “Get your ass in here and eat this soup already. You look like you’ve healed enough.”

If Danny could groan, he would. The thought of moving was not appealing. He had already told himself that he wasn’t moving from the couch for anything and that included whatever soup ‘The Red Hood’ decided to shovel into him.

Could Red even cook? He had a whole apron thing going on, but that didn’t really mean anything. Maybe it was a gag gift because of how bad he was at cooking. He shuddered. Well, no one could be worse than his parents. He’s pretty sure sentient food beats out burnt to a crisp any day. There wasn’t any smoke or sign of fire so that was encouraging at least.

He was mostly healed at this point, scrapes gone and bleeding stopped. He could move his arm again and he didn’t need to channel all his ectoplasm into healing alone. His thigh and his shoulder were still throbbing from the shitty Bat-a-rangs but they were on the mend. Honestly, for how bad off he’d been he was healing pretty well and pretty quickly. The benefits of being a dead guy. And landing in a city rich with the stuff that helped him. He had enough he could probably go invisible and freak out Red, but he’d refrain for now.

Still, he flopped over the cushions, debating on whether it was worth it to move or not. He didn’t need to eat and its not like his senses were the same in ghost form as they were in human form. He didn’t smell the same way and while he’d never tested it, he probably couldn’t taste the same way either. So what did it even matter-

And suddenly there was a mass of looming Red just hovering over him and then- still very suddenly, he was being lifted up from the couch. Cradled in very warm, very nice arms.

“H-up we go-,” Red Hood mumbled, very very close to Danny’s ear and making him shiver. He was carried princess style into the kitchen and plopped down into a rickety wooden seat. He stared dumbly down at the, frankly, delicious looking bowl of chicken noodle soup as he tried to process what the hell just happened. Everything was tingly and his mind was blank. He had phantom (haha) sensations of warmth where Red had held him. When was the last time he’d been touched without being hurt?

“Like a handful of grapes,” he heard Red mutter as he settled into the seat across from Danny. Wow, rude.

Red picked up a spoon and used it to point at Danny’s bowl. “Eat.”

He huffed and slid down in the chair a bit but picked up the spoon anyway. If he could grumble he would. He made sure to look as petulant as he could as he dipped his spoon into the broth. He stared dumbly again as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to eat.

He heard a mechanical click and looked up to see that Red had retracted part of his mask somehow, leaving the bottom half of his face bare. A cupid’s bow. Hm. A cupid’s bow turned up into a smirk. Red pointed again.

“Eat.”

His voice was odd without the modulator, smooth and deep. And very clearly amused. And Danny really, really needed to think about other things. He had enough to worry about than to be distracted by a nice voice. One guy treats you like you’re not a monster and suddenly you go ga-ga for him. The thought made him sag further down into the chair, piercing the night with a shrill squeak. Fucking hopeless.

Danny sighed internally and went back to trying to figure out how to eat. Well, if he was healed enough to go invisible he was healed enough to go intangible. Partially.

He made the mask intangible but still visible, so to someone else it didn’t look any different from before. Then he brought the spoon up and let it pass through the mask unhindered. Oh Ancients. Chicken noodle soup. Good chicken noodle soup. He couldn’t smell it before but he could now, and it smelled divine and tasted even better. He would die a second time for this soup. Hell, he might kill someone for this soup. Red Hood wanted someone gone? He would do it. He’d do it for soup. He kind of wanted to cry about it. How long had it been since he’d had something to eat? Let alone something this good. And even less something that was home-made and this good. Yeah, if he kept thinking about it he would definitely cry.

He took another eager bite, willing to sink into the flavor- rich with things he’d almost forgotten about like garlic and onion and carrots and celery. Spices he couldn’t name giving it a taste like nothing else. He felt a deep warmth spread through his body and his core purred with contentment.

He blinked open his eyes that he hadn’t even realized he’d closed to find Red Hood staring at him.

“How the fuck are you doing that?” he asked, incredulous.

Danny tilted his head in feigned innocence. He had no idea what Red was talking about, no sirree.

“Don’t give me that, you know what you’re doing,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger towards him. “How the fuck are you doing it?”

Danny rolled his eyes and dropped his spoon . He held up his hand and then phased it through the table, waving his fingers in a little ta-da motion afterwards.

“Alright. Density-shifting,” he said, sounding just a bit exasperated. “Okay. That’s just a thing you can do, then.”

He didn’t know what density shifting was but figured it was close enough to intangibility that he nodded. He picked up his spoon but before he could eat the most delicious meal of his life, Red had another question.

“Anything else you can do that I should worry about?”

He paused (a tragedy, really) . It’s not like he could actually give a list. He could write it, yeah, but where was the fun in that. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t remember half of his powers on a good day. They were instinctual. Like a muscle he didn’t know the name of that he could flex . He could move the muscle but its not like he was aware of it. What it was called or how it worked.

He shrugged and continued eating.

“You know, glow-stick, there’s gonna come a point where I need answers,” Red said, voice wry. “I’ve let you get away with a lot already. Don’t think I’ll be lenient again,” he spoke with finality.

Danny regarded him seriously. Red Hood had let him move on without explaining things multiple times now. He was grateful for it honestly. He didn’t know how he would even start to untangle all that he was to this stranger. He couldn’t even do that with people he knew and trusted. And he didn’t want to go through being interrogated within an inch of his half-live again either. At least Red was being civil about everything.

He put his spoon down again (mournfully) and gave Red Hood a solemn nod. There wasn’t much else he could do to convey his thanks and his seriousness, but Red seemed to get the message.

“Good. Don’t cause trouble and it won’t be an issue.”

He wanted to laugh at that. Like he could ever stay out of trouble.

Red must have sensed his amusement because he made a motion with his head like he was rolling his eyes. Danny could tell even though he couldn’t see them behind the helmet. Looks like they were both able to communicate with body language pretty well, probably why Red was so good at reading him.

They ate in silence for a bit, the distant sound of sirens and gunfire lulling to a background noise he wouldn’t have thought he’d get used to so easily. But it was still somehow familiar, like a song he knew played on an instrument he’d never heard of. Police sirens instead of ghost attack sirens and gunfire instead of the odd electric crackle of ecto-blasts.

Danny melted into his chair as he finished his last bite, the warmth of the soup turning him into a puddle of goo. His belly felt full in a way it hadn’t in years. The last meal Jazz had made for him had been when he was what? Sixteen? Before she left. Before he left.

“So,” Red started, voice firm. Danny wanted to groan again. He didn’t want to have serious discussions, not now. All he wanted to do right now was become one with the table and savor his beautiful, beautiful soup. But Red Hood was relentless. Merciless.

“You said you fell from a portal?”

He nodded. Miserably.

“You got any way to get back through said portal?”

He stilled. No, he didn’t. He really didn’t.

He thought about what would happen next. Would he go back to his Haunt? Could he? He’d found his way topside and the only stable portal connecting the two halves was in the ruins of the place that Amity used to occupy. Both his parents’ portal and Vlad’s had been victims to the shift into the Zone, both weirdly inverting on themselves, collapsing and reforming- twisting reality in ways it should never have twisted.

Vlad’s portal never stabilized, shrinking down and imploding in on itself- condensing like a dying star becoming a black hole but bursting out in radioactive shock-waves instead. It took out half of Elmerton in the explosion as well. Thankfully the neighboring town had been evacuated the moment Amity disappeared so there weren’t any casualties. But it had definitely been a close call. His parent’s portal survived on a miracle, creating an exit for the townspeople when everyone realized that the city was stuck and there was no going back. Nobody died but- there wasn’t a single citizen who hadn’t lost everything. There was only so much that could be transported through the portal after all. It was the only time anyone ever let him near enough to help, if only to use his strength to carry the boxes of meager belongings through to the other side. Boxy knew better than to mess with them when he was around.

The truth was that he didn’t have anywhere to go. Anything to do. If he weren’t only half-ghost then the loss of his Haunt and Obsession could have Ended him, but as it were it just made him sad. Restless. Core-tearingly despondent. He’d already just been listlessly haunting the cemetery, fighting ghosts when they wanted to pick a fight with him. Skulker was really the only one that tried anymore.

The most he could hope for was a natural portal popping up that he could sneak into, and that was only if it didn’t spit him back out somewhere completely different instead of the Zone. While Gotham seemed to have an abundance of ectoplasm, that didn’t mean it had an abundance of portals.

Would he build a new place for himself here? Haunt a new graveyard? He could never be human again. He’d left that life far and long behind. Maybe he’d find a house to haunt, be a proper ghost and scare some people.

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth, but he elected to ignore it. He’d only just felt a little like a human again. A mistake.

He’d stalled long enough. He shook his head and waited for Red Hood’s reaction.

“ Anyplace to go?” he questioned, tone flat. Danny couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking, he kept his cards close to his chest. But maybe there was a hint of concern there? Or maybe he was being too optimistic.

He shrugged, truthfully not knowing how to answer that. He could try to get back to Amity, but that was a long, long while to walk and a major fight with the GIW and his parents that he didn’t want to pick. Or he could settle back into the cemetery he’d been chased from. Visit his old zombie pal, Jason and dodge Batman again. It’s not like he needed human accommodations. Nothing an old mausoleum wouldn’t do.

Danny could see the black eye-cover of Red’s helmet narrow (and wasn’t that a trip). He could feel the other man’s stare, intense and analytic. He waited.

Red Hood sighed. “Well, for now, you’re staying here until you’re healed completely . Then we’ll figure it out as we go.” He pressed a button on his helmet that made it drop back down and recover his face, then stood up and picked up the empty soup bowls. “Don’t need Bold and the Bleakness trying to kill you over something stupid again.”

Danny nodded. He could agree to that. He’d stay until the Bat-a-rang wounds and his broken arm fully healed and then drift back to the cemetery. No need to bother Red Hood any further than he already had. He didn’t deserve as much kindness as he’d already gotten. The man might seem to be a crime lord, but he cared about his people and had a surprising amount of warmth. A man like that didn’t need to worry about a thing like Danny.

He would fade out when Red Hood left and go back to where he belonged. Some dusty old mausoleum he could guard. And then he would wait out the rest of his existence there, protecting bones no one cared about anymore for as long as he continued to walk this plane. Maybe someday he’d fully die and make his way back to the empty streets of Amity, maybe by then the ghosts of his neighbors would have repopulated the town. Maybe he’d see his friends again. Maybe, someday, he could rest.

It was as good a plan as any.

“Alright, kid, rest up for now,” Red said, rinsing out the bowls and setting them to dry on a rack by the sink. Danny just watched the man move about the kitchen, enjoying the view. Red ducked out of the apron and folded it up until it was as small of a bundle as it could go and stuffed it in a side pocket on his utility belt. Well, huh. So he just carried that around with him then. Fascinating.

He turned back to Danny and pointed a stern finger in his direction. “I don’t wanna see you anywhere but that couch until you’re fully healed.”

Danny rolled his eyes and nodded. He’d be fine. Red Hood wouldn’t see him anywhere but the couch, not once he went invisible.

Red pulled his gloves on, Danny watching with rapt attention. Maybe a little too much attention when he pulled his jacket back on and his arms flexed with the movement. Hmm.

“You need help back to the couch, glow-stick?”

Danny felt himself flush, face probably turning green under the mask as he scrambled out of the chair and stumbled back to the couch, shaking his head along the way. He plopped down onto the cushions and melted a little into the blood-stained fabric with a bit of intangibility.

Red Hood huffed and shook his head, making his way toward the window and throwing a leg out and straddling the sill.

“Rest up and I’ll see you in the morning, Fetcher,” he called, giving Danny a wave.

Danny gave a wave back, a little sad that this would be the last time he saw Red Hood. He’d be gone in an hour or two, ready to haunt one of the smaller cemeteries of Gotham into perpetuity. For now, however, he’d take another nap and rest like a human just one last time.

#naps fics #dp x dc #Our Empty Graves #dpxdc

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thefirstknife · 2 years

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okay so like. i know i'm missing so much lore and there are a lot of Witch Queen quests (outside of the main campaign) that i have yet to complete but... why.. exactly? did Savathûn try to save the Traveler during the Collapse? was she already trying to rid herself of her worm way back then + before? i have so many questions about Savathûn/Nezarec but i have so many gaps in my knowledge of lore and i have NO IDEA where to start in-game to find out? (like where was it explicitly stated Nezarec was a Disciple/subsequent traitor, how long ago did everyone but me apparently LEARN this, etc.?? i want to know so badly about all this but really don't know where to start)

That's okay! A lot of this stuff can be confusing, especially with a lot of new information coming out quickly. I definitely recommend completing the campaign! It has a lot of interesting insights into Savathun. The best place to start is usually the campaign and then seasonal stories, though a lot about this is also pulling from old lore and various hints so it can sometimes be hard to gather and follow.

In the cutscene where Savathun dies in front of the Traveler, Savathun calls it "old friend" and says that she "chased you for a long time. First as an enemy, then as a collector, and finally, now... a supplicant."

We don't know exactly when she decided to switch her opinion on the Traveler (she's led an incredibly long life), but we do know that at some point, even back during Books of Sorrow days, she became suspicious of how the Hive got into a pact with the Worm gods. She even went so far to graffiti the Books of Sorrow and say that they're full of lies.

Rest under read more (it's long :( ):

In Season of Arrivals, we got first explicit proof that Savathun is acting against the Darkness and isn't aligned with them anymore. She was actively disrupting the Darkness from attempting to talk to us and she was branded as a heretic by both the Darkness and the rest of the Hive. From Immolant:

Osiris sneers and grasps the head. He navigates the recounting of the Hive from Oryx's death. They are fractured, broken by internal power struggles. It leads into a recounting of Savathûn: banished, branded as heretic and set to burn. Many Hive turned to her when Oryx fell. Many of those same broodlines defected as the Darkness invaded Sol, sending Savathûn into hiding. She is still hunted by the hounds of war.

She also accepted Nokris, her nephew, despite him being also branded as heretic. It became clear that Savathun has a bone to pick with the Darkness and is no longer interested in following that path. We now know that Savathun's change started earlier, but this was the most direct proof to us at the time.

Her defection from the Darkness culminated in Season of the Hunt when she decided to pose as Osiris and live with us. She had a very specific plan she put in place; she had to infiltrate the City, study the Light more closely, study the Traveler and Ghosts and make sure that we will help her get rid of her worm.

The problem with the worm is that the immortality given by the worm comes with a condition; she has to obey her nature forever and she must never stop relying on a tithe system to feed the worm. She is immortal, but essentially bound to another entity forever, without a way to freely choose any other path in life and having to constantly abide by the rules of the Witness and hunger of the worm. By following the Darkness and participating in many collapses, she was able to see what the Traveler does; it's paracausal, it offers great power and possibly even immortality. She probably suspected that she would be able to use the Light as a substitute for her worm.

Until the Traveler made Ghosts, that wasn't a viable solution, but also if she allowed the Witness to finally put an end to the Traveler, she would never have been able to test this theory.

So she chose to help save it in the Collapse. She must've known that the Traveler did not have many other attempts to survive more attacks from the Witness, as it has been fleeing around the universe for billions of years. So she chose to make her stand, help it survive and keep it in one place for study.

This would explain her monologue to the Traveler. She called it "old friend" because the Traveler used to hang around the Fundament and she and her siblings were told to chose the Sky and that the Traveler will come for them. I bet that Savathun was curious what would've happened if they listened.

She chased it around first as an enemy (as a follower of Darkness destroying other worlds), then as a collector (during her questioning phase when she probably started doubting the Darkness philosophy and wanted to test a different path) and then as a supplicant (as someone who wanted the Traveler to give her a different way to be immortal and free her from being bound to the worm).

It's interesting that Savathun changed her stance on the Darkness while still being bound to follow it. She was still effectively under the Darkness' philosophy but she began doubting it and looking for other options. Traveler was one of them and if anything, she wanted to keep it alive so she can investigate it further.

The one who alerted us to Savathun having information about the Collapse was Mara. It's sort of implied that Mara learned of this while Savathun was in her custody during Season of the Lost (and possibly also from the Witness, who is constantly trying to sway Mara to its side). Mara tells us this in Of Queens and Worms quest. The worm makes a very stingy and vague explanation of what happened.

That's all we know so far. It's likely we will learn more in the future, as there are still a lot of questions about the whole situation.

In regards to Nezarec, this is slightly more complicated because Nezarec was literally only mentioned in 2 lore tabs for almost 5 years. We first learned of him from the Warlock exotic Nezarec's Sin. It came out in vanilla D2 and that was it until Forsaken when Drifter mentioned the "Fourth Tomb of Nezarec." That was ALL we had until Season of the Haunted (season before this one).

In Haunted, we got a glaive called Nezarec's Whisper. The flavour text on it:

"Rise, Disciple, and bear this gift with pride." —Rhulk, Disciple of the Witness

This is as clear as it can get: Nezarec became a disciple and Rhulk gave him a glaive as a sort of initiation. Eris found the glaive in the Lunar Pyramid, therefore, the conclusion was that the Lunar Pyramid was Nezarec's and his glaive was abandoned there when he died. Furthermore, at the end of Haunted, the final area where we fought Calus is called "Chantry of the Darkest Hour." Nezarec's Sin calls Nezarec "the darkest hour."

That was it until the current season. It was revealed that the relics we're looking for right now are pieces of Nezarec. He was found buried in the Lunar Pyramid by Eliksni and they cut him into pieces and used them to gain power and authority over others. Full conversation between Mithrax, Eido and Eramis + the Nezarec reveal cutscene here.

Eramis directly explains that Nezarec was a disciple of the Lunar Pyramid, confirming our initial suspicions. The current season further explains some other details, including Drifter saying that he's known about Nezarec and the relics before as noted in the lore page I linked above, when he mentioned the Fourth Tomb of Nezarec.

This is important because the Fourth Tomb of Nezarec showed us that he has multiple tombs, probably related to the relics. Wherever a relic is buried or held, it's considered a tomb. The current season's exotic weapon is called Delicate Tomb. There's no indication who is speaking in its lore tab, but we speculated that it might've been Nezarec.

And it's true! It is Nezarec. Some extra details about the weapon from its concept art, showing us the Pyramid tech inside of it.

This is important because the exotic perk on this weapon is called "Traitor's Vessel."

The traitor in question would be Nezarec. This is also hinted in Nezarec's Sin. After all, it's called Nezarec's Sin. What is his sin?

And his sin—so wicked, so divine—is that he will never cower when dusk does fall, but stand vigilant as old stars die and new Light blinks its first upon this fêted eternity.

Up to interpretation. This whole lore tab can be read in multiple ways, but paired with Traitor's Vessel, it seems to be implying that Nezarec betrayed the Witness in some way. How and why, currently unknown. My speculation right now is that he participated in Savathun's deception of the Witness during the Collapse and/or Savathun deliberately set Nezarec up to take the blame for the failure in the Collapse.

It's very vague so until we hear him or someone else say it directly, we won't know beyond speculation.

All of this stuff about Nezarec and him being a disciple and possible traitor is very new. Only speculated for the first time in Season of the Haunted and confirmed in Plunder. Original Nezarec mentions (helmet and Drifter's lore) were not even considered anything other than curiosities until the glaive from Haunted. But in retrospect, we can tell that they're important, especially the helmet since it features a text about Nezarec (although frustratingly vague).

#destiny 2 #savathun #nezarec #lore vibing #long post #ask #i'm hoping we'll get to go see nezarec's tomb in the pyramid at some point #let me in there #also hoping for savathun to get rezed again soon so she can talk to us

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lost-kingsmen · 5 months

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A Cold Night in Gotham

Ao3

It hadn't been difficult to find the site of the summoning. If the eerie clouds hanging in the sky hadn't been clue enough, the frost painting fractals across the concrete and floating in the water in the height of summer were a dead giveaway.

The knight touched down on the ice where it thickened at the threshold of the shipping container, and knocked on a piece of door that had been blown outward into a twisted metal shred twice before simply phasing through the wall of blue ice that blocked off the container’s interior. He didn’t spare more than a glance for the frozen chunks of ice entombing the unfortunate men who had been left on guard.

It was probably a mercy, compared to what the local vigilante would have inflicted on them.

As soon as Gawain’s suit cleared the icy barrier, the flame atop his helmet flared and split off into three pieces. Griflet, Chopper and Branwen crawled down his shoulders and arms in their more corporeal forms. Gawain crossed his arms over his chest and leveled the hulking skeletal entity seated across the room with a stern glare.

“Again?” He asked rhetorically. All activity within the container abruptly ceased as fifteen pairs of eyes snapped to the newcomer, wary and frightened in equal measure but for one. The entity did not falter under the knight’s glare, and made no move to rise from where he sat on the ground. When the stranger in gleaming armor was not treated as a threat, the group of near-trafficked children slowly began to relax, and one of them even threw a snowball at another.

Griflet, Branwen, and Chopper all dropped to the icy floor below and scampered across the ice, using their little claws as crampons, and falling over one another in pursuit of the snowball, and the rest of the tension seemed to break. A few of the children laughed, and they resumed playing among the drifts of snow and ice. The skeletal entity leaned their elbows over their knees andmade a sound like a sigh.

"Yes, again." He growled out. A child slid between them, laughing as they were chased by another, seemingly unbothered by the icy coldness of the room. "Look, I feel a summons, I answer a summons. It's not my fault this city has a trafficking problem."

"It is your fault so many children apparently know how to summon you." Gawain argued. Another child ran by, pulling two more on a makeshift sled with Branwen’s help. "This is the third time this month you've been summoned to Gotham, specifically. Gotham. Eventually you're going to get the attention of the locals. Goodness knows how you haven't already."

"Melkein toivon, etten olisi soittanut sinulle..." Red lights rolled around dark, cracked eye sockets in a dismissive gesture. "Are you gonna get me home or just stand there and lecture me?"

“Who says I can’t do both?” Gawain stepped to one side to avoid a child sliding across the floor, laughing as Griflet rolled a sizable snowball after him. “Your husband will make me a double ghost if I don’t get you home, not to mention your father…” He moved toward the center of the container, where the ice seemed to radiate outward from a circle of frozen spikes.

In the center of the circle was a rough summoning graph, drawn in black marker against the steel floor and sealed beneath a clear layer of ice. Four stolen cigarettes stuck upright in chewed gum stood in for the candles, and a red ribbon from somebody’s hair was placed in between them. In the middle, on top of the ribbon, lay a single, battered trading card with bent corners. Gawain knelt down and picked up the trading card, careful not to catch it on the seams of his hand.

“The cigarettes are a creative substitute.” He said quietly. The entity shrugged.

“They used what they had available.” He said back just as quietly. Gawain floated back toward the entity, and held out the card. The entity took it in one heavy, gloved hand, and passed it on to a young girl with a gaunt face and bloodshot eyes. She took it and pressed it to her chest, sniffling, and buried her face against the entity’s shoulder. A red shape moved behind her, and a canine-like blob rested its head on her own.

“I expected more of your polter-pack to be around, Ivan.” Gawain commented, a smile on the edge of his voice. The girl made a watery laughing sound, and the entity - Ivan, just like the name on the trading card - swiveled his skull to glare at the knight.

“They’re keeping the perimeter clear, at least until the local heroes show up…and don’t call them that.” He growled. “We’re not giving them some gimmicky name.”

“I think we are.” Gawain’s eyes turned up in a smile. The makeshift sled passed them by again, this time carrying three children as Branwen dragged it backwards in her teeth, her claws scrabbling at the ice in a frantic pace. “It’s been said out loud now. It’s not going away.” Ivan muttered something in Finnish that was probably impolite and slowly shifted his weight to begin standing up, giving the children leaning on him or near him time to move, themselves.

“I’ll corral the little ones.” He decided. “You make sure the coast is clear, and we’ll follow you out.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Gawain ignored the amused snort he got in response, and whistled a quick tune. His three little spirits came running back to him, and he phased them back through the icy wall without a word further.

#mun's writing #[[Lost Little Astronaut]] - Gawain #[[Three Ghost Lizards in a Trenchcoat]] - Reptilitones #[[God of the Frozen Heart(h]] - Callahan #((half-written at work so pls excuse any typos))

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loxare · 9 months

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Good omens 2 ep 1 thots under the cut!

CROWLEY LOOKS!!! SO HAPPY!!!!!! MAKING HIS NEBULA!!!!!!!!! I'm so sad he got the wind taken out of his sails. And I know exactly how much trouble he got in just for asking a few questions. Theory: God is omniscient, and as such knew Crowley needed to be a demon to save the Earth. It sucks, but it's growth for both him and Aziraphale, who needed to learn to duck around the rules, and growth tends to hurt. I'm just sad Crowley got hit that hard

Aziraphale only valid landlord???

Crowley ornithologist?????

Wait, why is the mail getting delivered to the Bentley rather than Crowley's apartment? What happened to his plants? Is he just never in his apartment so it's better to deliver to the car?

Record shop coffee shop ff slow burn

John Hamm's john & hamms are on display

This is unrelated to GO but I made wonton soup to eat while watching this and it is very good. Mmmm

Those poor tomatoes

Aziraphale's music interrupted by nudity and amnesia

Oh god heaven still hurts my eye holes. So shiny

No one tell naked amnesiac Gabriel about the existence of twins

Someone get him some pants. Aziraphale please get him some pants not just a blanket. What if he stands up?

Trailer ship bait line is a good line. Aziraphale thinks of Crowley and goes all soft

"The thing" is probably the box that was doing a lot of heavy lifting to keep this show PG, that was also dropped when the door opened and left in the street. Someone should probably go pick that up before someone else takes it

Ah. Good, it's still there

Oh her name is Shax. Neat! I love Crowley's hair swirlies. The ones on top. They're nice

Gabriel's Jim's terrible short term memory will absolutely be remembering Gabriel and not retaining anything else

The reaction to a bit of litter in heaven is killing me

So Crowley is one of those coffee drinkers. Also, if I were the record shop lady, I'd bake Aziraphale a thank you cake

Getting tired of writing out all the names, sk they're just A and C now

Oh no, the coffee shop lady is taken. Poor record shop lady

Blanket toga is not a substitute for clothes

I thought "ask him properly" would lead to some magic angel stuff, not asking more aggressively

ARGUMENTS. I feel like A is playing on the time last season when C left, saying he was going to go to another galaxy (Andromeda?) and then ended up regretting that. To clarify, I'm currently paused so I haven't heard C's response yet so this entire paragraph could become moot

I feel like C's going through some stuff that he hasn't told A about

Man drinks six shots of espresso, spontaneously combusts, gets struck by lightning

The relationship and circumstances around these two shop keepers is so fanfiction. If they don't get together, I hope they can spend the time trapped in this coffee shop bonding and becoming besties. Also, there should be a manual override for the security system. Not having one is stupid, because of things like this. What if they were trapped in the record shop instead, and there was no readily available food? An internal manual override is crucial

I like Micheal's sleeve cuffs

Ooo, disabled angel!

Muriel I hope you get some confidence. And also I want your skirt

Small bit of litter confuses and confounds angels

Oh, wonder why Beelzebub got recast. (Don't go out of your way to look it up I don't care enough to check myself and definitely not enough to inconvenience someone else)

So. The conflict here is that C could give up Jim, get a promotion and that's a problem taken off his hands, but A would be mad at him. Or, he could do not that and risk both him and A getting erased from existence entirely, which will uh, make it so the apocalypse last season did not get stopped. Oh boy

Oh this coffee shop lady does not care for records. At all

Crowley "my bad" actually made me die laughing so that was excellent and also my ghost is now typing this

Oh I do not care for the tone of Lindsay's texts. At all. Nina you deserve better. I do like the format of the texts coming up though. The paper and red pen makes it seem a lot more personal and angry and uh. Not good.

One of those said "remember what we said about mutual respect" and blowing up your partner's phone angrily because they're late isn't respect, which is necessary in the "mutual" bit of mutual respect. I would personally be concerned that something had happened. Maybe walk down and see if they're alright. Assume that their phone had died maybe, idk

A: glasses on. C: glasses off

"You were right" does not contain the word sorry and oh good, A knows that. Oh there's a dance? 👀

Why. Why do they do that. This is hilarious, but I feel like it makes it more difficult to apologize for things if there's a humiliating dance involved. Which also still doesn't contain the word sorry

Jim go back upstairs. Also, why does he still not have clothes?

See, in the trailer, Muriel didn't recognize Gabriel, and I thought that was just because they've never met. Interesting to see that, no, there's an active reason for that

Being persona non grata with heaven means A isn't allowed to do miracles anymore? Or just that the miracles he does are more heavily scrutinized?

Ah, the old "immediate proof that the last thing said was completely wrong" trope. Also, weird seeing heaven with a red filter

Ah. Bit of warning for people sensitive to flashing lights. I don't think this flashes fast enough, it's a hard cut between red filtered heaven and white heaven, with a second or two between each cut. But like. Go carefully. It only lasts for a bit and there aren't too many interesting visuals during it. Right after C says "no one will have noticed a thing", stops when Uriel asks for the alarm to stop

Oh A. Can't stay out of trouble to save his life

All in all, I liked it a lot! I'm looking forward to the hijinks A&C get into, I really want to know why C's mood is so foul rn when he was generally cheery at the end of last season, or as cheery as he gets, wondering about all the empty boxes. One empty box is fine, but two? Suspicious. Hoping Nina dumps Lindsay, has a nice long recovery period where she can enjoy being herself, and then gets together with record shop lady, whose name I will remember sometime probably. But I'm out of soup, out of tea, and out of excuses to not pull nails from my wall, so I'm gonna go do that now

#loxie liveblog #loxie watches go #good omens #good omens 2 #ok maybe another few seconds to enjoy the end theme

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