#Though I have no real memory of it nor could I say which state(s) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clouds-rambles · 3 years

Note

hello!~ o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

can i request headcanons for kaeya, diluc, childe, and venti on what they would while their s/o dies in their arms? (if thats okay with u <3)

thank u sm! :))

BESTIE THE PAIN I FEEL RN!!! Omw to make hurt some of my faves hope you enjoy <3

Also guys I’ve been here for a day how are there almost 50 of you following?!

Pairings; (Separate) Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Venti x reader

Warning(s); hurt, big hurty, reader death, vague wound description, cursing, talk about dead bodies

Keep reading under the cut!

Kaeya

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were meant to live forever with him. You were supposed to grow old with him and become a parent to your future children. You were-

“Kaeya” you choke out smiling at your partner above you. The man shakes his head mentally pleading with you to not die “Kaeya I will always be on the wind” you tell him, a shaky, bloody hand raised to his cheek to weekly caress it

“Please” he pleads “Please don’t die on me [name]” you smile at him feeling the breaths in your lungs disappear

“I’m sorry Kae--ya” you apologise before passing away in his arms

He doesn’t move for a long time. He doesn’t feel for a long time. The one person he could share his secrets and his love to gone. Away with the wind

Kaeya doesn’t remember the last time he cried, but he’ll remember this one.

Your beaten, bruised, broken, dead, and beautiful body slumped in his arms as his tears fall from his face as he feels an absence in his heart

How is he supposed to live on if this is the pain he feels right now?

Jean eventually stumbles upon Kaeya out in the wilds, still clutched to your now cold and even more lifeless body

Jean manages to get the man up with your body held close to his chest

“Jean, I can’t, I can’t let them go” he pleads as if he’s waiting for you to simply wake up in his arms

“Kaeya...” Jean says in a concerned tone having never seen him in such a state, even he seemed to quickly recover from his fathers death

Eventually Jean coaxed Kaeya to go back to the city and leave your body in the hands of the sisters. Where they dressed you up and prepared a funeral service for you

The funeral was larger than Kaeya was expecting, you had affected a many more people than he realised from your small jobs around the city. Kaeya can’t help but be awed at how many people you’ve helped while you were in Mond

The usual chatter of Mondstat is quiet and in a time of grieving for about a week or so, many people have wonderful memories of you and Kaeya seems to be collecting them all, that and bunches of flowers. Many of which find themselves laying on your tombstone as Kaeya tells you about his day

A month passes and it seems like everything's back to normal, Kaeya is back to his outgoing self. He spends more nights at the tavern, but even Diluc doesn’t have the heart to cut him off.

Jean seems to pick up on the smallest things, goddamnit Jean, the extra nights at the tavern, the eyebags, the weeping she can hear from his room. In it’s own right is heart-breaking, the acting Grandmaster cannot imagine what it’s like to be actually experiencing that kind of pain

Diluc

No, not like this

You had both decided that night to join each other in your little vigilante escapade. Which was fine you had both done this before, but tonight resulted in something very different

Here you are, head on Dilucs lap. This could be considered romantic, and often was, were it not for the fact you felt like you choked up a mixture of your lung and your bloody supply

“Diluc” you speak with a much worse for wear voice, the red-head looks into your eyes, eyes already gaining moisture. A similar scene has befallen him before, a Diluc knows how this ends

“Please” he pleads his voice wavering “Please don’t leave me” he chokes back a sob and tears fall off his face the salt hitting your own

“I love you so much” you start, Diluc shakes his head. Must you hurt him so with last words? “Don’t blame yourse-” another set of hacking befalls you as you lose more blood

“Please” he pleads again as the grip you had on his arm goes slack indicating your loss of life

Diluc screams, he cries and he hugs you close. He screams into the air of Mondstat until his voice hurts and he cries until all he’s doing is dry sobbing and he holds you close until you’re broken body is pried from his own broken mind

A wondering Jean heard his screams into the night sky and hereby answered them. She never expected to see Diluc, still in his vigilante getup, crying over your body

She calls for more guards who take your body from his and Jean helps Diluc get back to the estate. At one point during the walk Jean can feel DIluc shaking and hyperventilating. So they stand for a moment, Jean holds and comforts the wine-master before they move again

Jean has never seen such emotion from Diluc before, and she wholeheartedly hopes she’ll never have to see it again. Seeing Diluc so raw and rife with emotion is enough to make anyone cry. And Jean nearly did on more than one occasion.

Your funeral is small, much to Dilucs request and really only were attended by the estate and Jean. Diluc didn’t want to cry again in such a large audience

Though the maids often hear pained sobs coming from Dilucs room as he contemplates and often blames himself for what had transpired. Maids daren’t speak up about what they hear though, Diluc’s pain is more than understandable

Diluc throws himself into work opting to man the bar most days of the week and fighting for the city as often as he can. People around him are more than concerned

Diluc’s stoic nature seems to be intensified now, not wanting to let another person in and die in his arms. He’s seen enough death for his life and wishes not to lose more loved ones

Everything seems to have moved back to what life was before you arrived in your life, depressive, monotonous, boring, mundane for the most part and sad. So very sad

He wishes for a day where his heart isn’t strife with grief, but he doubts that day will not be coming anytime soon

Childe

You grin up at him, feeling close to naught pain coming from the gaping wound thanks to the excess of adrenaline that’s pumping through your body

“Childe” you say the smile still on your lips in an attempt at not making the situation as dark and horrific as it is. Childe speaks your name in return

“I love you” you tell him mustering the strength to cup the mans cheek, who immediately nuzzles into it. The situation almost doesn’t feel real to him. He’s going to be shaken awake by a very unwounded you in just a moment and inform him he’s having a nightmare

But that moment doesn’t come. Nor do any words come from you. Your slow rhythms of your heart remind you that he’s still got time, but you’ve expended all your energy. Your smile you’re wearing seems to be dropping

“I love you [name], I love you so much, you are everything I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you” he rambles bringing your body to his chest

“Live for--- me” you sputter out into his chest, a dying wish that Childe isn’t too sure he can uphold. Is it really living if he’s an empty vessel.

You go limp in his arms and he can no longer sense your heartbeat. Death had finally laid claim to you

Childe sits with you for hours, you’d expect him to be wailing like a banshee if you knew his personality but that’s rather not the case. Sobbing quietly is a better word for what happens. Most of his sobs and hacks for air are hidden in your hair. He pulled your body to his shoulder just to weep

Eventually he finds himself mustering the courage to walk back to Liyue Harbour. You firmly held in his arms. He knows that if he walks too plainly the Millelith would pry and ask too many questions for his fragile heart to answer

Childe ends up barging into the wangsheng funeral parlour, which surprises Zhongli a little. He’s about to go on a rant to Childe about how he must book an appointment, until he sees your lifeless body in his arms

The funeral is arranged quickly and neatly. There aren’t many people who attend, Childe is okay with that, he secretly wants to see his family and cry on their shoulder a bit

Instead he opts for a letter, which arrives to the family tear stained and lacking the usual penmanship ‘I’m sorry, you won’t be able to see [name] after all. They passed away not too long ago...’ he basically writes your arbitrary in the letter. And his whole heart is in every word he writes

Determined not to let anybody in Childe finds himself in a pattern, when he’s not throwing himself into battles he’s doing paper work or yelling at his subordinates and when he’s not doing that he’s doing his weekly fight with the traveller. Childe gets next to no sleep and instead opts to reading and rereading every letter and note you’ve ever given him

If Childe passes out at his desk nobody bothers him either in fear of getting yelled at by the harbinger or an understanding of losing a loved one

They never said being a harbinger was fulfilling work. Yet, he let himself believe that he could be fulfilled and content with a lover. What a shameful lie

Venti

He’s awfully quiet. He hasn’t experienced death in so long. Especially one he thought would be forever.

He couldn’t even get to you to hear your last words. Ironic isn’t it? He hadn’t heard that guys last words either. And yet this pains him so much more

Sure mortal lives are fleeting but he was certain he had more time with you. More time to see you grow old, more time to put off your inevitable mortality. More time to-

He’s hyperventilating, Venti’s body shakes as he finds nothing to ground himself not even the person he loves so dear is there for him. He feels like he could explode, breaths caught in his throat refusing to surface and come up for air. Despite being an immortal archon, the breaths that refuse to surface don’t fail to make him feel like he’s choking

A bard he is. And one that knows every song from the past, present and future. Suddenly the pained songs from the future make sense to him. He knew what was written. A love lost

Suddenly he finds himself crying and hunched over your deceased form making promises to the wind that he’ll never forget you. Much like he’ll ever forget that bard

He isn’t sure how long has passed but he’s still sobbing over your form, there aren’t many tears left for him to cry but he can’t find himself stopping. He feels like they’ll never stop.

Maybe he could lay beside you and sleep for another thousand years. But that would only delay the inevitable. The inevitable sinking feeling.

Maybe it was his fault for letting himself fall in love with a mortal, but in the moment he could truly see you living life with him. He could see a marriage, children. He wanted you to have it all.

Damn celestia and all things above for not letting you ascend, at least when he inevitably ascends you’ll be there to greet him. Curse that and your mortality

Jean eventually stumbles upon him during a recon mission to find him covering your body in various flowers, a crown made of cecelias don your head. He’s quiet, but he’s saying goodbye. Who would blame him? Jean doesn’t interrupt him and only wishes you a farewell

News of your death spread around town like wildfire, your grave donned with more flowers than Venti can count. He almost feels bad about not doing a public service after seeing how many people are truly in mourning

Diluc doesn’t push Venti to pay his growing tab no matter how much he should. And Diluc doesn’t say no to Venti singing his happy tunes in the tavern

It feels like his life has retuned to normal. Though Jean can’t help but look out the library window to see Venti sat atop his statue with an expression, as Jean can only guess, of sadness.

Venti finds himself going back to an old schedule again but he can’t miss the nagging feeling of somethings missing. The something being you

Sometimes he half expects you to hug him from behind, or join him up at the statue, or kiss him on his nose, or-

Venti can’t quite comprehend how he feels, he just knows there’s a hole in his heart where you belonged. And he doesn’t want to let anyone find their way into there

He doesn’t want to lose again

It’s happened too much

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lupically · 3 years

Text

#F40B32 | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

genre | light fluff, light angst, very faint romance undertone

word count | 2616

warning | mention of death, mention of injury, mention of killing, decapitation

note | i just wanted to try my hand at writing for a villain that is obviously irredeemable in a semi-realistic way.

what happens when you are irredeemable? you will fall in love anyway.

but ryomen sukuna wasn't in love with you. after all, he had killed you one too few times to claim that he was in love with you.

the first time he killed you was out of instinct. you were an intruder touching his soul the way mahito did, except you barged in without any malicious intention. he had gazed over your fallen body with mild interest then; a mere mortal, yet you emerged from thin air into his locked tight domain without dying?

the second time he killed you was a choice. he gave you not a minute to explain yourself, even though you had wasted the minute asking questions about his identity and the skull-filled area instead of giving him any valuable information about yourself. he had been fed up, he was never a man of patience, so he killed you with a wave of his hand and returned to his dull life alone on his throne.

the third time he killed you—he did not kill you. there was no third time; people liked to say the third time's charm but sukuna believed no such superstition. he killed you twice already and each time, you came back unscathed, both your body and your memories. whether he liked it or not, killing you for the third time would do neither you nor him any benefit, so he kept you alive.

you were afraid of him. he could tell, and he meant for things to be that way until he realized it served as a misfortune on his part. in order to understand this mystery—your sudden appearance into his domain, as well as your inability to leave it and his inability to kick you out—he has to gain some piece of information about you, but you were too shaken up from being murdered to talk to him at all.

sukuna's patience was reaching a breaking point and he thought about torturing it out of you, but he understood that humans are fragile, way more fragile than your typical jujutsu sorcerer. he could accidentally kill you and you would return with no scars and more unwilling to converse with him than before. then it was the waiting game all over again.

he wasn't planning on going through such a dull ordeal again, so he left you be and waited for you to calm yourself down.

the first time you talked to him, you asked him a question.

"are you going to kill me?" you asked him.

sukuna peered down at you from his throne. small, frightened, curled into a ball with no desire to touch the skeletons at his feet, but you looked up at him out of politeness.

he scoffed, displeased. "no, but i always can."

the second time you talked to him, it was to exchange a brief introduction.

"ryomen sukuna," he hummed curtly then he nudged his chin toward you. "your turn."

you shuffled up to your knees and sat down on your heels. your fingers fidgetted at your lap as you timidly peered up at his tattooed, disinterested expression.

"[full name]," you said with a nod, unable to meet his eyes. "nice–nice to meet you, sukuna-san..."

the third time you talked to him, you flinched.

"ma–may i ask you two questions... if i can...?" you asked, for the first time standing up to face him directly.

sukuna leaned away from his propped-up arm. after taking a better look at you, accessing your figure analytically despite having seen you move around slowly for days already, he shoved his hands into the sleeves of his robe and he suddenly jumped down from his throne to stand before you.

you pursed your lips nervously over his looming figure, face heating up with terrible anxiety while your eyes darted down to the watery ground. oh, his presence has been so overwhelmingly deadly that you forgot your white tennis shoes were stained red and your pastel ankle socks remained wet. you did not dare to complain, not even in your head.

"i'll allow it," he said.

"where am i?" you quickly asked.

"an innate domain," he replied.

you have questions, but you decided not to ask. you only nodded after breathing out a soft sigh to calm your nerves. this man constantly sounded condescending, he was kicking open your comfort zone without actively doing anything that would make you uncomfortable.

"okay..." you said, "thank you."

"aren't you going to ask me another question?" he stated with a raise of his brow. "you wanted to ask me two questions."

you gulped, blinking hopelessly at the air as a grimace appeared on your face. "the first question was if i can ask you two questions, and the second one is about where i am... so that makes two."

oh, a meticulously cautious one, and somewhat humorous too he would give you that. sukuna scoffed loudly, but it was less out of annoyance and more out of disbelief of your incredible dullness. however, as plain as you were, he has grown accustomed to your presence; the scent of fear that bounced off of you and the fact that he cannot kill you at will.

"you must be dying to know what this place is, are you not, you brat?" sukuna asked.

when he saw the flashes in your eyes, he knew he had you down through and through. all you were was but someone who was too afraid to say what they want, which was just as he expected from you. you wouldn't cause him trouble, you never could.

reaching his hand out of his sleeve, he stayed silent despite seeing the way you flinched with your eyes shut at his raised hand. his movement had been slow, but that was an involuntary response, an instinct that he didn't craft into you. he wondered what it was.

"you can ask me three more questions," he said as he pushed the heel of his palm against the curve of your head. he was gentle at first, then he clamped his hand down on your head as he bent his waist to meet your eyes. he laughed. "i'll allow it."

he could keep you here. he has no choice but to keep you here, and he would kill you once he realized he has the ability to. but for now, perhaps he could act a little civil, something like a human being but one that people would hate to the core.

except he was met with a little obstacle in the way, which was that you were no bad company.

the first time sukuna gained a liking toward you was when you asked him a peculiar question.

"sukuna-san," you called one time when there was only silence within the innate domain.

you sat on a bed of skulls, one that you tentatively asked the king of curses to make you so you wouldn't have to lean on the rib-cage structure and sit in water for slumber.

he denied it at first. calling you names and threatening you about ever requesting something from him—a bed in his domain? fucking atrocious. but your insomnia was killing you; you hated the blood water and your neck burned whenever you wake up having it arched at the worst angle possible.

he did not grow soft. he just made one so he didn't have to watch you sleep in his peripheral vision.

"hmm."

"why do you think curses exist?"

he raised a brow at you. "did i not teach you that before?"

"you did, sorry," you nodded, "then do you believe in god?"

"where the fuck is this coming from, you brat?"

"from where i came, god is good. but from what i am seeing, whether from where i came from or here, everything goes against that value," you muttered loudly as you pulled at your fingers. "cursed spirits harm people. if i can argue that way, i think cursed spirits are harmful within themselves."

"if god is good, and god is real, why would this happen," you said. "why should we feel negative emotions? why do we have the ability to create cursed spirits? why do curses like you exist?"

he furrowed his brows in irritation. have you reduced him to mere curses? have you reduced him to nothing but a brainless being that only takes joy in the suffering of others? no matter how he approached your words, he felt infuriated that you could minimize his importance to simply being a bad person.

he was much more than a bad person, much more than just a pain! he has ideals, he has goals and ambitions, he has wit and strength! he has anger and malevolence and power beyond which your soul could ever contain and endure! he was ryomen sukuna, the strongest curse in a thousand years and more!

he will fucking kill you.

"i'm really glad you're here, though," you finished off softly, an unknowing smile on your face as you rubbed your thumbs weakly together.

he will kill you.

"for a long time, i was told my anger and hatred aren't real. that they don't and should not exist, and i learned to bury them to the ground so they never appear on the surface again," you said, your innocent smile audible to his ears and making his chest twitch with guilt.

"cursed spirits' existence is proof that my negative emotions are real. they may be a problem, but i am not crazy for having them because they're here. they became something, they're here and alive."

he will... he will kill you.

"i just think it's unfair to put the blame on cursed spirits and cursed energy alone when the society's standard guarantees the manifestation of them," you said. "if my anger got out to the world in the form of a monster and it hurt someone, i'll forgive it. i will forgive myself."

he...

"you don't need to hear this, i wish i had your confidence, but i have to say it," you looked up and smiled at him, "i'm a little glad you're here, sukuna-san."

he will kill–he will ki–

the second time, he went stoic.

mahito was too smart for his own good. the first thing he noticed when he entered the soul within yuji's body was the way sukuna has the collar of your shirt clutched in his hand and your body pulled close to his side. it was a glance, he had one small glimpse of you both before he was kicked out of the domain.

your face was riddled with tears—crying, disappointed, and frustrated, but why? for the transfigured human whose name mahito almost forgot, or because sukuna just had one of the most sadistic outbursts you have ever witnessed.

and sukuna, the king, the lord, the almighty—didn't he look annoyed. well, not annoyed, per se. angry, mad, overwhelmed, knowing, protective. very, very, very protective; glowing eyes that glared at mahito's patched up face, fingers that gripped at your shirt so tightly he could rip the fabric apart, an aura that was ready to spit any moment if mahito so much as reach a finger toward your direction.

you meant something to ryomen sukuna. mahito realized that, so the second time he entered the innate domain, he killed you.

right before his eyes, with a cunning and triumphant smile, your neck cracked and your skin broke, and mahito tore your head off just before he was once again beat out of the domain.

sukuna tried to heal you. he tried to seal your head back to your lifeless body, time and time again pushing your decapitated head against your haphazardly cut neck. but his reverse curse technique wasn't healing you. your skin refused to piece itself back together, you refused to come back to him. time passed and he was getting mad, he was going batshit crazy trying to force himself out of this body.

bastard! bastard! bastard! he was supposed to kill you! he was supposed to be the one to kill you! he would murder that patch-faced piece of shit! he would kill mahito! and he would destroy the whole world, light it on fire and kill all that wasn't worthy of his time! he would jump universes, light-years, the bloodstream of the galaxy to find you and bring you back to him. he would—

"sukuna-san, i'm sorry i took a while! i thought you were fighting–holy shit, is that me?"

the third time, sukuna admitted to himself.

"what kind of flowers do you like, sukuna-san?" you asked, voice drowsy and your legs dangling after you climbed on one of the bones of the rib-cage structure.

"why does it matter?" he asked from his throne, eyeing you carefully.

your were a clumsy idiot. you could fall anytime.

"it doesn't, but it's flowers," you mumbled with your chin leaning against the bone, eyes threatening to close. "sukuna... sukuna..."

"what?" he snapped.

"i like lilies, the red ones," you said with a silly grin. "will you visit me when i die? sukuna... will you bring... mmm... bring red lilies..."

he looked ahead. your death; your grave, decorated with red lilies, protected and preserved with his curses. your death—he gritted his teeth. he refused to think about it. it was a waste of time.

or maybe he simply hated the idea of your death.

sukuna has not gone soft. he was irredeemable; a killer, a curse, a tragedy to descend upon mankind. he was not good and he never would be, nor did he ever have the intention to be good.

still, from you, there was proof that he could be more. what was left of his being; his anger and his torture, what was left within the gaps of his hell, the rare softness that once was there, belonged to you now.

you were the vessel that pocketed all that he could potentially become if he wasn't born to be ryomen sukuna, a version of him that you have witnessed. within you, there was proof that he did not only exist to hurt people, but also to validate madness and pain, to acknowledge passion in its murderous wakefulness. within you, there was proof that within himself, there are pieces of what it means to be human and alive.

hearing your soft breath, sukuna looked up to find you asleep with your head against the bone. your arms barely supported your weight and you were threatening to fall off as you dozed with faint snores. he stared at you, his fingers twitching, then he finally waved his hand so he could bring you away from the ribcage and to where he sat.

he paid no mind to subtlety when he set you on his lap. his hand supported your back while he kept your head pressed against his shoulder. his other arm went around your body, preventing you from falling off the throne made only for him to sit on. when he was done adjusting to the new sitting position, he relaxed.

brushing the hair away from your face, he stared down at you with disinterest, but his heart pumped and pumped for you to be warm and well, his arms tightened for you to sleep soundly.

"i will bring you all the red lilies you want," he whispered, the back of his finger gliding past your soft cheek. you did not smell like fear when you fall asleep, you did not smell like fear now even when you looked at him. "i will allow myself that."

after all, ryomen sukuna was only fond of you. very, very fond of you.

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buckystevelove · 3 years

Text

My Brightest Star

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2708

Warning: ANGST and fluff

A/N: This is my longest work. Please leave comments. Ask, submissions and requests are open.

A week, that’s how long has passed since Bucky’s world felt apart. He should have known, his whole life has been full of tragedy, one after the other. He had 7 years of happiness and peace, he will have to come to terms with the fact that maybe those years would be the only ones in his long and sad life that he would known what real and complete happiness really is.

He met you 7 years ago in a coffee shop, you accidentally tripped and spilled all your coffee in him. You apologized over and over again, Bucky couldn’t care less about the hot drink splatted all over his body, he was so enthralled over the beautiful woman standing in front of him, for years he thought that he would never get love, but you managed to prove him wrong. He claims that it was love at first sight, he simply knew that you were his soul mate.

After the incident, you bought his coffee as a symbol of forgiveness, though he really didn’t care. You exchanged names and phone numbers. Just a few hours later you received a massage from Bucky, inviting you to go for dinner the next day. Soon, one date turn to seeing each other every time you could. You felt for him, and hard. Eventually you met all of his friends, you became a great friend with Wanda and Nat. They would invite you to all the girl nights they had. You got along with Sam, always joking around and making pranks, same with Tony. You also became best friend with Steve, you had a strong relationship with him besides yours with Bucky. You too were like siblings, he always claimed that you were his little sister, and warned Bucky never harm you, or he would have to face the consequences.

Nobody was surprise nor bother when you moved to the compound with Bucky. Everyone was super exited to have you closer, that made Bucky a bit jealous.

You and Bucky were attached to the hip. One year into your relationship, he knew that he was going to marry you, you were going to be the mother of his children. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You were the one, so he asked you to marry him.

It was so beautiful, he took you on a trip to the museum, your favorite place to spend the time. When you were in the sculptures room the kneeled and said; “YN, since the moment I saw you I knew that you were the one, I knew that I was going to marry you, and all you have done is prove me right. You are the love of my life, my partner, my best friend I can no longer imagine a future in which you are not in it, because YOU are my FUTURE. You have been the light at the end of the tunnel, you have brought me happiness, love I thought I no longer deserved after all the awful things I had done, you helped name realized who the real James Buchanan Barnes is, and who I want him to be. I want to be your husband because I love you so much. You are my entire world YN. So, would you marry me?”

At the end of his speech both of you had tears in your checks, you throw yourself over him and said yes over and over again, you were beaming.

6 months after that, many hours of planning and cake tasting, you and Bucky had the most beautiful fall wedding. It was perfect. Your family and the team was there, everyone was so happy for the two of you.

When the time to say the vowels came you couldn’t be more thrilled, you have been writing them for so long.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are the love of my life. You have been the one who has taught me what love really is, what it is like to love someone with every single atom in my body. You have taught me what is like to be completely and uoughterly happy, that is how I feel when ever I am with you. James, when we met you told me that you only saw yourself as a monster, as the vilan of many people’s lives, but baby, you are my knight in shining armor, you are absolutely everything to me. You are the brightest star in my universe, the one and only. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to tell you and show you how much I love you every day, I want you to feel how much I love you even after we are death. I want to keep loving you and choosing you a hundred of lives after this. Because Bucky, MY LOVE FOR YOU WILL NEVER END.”

At the end both of you were crying, among many other of your guests.

Your honeymoon was perfect. Tony paid the two of you a 3 weeks trip around Europe. Nine months later, you had your gorgeous daughter, Rebecca. She looked exactly like you, but her eyes, she had the most beautiful blue eyes just like her father. The three of you were the definition of a perfect family, you and Bucky did ocationaly fight like all healthy couples do, but your life was great. Your house was so full of love and happiness.

Bucky was so thankful to you, you had given him all he could ever dreamed for in life and more.

The three of you spent all the time you could together, you went to the park and had movie nights, went of family trips and spent lazy Sunday mornings in bed together. You wanted Becca to feel and understand what a loving home was, since you didn’t had one. You wanted her to feel the love you and Bucky had for her.

“Becca, Bucky, you two know you are the most important people in my life right. I love the two of you so so much. You are the ones that make me happy. You are my greatest treasures.” You said to your husband and 5 year old daughter one afternoon, while cuddling in the couch together.

“I love you too mommy, you too daddy. You are the best parents in the world, thank you.” She said kissing yours and Bucky’s face, making you giggle.

“You dolls are my everything. I love you.” He said before attacking the two of you with tickles, and whispering to your ear. “Thanks doll, for all this.”

The day had started like any other Tuesday would, you woke up after your alarm. Waking up Bucky with kisses and loving touches, after he woke up he heads to shower while you got Becca ready. Once the two of them were dressed, Bucky went to the kitchen to make breakfast wihle you got ready. The three of you ate together, you heard how Becca´s best friend was going to have a party next Saturday and you needed to buy her a present. You decided to go to the mall with her after classes and maybe have a girl’s day and do you nails. That made her smile so bright, which was what you loved the most about your life, that it was full of happiness.

After eating, you said goodbye to Bucky and Rebecca, he was going to take her to school and then go to the Avengers compound to train some new recruits, while you went to your office.

Bucky’s day went normal, as any other day would go, he did some training and hanged out with Sam and Steve. When 4pm came around the received a call from Becca´s school, her teacher told him that she was still there. You never came pick her up, he didn´t know why you were late. You always told him if your meeting was going to be longer so someone would pick your daughter from school.

“Sorry man.” He told Steve at the middle of the meeting. “Apparently YN never went to pick Rebecca from school she is there by herself, I really need to go. I also need to see what happened to YN. She is not picking up her phone.” Bucky said standing up from his chair.

“Sure pal, everything good with her?” Steve said a bit worry, he didn´t want his best friend to be in panic.

“I hope so.” He said walking to the door, but before he could reach it his phone rang again.

Steve just stood there, and watched how the color of his best friends face went completely white, then Bucky’s knees failed and he felt to the floor. Tears running down his cheeks, his face was shaking. He was wordless. Sentences couldn´t form in his mouth. Steve was next to him in second, he took the phone from his hand.

That when he heard him scream, he screamed as if he was dying, painful and horrible screams.

“Excuse me.” Steve said through the phone. “This is Steve Rogers. What happened?” He asked, though he already had an idea of what had happened.

“I am so sorry Sir, but I regret to inform you that Mrs. Barnes had a car accident today. She arrived to the New York Presbyterian Hospital at 2:36pm, she immediately went to surgery. She didn´t make it, she was called at 3:49pm. I am so sorry, but we need her husband to come.”

Steve hanged up the phone, he had tears in his eyes, he was about to cry. He had lost his best friend, but he needed to be strong for the man that was like a brother to him, to his nice.

Bucky was in the floor, sobbing and screaming. He went and called for Nat. She enter and saw the state in which Bucky was, then she saw the tears in Steve´s eyes.

“What happened?” She asked in panic.

“I… he…N-Nat” he mumbled between sobs. “Can you please look for Rebecca at school? Please.”

Nat realized, she immediately shook her head in disbelieve, “no, no, no,”

“Nat, please. Someone needs to be with her.” Steve managed to say. She wiped her tears and left the room.

Steve was in the floor hugging his best friend while he cried his eyes out, he was no longer screaming.

“I am sorry buddy, I am so sorry.” He said to his friend. “I know how you feel, just let it all out. But later you need to be strong for your daughter. She just lost her mother, she will need her dad. She needs you to be there for her, but now. I am here for you.”

“Not her, please not her. She is perfect Steve, I can’t, I love her, we can’t lose her.” He sobbed and screamed. “We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together, the two of us.”

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When he calmed down, they went to the hospital. A drunk driver had crashed against your car in a traffic light. He died immediately.

Becca slept in Nat´s room. Bucky slept in his old room in the compound, he couldn’t go to your home. Too many memories. He couldn’t face his daughter, he would broke in front of her, he needed to be strong. He cried himself to sleep that day.

He next day was awful, he needed to explain to her 5 year old baby, that her mother would never hug her again. He couldn’t even began to comprehend that.

“Becca, baby. I need to talk to you.” He said the next morning the compounds living room, all the other Avengers were in the hospital helping Bucky prepare every detail for the funeral, Steve was the only one there, next to Bucky and Becca. In case either of them needed him.

“Daddy, why did we slept here?” She asked frowning her eyebrows, just like her dad. “Where is mommy? We were supposed to have a girl´s day yesterday.”

That made Bucky tear a few tears which he rapidly cleaned.

“Babydoll, its because…” Bucky mad a pause and looked through the windows. “Mommy had an accident, and she will never come again.”

Becca made a confused face.

“Why? Can´t you just put her a bad-aid like you do to me when I have accident?” She asked in all her innocence, which made Bucky’s strength fall. He quickly enveloped her in his arms.

“That is the thing baby, she had a big accident, she is gone.” He started to sob again, so did Steve.

Becca began to stroke her father’s hair. “We will see her daddy, someday, but I am really going to miss her.” She started to cry and hug her dad.

“I want my mommy, dad.”

“So do I honey.”

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The funeral was beautiful, full with YN´s family and friends. They all told beautiful stories and tried to remember the amazing person YN was. Bucky couldn’t talk, he had so many things to say, none of them were for this people to hear, they were for his love.

A week had passed since you awful dead, Bucky stayed at the compound, he couldn’t go home, he also needed help with Becca. He could barely managed to take care of himself.

He was in his bed, looking at the celling, numb. He know the needed to stand up and shower, he needed to get up and care of his baby, but she was the carbon copy of you. It was like looking at you, it hurt, it really hurt. Lying there he heard some knocking at his door. Then Steve came..

“Hey pal, the lawyer came today, he left the will and this letter. She wrote it you when you guys had Rebecca.”

“Thanks, just leave it there.” He said gesturing to his night stand.

When Steve left he got up and grabbed the letter, it had his name in your beautiful calligraphy.

Bucky,

My love, I hope that you never have to open this letter, but if you do, I want you to know that you made me the happiest woman alive. In all the galaxies we know that exist, in all the universe that may. I was the happiest, all thanks to you. You teached me what the meaning for being alive really meant, you showed me so many incredible and beautiful things, and you gave me our most amazing gift, our daughter Rebecca, she is the tangible evidence of our love.

If the time in which you have to open this letter comes, know that you did everything you could. Under any circumstances think that this was your fault, it wasn´t.

I love you so much Bucky, you have really no idea, and I know you loved me just as much, that is why I am asking you one last favor.

Please don´t close yourself, don´t let yourself return to the man you were before be met, not that he was any less amazing, but he was lonely. I want you to continue living your life to the fullest. I know I can´t ask you to not miss me or forget me, I don’t want that. I want you to remember my memory and cherish it. I want you to show all then wonders of the world to sweet Becca. Please never let her forget that she was the most important person in my life besides you.

I want the two of you to continue to love, and let yourselves be love. I love you with all my heart, and every single atom in my body.

Don’t forget me my brightest star, YN.

After reading that Bucky cleaned his cheeks.

“I will always love you.” He kissed the letter and placed it in his nightstand. He got up and went to find his daughter.

“I love you baby, and so did you mother. You are our greatest creations.” He no longer had you here, so he was going to spend all his breathing moments showing her how much he loved her, he was the only part left in this world of YN, and she was that greatest gift she could have left him.

He would continue to love you long after you are gone. For ever, til the end of times.

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A/N: I cried so hard writing this. I am so sorry, but I hope you like it. I really appreciate feedback.

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shihalyfie · 3 years

Text

Some fun talking about and analyzing the tri. stage play, and its relationship to Kizuna

The tri. stage play (full title: "Super Evolution Stage! Digimon Adventure tri. August 1st Adventure") is honestly quite an unusual entry in this franchise, even within Adventure standards. Nearly everything about its production is unusual -- the entire genre it's in is unexpected, the choice of time period to release something like this is unusual, and moreover, now that Kizuna’s out, a lot of people have noticed a lot of suspiciously similar themes and even language, most notably the key “we’ll always be together” line (phrased even exactly the same way in Japanese). In fact, despite ostensibly being a tri.-branded product, other than a few vague token nods to the anime series in the play itself, said stage play has very little to do with the actual anime sharing its name, so the similarity to Kizuna is even more striking in retrospect.

Perhaps another interesting thing about this play is that it’s a very good example of a standout work in the Adventure universe that didn’t have any original creator involvement (other than some minor tips from Seki). I think there’s often a tendency for people to think that in order for a sequel or spinoff to be true to the original, it has to have some member of original staff on there, especially since the Adventure (and 02) characters tend to be a bit overly complex and it helps to have the reassurance that someone who knows them is behind the wheel -- Kizuna used the presence of Seki and Yamatoya as an outright advertising point -- but this stage play’s director and writer had no experience with the franchise beforehand, not even as a fan, yet still made a very respectful product that has generally been received well by Adventure (and 02) fans and even got the original director’s approval, too. If anything, that makes it all the more impressive!

(Note that the below text spoils the story content of the play, but not Kizuna’s to any substantial degree.)

Some production background

Anime and video game stage tie-ins are fairly common -- much like this one, they tend to have very short runs and are targeted at a limited audience -- but they’re usually stereotyped as being for the otome crowd (i.e. predominantly female otaku audience), so works like this are generally associated with it. As a result, when this play was announced and released between tri. Parts 4 and 5, quite a few people were surprised, because this franchise originally came from products associated with shounen anime. In practice, this was a period where it was becoming increasingly clear that there was, in fact, a huge female audience for Digimon (especially Adventure universe), on top of the fact that (as noted by the performers in the final show) the audience for this show ended up being unusually mixed-gender, because Digimon really is universal -- but it did lead to the announcement of the play being initially received with heavy skepticism, partially because of the usual misogyny (stigma around things associated with female audiences, etc.), and partially because this was during a time where...well, saying that a very huge percentage of the fanbase, especially the Japanese side, was really pissed off at anything tri.-branded at the time is kind of an understatement. Ultimately, the play ended up very well-received with a small but dedicated following, and it’s currently referred to as “dejisute” (short for “Digimon Stage”) in Japanese fan shorthand. Bringing it up generally elicits positive critical feedback, even among those who were initially skeptical.

Some interesting things also surround the circumstances of its production as well. As some might know already, the tri. anime series and Kizuna share only one key member of staff: Kinoshita Yousuke, who was involved in tri. Parts 5 and 6, and eventually went on to become the producer for Kizuna and the upcoming 02-based movie. tri. was a work that (for some reason) had a huge number of producers on it, of which Kinoshita was only one; he seemed to have been replacing Arai Shuuhei, who left the project after Part 4. However, while Arai was formerly one of the most visible of tri.’s producers (he was the only one regularly brought up in interviews), how much degree of influence Kinoshita had with tri. is unknown, other than the fact he had no involvement in its story. Given that the decision to make Kizuna also seemed to have been made around Part 5, it seems that Kinoshita may have been brought on specifically for the purpose of observing and prepping for Kizuna, because his role on tri. seems to have been so minimal that the moment he was put in charge of Kizuna, the production philosophy ended up becoming completely different under his management. (When you think about it, tri. and Kizuna have very little in common, other than the rough premises of involving the older Adventure cast.)

The thing is, though, Part 5 isn’t actually the first tri. work Kinoshita is credited for, but this stage play is -- which is interesting to consider when taking into account the heavy amount of thematic parallels between this and Kizuna three years later, and in general the very unusual creative decision to make a stage play that suddenly popped up at exactly this time, making heavier tributes to Adventure (and even 02) than the actual anime it was branded with. Making things even more interesting was that the stage play’s director and writer, Tani Kenichi, was allegedly recruited by an unnamed producer impressed with his work (by the way, did I mention Kinoshita used to work in live-action before joining Toei?). Given all that, perhaps this stage play coming off unnervingly like a sort of Kizuna prototype isn’t all that surprising...

Unfortunately, right now we’re still kind of in a time period where official will get barraged with violently angry comments for even so much as putting the series on streaming services, so it’ll probably be a few more years (if ever) before official will be willing to be more open about what went on behind tri. production, and it’s probably a bit much to get too speculative about things like this when real people are involved. Nevertheless, one thing is apparent: the director and writer, Tani, was a newcomer to Digimon -- not even someone who’d been a fan beforehand -- but watched all of Adventure and 02 in preparation for it and stated openly that he was very, very emotionally touched by it. The work itself is obviously made with a lot of love and respect for the series, and one really cool thing about it is that you can also tell that it came from the perspective of an adult with no preconceived notions about it, therefore meaning it comes from someone analyzing the series without necessarily caving to fanbase mantras, and making some very cogent observations about the characters. It’s also just a fabulous work production-wise in general -- the puppet work and making the Digimon look convincing on stage is very well-done, especially when you consider that this play had only ten showings -- and you really gotta appreciate the fact that, even before Seki gave him a few pointers, he was so passionate about the importance of Digimon partners that he pushed for all eight to be represented despite the expenses.

Taking a look at the play itself

Despite ostensibly tying into the tri. anime series it's branded with, the play only really seems to loosely refer to some of its key elements as taking place at approximately the same time, such as Koushirou’s server, infected Digimon, setpieces like KNIFE OF DAY, and an eventual “reveal” that this seems to take place ostensibly around the rough time period of tri.’s Part 4. Look closely, however, and you’ll notice that a lot of things in the characterization and plot arena actually don’t track much with tri. at all -- for instance, in a very non-comprehensive list of things:

It’s implied that Yamato himself is embarrassed about the KNIFE OF DAY band name and is desperately trying to get through it with passion, which doesn’t quite line up with his attitude about it in the anime.

The timeline just really doesn’t line up; Mochizuki Meiko, Meicoomon, and the infections obviously exist, but you can’t have a time period in Part 4 where the kids recognize Meicoomon as being related to the distortions or infections while also being separated from Meiko. Moreover, the “reboot” just doesn’t seem to have happened at all (and to be fair, if you’re planning on making a two-hour tribute to Adventure, not having the Digimon with memories of said adventure would seriously limit the scope of your plot, so this kind of “leeway” was probably downright necessary).

The tri. anime series portrayed Takeru as having a very sharp shift in language, presumably under the implication he’s putting up a front as a flirtatious, aggressive playboy, and so his first-person pronoun was turned into the aggressive ore and his way of referring to Yamato aniki. In Adventure and 02, Takeru had used the polite boku and childish/cutesy onii-chan, and the boku was prominently used as a plot point to hint at Takeru’s identity as the series narrator. (Yes, these kinds of things are actually kind of a big deal in fiction.) Since even longtime fans generally agree that at some point Takeru would be likely to stop using onii-chan once he became old enough, the stage play likewise also prefers aniki over onii-chan, but, notably, it doesn’t even bother with ore in the slightest nor any of the implications that surround it, and Takeru comfortably uses boku for the entirety of the play. Considering that the use of aniki is still a bit unusual (both Diablomon Strikes Back and Kizuna prominently favor the slightly more polite nii-san instead), it seems that the play was made with an awareness that both aspects of Takeru’s language had changed, but a conscious decision to hold over only one from the anime.

And so on and so forth.

In general, the way you could describe this play’s handling of Adventure universe lore and characterization elements is that it’s a bit selective about which tri.-related elements it makes use of, particularly in regards to ones that might be too difficult to reconcile with the original Adventure (and 02). (This is basically the same attitude Kizuna roughly takes in regards to handling of tri. elements, although it’s less noticeable there partially because of the five-year gap between tri. and Kizuna.) Obviously, being completely incongruous with the tri. anime would be a pretty crude thing to do for a play that’s actually branded with it (and especially when said anime was still ongoing at the time, regardless of public opinion), but, regardless, the end result is that its actual relationship with the tri. anime’s version of canon is a bit tenuous.

The main reason for this is probably that, on the flip side, the stage play's references to Adventure -- as in, the specific series that aired in 1999-2000 and took place in the in-universe August 1 and 3, 1999 -- are incredibly aggressive. In fact, it’s actually far more aggressive in this respect than Kizuna is. For all Kizuna is branded as an Adventure movie and puts the original Adventure cast first and foremost in all of the advertising, if you watch the actual movie, in practice, it’s more of something that lies in the gap between Adventure and 02 and the two series together as a whole. Adventure was a series that practically revolved around a "trapped in another world" story and the specific impact its events had on the kids involved, but Kizuna focuses more on the “larger world”, including real world society (very much 02 things), with a lot of themes with suspicious pertinence to 02 and references to its epilogue looming over the plot; the specific Adventure references and even the Digital World don’t come into play until the climax. (And that’s before we get into the fact that the 02 quartet gets more screentime than a good chunk of their seniors.) Really, you can see it just by the fact that a majority of the primary key visuals line the 02 quartet up with everyone else; it’s a movie about both, not just Adventure.

So in other words, Kizuna is really about mixing Adventure and 02 elements, serving as a sort of stopgap work, and recasting the Adventure group in a lot of 02′s context. (And that’s by no means a bad thing; since Adventure wasn’t about that, the differing juxtaposition is a fresh perspective in its own way.) But in terms of revisiting what the actual series called Digimon Adventure was and how those events might have an influence on its relevant cast years later, this play (which actually has longer runtime than Kizuna, being around two hours) is a good place to go to if that’s what you’re looking for. The entire premise of the play revolves around copiously referencing that specific adventure back in 1999, and, more importantly, what impact it’s still continuing to have in this particular group’s memories, to the point where they’re starting to romanticize it and wish they could return to it forever...

Ah, right, that’s what this play has in common with Kizuna: the overall theme of unhealthy fixation on rose-colored nostalgia, and the need to move forward from it. (And, driving it home, “unhealthy fixation on the events of Adventure” as a symbol of that rose-colored nostalgia, to boot.)

The premise of the play itself is that the kids decide to hold a camping trip as tribute to the adventure in 1999, as part of a desire to "go back to those times" (and, as is eventually revealed, it’s actually part of a pocket universe their subconscious wishes had dreamed up as a desire to recreate the past, thanks to the power of the Digital World). So all of the references to Adventure are concrete and fleshed out in specific detail, ranging from everyone referencing specific events and how they impacted them (Jou very explicitly refers to his experiences in Adventure episodes 46-47 in terms of why it fuels his current desire to become a doctor) to even the most minor of references (direct reference to bananas on File Island, from Adventure episode 3).

As a brief aside, a positive side effect of centering the plot on this specific adventure is that it justifies the reason for why these eight are working together (at least prior to the endgame reveal that they’re still involved in tri.’s events); the eight of them weren’t portrayed as liable to do so without good reason, and while certain aspects and events from 02 are alluded to when they’re relevant, the absence of the actual quartet passing without note is completely justifiable because they simply were not on that adventure anyway. (They weren’t initially planned to be at the event in 02 episode 17, and knowing them, it’s likely they wouldn’t want to be at this kind of outright commemorative camping event, because they’d feel like they’d be intrusive in something they had nothing to do with.) So within the scope of the play in two hours, the narrative can be very neatly condensed to be mostly about Adventure itself.

Although this play and Kizuna both share the common theme of the existential crisis that comes with getting older and the tendency to romanticize one’s childhood, the underlying reasons are a bit different; Kizuna’s is very close to 02 in that it’s largely to do with societal pressures and expectations,��especially since the question of "what you want to do with your career" is a driving motivation in it. In other words, the existential crisis comes from living up to other people’s expectations, or trying to fit into an arbitrary societal mold of an “adult” without necessarily knowing if that’s what you really want. In the case of this stage play, being set in everyone’s high school years where everyone’s relationship to “the world at large” is a bit more tenuous, the reason for the existential crisis is somewhat closer to Adventure’s: everyone’s started to think they might have been better people back then. More confident, less hesitant, more honest with their feelings. Adventure was a series about self-improvement and one’s relationship with oneself, so it’s understandable that a work meant to look back on that specific adventure will ask the question “well, did they become better people after all?” as a result.

But there’s two problems with this line of thinking: one, this is a very rose-colored evaluation of their former selves, because just because they might have been “more confident” back then doesn’t mean they didn’t have other problems going on (Hikari calls her past self out for being arguably “more honest”, but also somewhat of a dependent child), and two, being more hesitant doesn’t make one a weaker person, just one who’s dealing with a lot more problems and awareness and things to worry about because of how much the scope of their lives has increased. As Agumon says at the end, the old Taichi and the current Taichi are still the same person; it’s just that he’s dealing with more, so he’ll naturally worry about more, and taking on those extra burdens is actually his own way of “evolving”.

Particularly interesting is the position of Jou, the not-so-unsung hero of this story, who is explicitly identified as the person most clearly aware of his future dreams and proceeding without hesitation towards them, to the point of being somewhat immune to the effects of the dream world. (Somewhat, mainly because the ending establishes that he wasn’t entirely.) It's consistent in line with the fact that we actually saw, directly, the train of thought that led to his decision to become a doctor back in Adventure, and he even states it directly in this play himself: he doesn’t consider himself someone who wants to solve things through fighting, but rather someone who can prevent casualties and heal the injured if he pursues this line of study, and thus is determined to make it happen. Even from the very early points of the play, there are several hints at him being able to see a metaphorical “future” that the others cannot, and while he remains unfailingly loyal to his friends (there’s a long sequence of him constantly claiming he’ll leave them as per Koushirou’s request but constantly coming back because he just can’t bring himself to abandon them), he also is the first one to depart the camping trip to attend to a test -- that is to say, he treasures his past, but he has a strong enough dream for his future that he’s willing to move on better than the others can.

Jou’s also the one to personally advise Yamato about the difference in nuance between doing things because you feel you must, versus doing it because you yourself truly want to, a difference in nuance that also becomes very pertinent in Kizuna. Also pertinent to both works in common is the discussion of nuances between “staying trapped in one’s memories” and “violently cutting them all away” (the consequences of the latter being more extensively discussed in Kizuna), versus the ideal situation of reflecting on those memories and experiences from the past in order to productively move forward.

And in the end, rose-colored nostalgia is, indeed, rose-colored nostalgia. Because, sure, that adventure back in the day was great, and they grew a lot, but they also grew a lot because they were overcoming some very harsh, difficult troubles; omitting those parts is losing the substance. The re-invocation of the fun “camping trip” also means re-invoking all of the other things that came along with it, including all of the dangerous threats they’d faced back then. It’s a package deal, and you can’t just filter those out, because it misses the point of what you gained out of it in the first place.

In general, the character writing for this play is also very good; there are some differences between the characters here and them back in 02, but they’re all within the believable scope of positive progression within three years and general adherence to core tenets of their character (Koushirou is certainly more assertive, but emphasis continues to be placed on his deference to others, penchant for spotting details, and capability for being an organizational leader in his own sense). Also notably, this play manages to verbalize a lot of the subtleties in Adventure and 02 that the mainstream tends to gloss over (and don’t tend to get put in official profiles) but are well-known to those deeply familiar with the series. This is the kind of attention to detail usually associated with those who have been studying the series for years, so it’s refreshing to see these come out in words -- for instance, Koushirou stating outright that he was one of the closest people to Taichi for a long time (very true!), Hikari and Takeru actually commenting on each other from back in Adventure (something we never really got in 02, despite “them having known each other for a while” being part of their character arcs), and Sora explicitly admitting that she goes out of her way for others because it’s easier to work for others than it is to even think about herself.

Actually, the attention to detail in general is fantastic; other than a minor slip-up (Sora refers to having met Koushirou during the summer camp at the beginning of the play when she’d actually known him prior from the soccer club, a detail that’s very easy to miss because it’s only mentioned once in Adventure episode 16 and clarified further in the novels), a lot of things from Adventure and 02 are made use of and framed in very clever context; the choice of Etemon as the enemy for this play is well-placed for both his entertainment value and the fact that, as an enemy personally defeated by MetalGreymon in Adventure episode 20, it makes perfect sense that he would have a grudge against Taichi in particular. (It’s also explicitly mentioned that Hikari and Tailmon never met Etemon in person even once, and that Taichi never actually got to see MetalEtemon, so there’s a lot of attention paid to logistics like that.)

Also, while 02 is not really brought up within the scope of the story (and really shouldn’t be, not when this story so heavily centers around Adventure and its themes), its place in canon and its contributions to the worldbuilding are fully respected; a lot of the offhand references to family situations and background are elements that were originally introduced in 02, and many aspects of its Digital World lore are used to assist the plot premise (in particular, the idea of the Digital World being connected to something that can conjure up unconscious dreams wasn’t explicitly invoked until 02). Rather amusingly, at one point, Hikari uses the events of 02 episode 13 to tell a “scary story” to troll Mimi, and it’s interesting and rather refreshing to see the implication that Hikari’s been able to move past the incident enough to use it to troll someone else. There are also some latent epilogue references as well, with Hikari directly bringing up her goal of becoming a kindergarten teacher, Takeru making some really subtle references to wanting to be a novelist and chronicle their adventures (in true Takeru fashion, he never states it outright, but anyone familiar with the epilogue can figure it out), and Taichi alluding to an ultimate goal of humans coexisting alongside Digimon.

Finally, attention should be called to the play’s relationship writing in general. As stated before, the play does call attention to relationships between characters that often don’t get brought up by the mainstream but are somewhat more well-known to fans -- Koushirou and Taichi, Sora and Mimi, Jou and Yamato -- but even the well-known ones are treated with nuance endemic to that from Adventure and especially 02, given that Taichi and Yamato don’t actually have the stereotypical “cold rivals” atmosphere that shounen anime would usually suggest, and the two of them have an extended heart-to-heart in which Yamato actively tries to figure out what’s wrong with Taichi and treat him kindly. (Like in Adventure, the only time they break out in a fight is when Yamato gets emotionally compromised and starts worrying that Taichi isn’t doing enough for others’ welfare.) It’s also very consistent with how the two treat each other in Kizuna as well (the izakaya scene comes to mind, and has a lot of similarities to the awkward-but-ultimately-close conversation they have at night in this play).

And, of course, the centerpiece of the narrative overall: the human-partner relationship. Of course, a lot of this was probably helped by Seki lecturing Tani to not mess this part up, but it really is impressive to consider in light of the fact we’re working with a lot of puppets that have handlers clearly in plain view, so you have to have some massive suspension of disbelief to make this work. But not only are the movements well-done to make it convincing that you really are seeing these actors physically interacting with their partners on stage, the narrative also puts huge spotlights on them, making the Digimon outright be the ones to snap their partners out of their worst patterns of thinking (especially with Agumon and Taichi), and dedicating a long period of silence where literal stage spotlights are dedicated to each kid having some alone time with their partner. The intimacy is very convincing, and, truly, Tani’s insistence on making sure every single one of the main Digimon was represented in spite of the prohibitive budget paid off very well. The point is made: a Digimon partner has to be someone who knows you well and intimately and can call you out at your worst moments, and Taichi even spells it out: Agumon’s capable of seeing right through him.

Putting it next to Kizuna -- a movie dedicated entirely to examining the meaning of a partner relationship, what happens when it deteriorates, what that means for oneself, and what it takes to recover it again -- it’s perhaps unsurprising that this play ends on the same line that was used in all of Kizuna’s advertising and was central to its own plot: “We’ll always be together.”

#digimon #tri stage play #digimon adventure last evolution kizuna #shihameta

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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

A Smile In Fragments

Summary: When Komaeda first woke up, Hinata didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe he wanted Komaeda to scream, maybe he wanted Komaeda to cry, or maybe... Maybe deep down, he wanted Komaeda to smile at him and accept his situation with that carefree calm he had been stuck on for months now.He got that in the worst possible way.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suicide attempt which results in copious gore.

Notes: This is another old-ass wip that I finished up and posted, which means it was written pre-dr3. Back in the day, I was curious about Amnesiac Komaeda AUs set post-sdr2, so I tried my hand at it. This is what happened. Yeah. It’s, uh, pretty rusty but I guess I have some amount of fondness for it.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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Just Komaeda smiling at him was enough to make him snap.

“What,” Hinata snarled, stalking forward as the boy in the sheets faltered. That damn smile wilted but Hinata only felt his anger flare burning hot before his eyes. “What the hell were you even thinking?”

Komaeda hesitated to answer and Hinata loomed over him, fists shaking at his sides and glare absolutely poisonous. That the other couldn’t dignify him with some self-righteous answer was even worse. “Do you even understand the shit you’re in right now? Did you honestly think pulling that stunt would make anything better? I was trying, alright? I was trying to help you only for you to just...”

He stopped, trembling with fury and unable to even say it as he shut his eyes. Komaeda made a noise. A familiar sound that has Hinata nearly lose his temper and commit an act he’d regret... But instead, he lets out a heavy sigh and gives Komaeda a look of disgust.

His look drops when he sees how Komaeda’s reacting—how he’d been reacting ever since Hinata started yelling at him.

Komaeda looks terrified—sincerely, purely scared in a way that Hinata had never seen before. He’s back against the wall, knees tucked between them like a barrier and arms pressed close against his chest. His body’s wracked with tremors, his eyes wide like a child’s, and Hinata’s anger utterly dissipates back into worry.

“Komaeda...?” he asks, voice softer with a bit of a waver. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m... I’m sorry...” Komaeda manages just as the nurse bursts in.

“Hinata-san,” she says and Hinata has to tear his sight away. He hears Komaeda stifle a sob, and the seriousness in the nurse’s eyes doesn’t stop him from flinching. “We need to talk.”

When Komaeda first woke up, Hinata didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe he wanted Komaeda to scream—his plan failed after all, tremendously so because not only were they all still alive, but he was still alive as well...and the only person who really died was never living in the first place—or maybe he wanted Komaeda to cry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, but how likely was that—or maybe... Maybe deep down, he wanted Komaeda to smile at him and accept his situation with that carefree calm he had been stuck on for months now.

Instead, Komaeda shut down as soon as he woke up. He shut them out.

He was in poor condition upon waking and needed to be nursed, so it didn’t require much effort on his part. The rest of them avoided visiting him, too, except for Hinata who was desperate enough to want something...and maybe a little bit anxious because he remembered the last time they left Komaeda alone to his own devices. Not that it mattered, because even when Hinata tried to be polite, Komaeda seemed content to ignore his existence. Like he really was the Ultimate Nobody.

It made him angry enough to stop trying. But he still worried—that traitorous niggling feeling digging under his skin like a parasitic worm and aggravating him to the point where he felt like he was going to go insane. But there was nothing he could do, right, if Komaeda wasn’t going to acknowledge him—there was nothing he could do...

But, god, desperately and shakily pressing torn bits of fabric to Komaeda’s head in a frenzied attempt to stop the bleeding—if there was really nothing he could have done to prevent this...

“Don’t, please don’t die,” he begged, heart pounding. He already called Naegi in hysteria but Hinata was terrified at the bleak, real possibility that it’d be too late. Komaeda’s eyes were already fluttered shut and blood was still pulsing and slicking his trembling fingers. “Please, Komaeda, stay with me, stay with me... I-I can’t...”

It’s only by the time the others get there that Hinata realizes he’s been crying. He tries to wipe the tears away but ends up smearing Komaeda’s blood on his face instead. In seconds, he’s hyperventilating as Naegi takes his shoulders and murmurs to him: it’ll be fine don’t lose hope Komaeda-kun will be fine, you saved him Hinata-kun it’ll be fine...

In the end, Komaeda is saved. Hinata washes away his blood from his hands. And when Hinata hurries to go visit him, Komaeda turns and gives him a smile.

Komaeda smiled at him again when he entered. But this time the smile was tinier, more fearful—and the more Hinata thought about it, the more the smile from before seemed more for the sake of platitude. And yet he got angry.

This wasn’t the time to feel guilty over it. But he should...

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. I...” I wasn’t aware of your condition. But I say something like that, and he’ll know I meant it. The yelling part. I did mean it. But I wouldn’t have been like that if I knew... Does that even mean anything? Does apologizing mean anything? What am I supposed to...? “I’m sorry, Komaeda. Do you really not...”

“I forgive you.” Komaeda’s smile was still meek, but also a bit wider, and Hinata didn’t know if that was good or not. He shouldn’t get conceited when Komaeda still seemed so unsure and insecure. “From what I can tell, I think I’m at fault too... You did say you trying to help me, so... Ah, it’s fine. I just ended up startled, because...you know...”

It’s not like you would even know why I’d lose myself like that... You don’t even know who I am anymore... And it’s weird that he’d be so sheepish about it, too, because it’s not like Komaeda chose to conveniently get retrograde amnesia when he did. Hell, the amnesia thing was probably the furthest thing he was aiming for and that was...

Just fine. As far as Hinata was concerned, when things don’t go Komaeda’s way is preferable to otherwise. Komaeda’s way was twisted and distorted and could invariably lead to disaster. Hinata was aware of this from experience, though he was also aware he didn’t fully understand it. It was entirely possible he never would. Still... “Is there anything you want?”

“Huh?” Komaeda looked at him, his head at a bird-like tilt and wide doe eyes. “I’m...sorry? I don’t know if I can answer that question easily...especially when I’m not entirely sure if I can trust you. Yet, at least.” He looks almost apologetic and Hinata really doesn’t get that either. But finally, Komaeda’s looking a bit bright again, and it’s more of a relief than he cares to admit. “So the nurse did explain what’s wrong with me, right? Recently wrong, I mean. There were problems before... Ah, but I don’t know if you know about that so I’ll just stop here. Did she tell you or not?”

“You don’t remember,” Hinata states it bluntly, his throat thick as Komaeda nods in response. “You’ve experienced trauma that resulted in you losing your memories. You... You don’t remember me anymore, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Komaeda says, his smile sad. “Nor do I remember how I got here. But I’m not completely a blank slate if it means anything! I remember some things that happened to me before—like once, I had a dog? Ha-ha, something like that... There are still holes in the memories, sadly, but at least they’re still there. If it helps, I think one of the last things I remember is getting an acceptance letter.”

“An acceptance letter? For where...?” Hinata was already dreading the answer. Komaeda chewed on his lower lip with a soft hum.

“Some esteemed academy... But I don’t recall the name...”

“Was it Hope’s Peak?” Hinata’s stomach drops. “Y-You...don’t remember Hope’s Peak?”

“Was that the name of the school? That sounds about right.” Komaeda didn’t sound so sure despite his chipper tone. “Sorry, my memory stops there. But since I’ve been diligently explaining my delicate situation, perhaps you could fill me in a bit on the things I don’t know? It’d only be fair, after all...” He holds up his left wrist, tracing the bandages around the stump as he observes it in plain curiosity. “I’m not entirely sure how I got this. The nurses won’t tell me and to be frank, I highly doubt it was from the incident that resulted in my amnesia. It’s a bit healed over and... I think that acceptance letter was a while ago...before this. I’m not sure, but do you know?”

“I-I...” Hinata hesitates, blatantly. “I-I wasn’t there...when you lost it... S-Sorry...”

“So you don’t know? How disappointing.” Komaeda sighed. “Isn’t that so unfortunate? How am I supposed to write? My handwriting’s awful enough as it is and... Oh. Right. Your question. No, I don’t remember going to school at all. I just remember getting accepted.”

“Do you remember anything after that?” Hinata asks. “Like...your classmates? School assignments? F-Field trips?”

“Hm. Those are some generic questions. I get the feeling you’re hiding things from me...” But Komaeda grinned cheekily as Hinata froze for a moment. Komaeda laughed it off like it was no big deal. “Ah, it can’t be helped. But no, sorry. I barely remembered the school’s name after all. Oh, wait, I do remember being on a boat... Actually yeah. I was on some kind of boat.”

“Do you like boats? You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Hinata blinked hard to dispel the image, but Komaeda turned to him with realization clear in his gaze and face lighting up. “That’s right! You were there, weren’t you? You have the same eyes from earlier, though I see you cut your hair... Funny, didn’t you never want to see me again? You were quite cold, you know...from what I remember. What else were we discussing?”

“It’s not important,” Hinata says, voice quick and thick. “None of those things are important anymore. I didn’t mean anything I said back then. That... That’s not me anymore, so you mustn��t worry.”

“Oh...” Komaeda looks a bit disappointed, but still a bit hopeful. “Um. I don’t remember you introducing yourself...”

That’s because I didn’t. Not back then. I didn’t deem it important.

“What’s your name again?”

Hinata swallows. “Hi...Hinata. Hajime Hinata. I was...” Your classmate? But that’s not true, is it? I was never in that...

“My friend, right?” Komaeda asks, and Hinata’s chest seizes up for a moment. And Komaeda looks bashful too, rubbing at his shoulder with a light blush on his face. “I really am sorry... I must have worried you a lot to make you so angry... Though I don’t know how good my words are when like this. But really, I sincerely appreciate you caring so much. Especially since our first meeting didn’t go so well... But since you’ve changed, I guess... We’re friends now?”

You’ve got that wrong. I didn’t understand you. I don’t even know if I can forgive you. Even though you’re alive now, I feel like things have never been more complicated. I don’t know what we were, but it sure as hell was not...

“Or I’m wrong,” he hums, halting Hinata’s thoughts with a self-effacing sigh. “For all I know I could have just been a troublemaker you got saddled with. Isn’t that more likely?”

Hinata doesn’t answer, but Komaeda gives him another sincere smile that takes his breath away. “But I still like you, Hinata-kun. You must be a really kind person to worry so strongly over someone like me. I don’t have to remember our exact relationship to notice that; especially when you were so fired up earlier. I’ll try and do my best, so don’t fret so much, okay?”

I...I may never understand this person...

“I don’t want to go back.”

The words were simple, clear, and concise. And yet, they didn’t make any sense at all.

“Komaeda,” Hinata groaned, reaching for the other only for him to avoid his hand. Komaeda’s stare remained—those same wide doe eyes and lips pulled into a neutral straight line—but Hinata grew more agitated by the minute.

The wind blew, ocean waves crashing below, and when Hinata’s eyes drifted from Komaeda, they landed immediately on the edge of the cliff not too far behind the two. The idea appeared in his head and soon sank to his gut, and Hinata nearly begged as he attempted to grab Komaeda. “Come on...!”

“If you’re going to take me back,” Komaeda murmured, face unreadable as he continued to evade his swiping hand. “Then I have no choice.”

“Please, please don’t...”

“Hinata-kun.” It was the first time Komaeda had said his name in months, and it sounded raspy. Awful. Hinata hated the way Komaeda said his name. But he still missed it. And that just made it worse. “What do you think will happen? Good luck or bad luck? Make a prediction—just like you did the first time we met. Hopefully, you won’t be wrong like last time.”

Hinata shouted his name, fear breaking through his anger as he launched himself forward towards the other. He missed Komaeda by mere centimeters and he only saw a blur of white and blue before there was only the barren cliff before him.

Whatever shock he would have gone into was shattered when he heard the soft, muted impact from several feet below.

“Oh good morning, Hinata-kun!” Komaeda brightly greeted him, waving his good hand once he saw Hinata standing blankly in his doorway. Hinata wasn’t sure how he looked, and Komaeda gave no comments to it, but there was a slightly concerned way to how Komaeda tilted his head and smiled a bit more. “It’s a bit early... Is something wrong?”

“...Nightmare. I had a nightmare.” With those words out, he stumbled to get close, nearly tripping in his haste to reach out and grasp Komaeda’s still elevated hand. He squeezed it once, briefly, and pulled his hands back to wipe his clammy palms off his pants. “Sorry. I... I just had to make sure for a moment.”

“It’s fine...” Komaeda pulled his hand close, curling it against his chest. His worried smile remained on his face, and Hinata tried not to stare at the bandages wrapped around his head. There were scars there before, from previous hospital trips, and Hinata can only imagine how much worse they’d look now with where his head had bashed on a rock.

“Um... Hinata-kun?”

Hinata’s gaze snapped back.

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda spoke with such ease, and yet, so much regret. “I’m really, really sorry. I just... I feel like I should beg you for forgiveness.”

You should, but I won’t be happy when you’re like this. It’s...

It’s fine.

“Komaeda...”

Even if I won’t ever understand, even if we’re just back at square one again... Even so...

“I should’ve said this earlier,” Hinata said, forcing a smile. “Welcome back.”

Komaeda blinked at him, but he smiled once more. It actually wasn’t half-bad. It might’ve even been a little lovely.

I can keep trying a little while longer.

#KomaHina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #sdr2 #HinaKoma #Magi fics #suicide tw #sdr2 spoilers #I guess

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hoe-imaginess · 4 years

Text

hostage | madara uchiha

Madara x Tobirama’s s/o

summary: Tobirama’s wife is held captive when the Uchiha invade Senju territory. She does what she can to keep the peace. It doesn’t last long.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: sex as a bargaining tool, physical/emotional harm, heavy angst, mentions of miscarriage/abortion, brutal use of sharingan

a/n: part of a long and self-indulgent founders era fic I was writing, but recently gave up on. so this is just a very choppy rough draft. it’s all over the place. apologies for the poor & skimpy writing style. fair warning: bit of a darker rendition of Madara than what I usually write on this blog. IM me if you want more details before reading

⤰

They attack in the dead of night.

With the main host of the Senju army battling in far-away provinces, Hashirama and Tobirama with it, few seasoned shinobi are left to protect the plot of land which the Senju call home.

The Uchiha overwhelm the paltry resistance quickly and efficiently, then set about infiltrating the rest of the territory to claim as theirs.

They’re met with little defiance. Of the Senju who don’t escape into the woods, slipping through Uchiha clutches before they can fully surround the vicinity, a majority left to endure the raid are civilians with no real experience or means to contend the invaders’ assault.

Chaos ensues. Uchiha chase down fleeing families, drag them back to the center of the camp where hostages are corralled. They bark and shout orders at stubborn Senju who refuse to abide, sometimes resorting to violence to win obedience.

Then come the fires. The Senju, in one final, practiced act of loyalty, set ablaze as much property as they can in an effort to destroy any intelligence on Senju affairs which the Uchiha might find and use to their favor.

Some of these renegades are stopped before they can succeed, others manage to do their part before being apprehended.

She is one among them, burning the room in her home which her husband uses so often to practice and hone his jutsu; where plots of war are imagined and scribed; where important records are stored.

Tobirama would balk to see all his work going up in flames, but she knows that it’s what he would want her to do.

The anguish that beats mercilessly in her chest as she watches her home catch fire is dreadful.

Such a small little place, she thinks. Just big enough for the two of them. They hadn’t been married for more than a few months now. Arranged, like so many unions those days.

Yet the little, perfect home held such memories in that short time; watching smoke rise from the walls and foundations makes her sick with sorrow.

But it must be done. Whatever the invaders might pillage from her home, they would find nothing to their benefit, and nothing that might end up hurting Tobirama, or the Senju.

Two Uchiha men grab her just as she watches the roof of her home collapse in on itself, pillars weakened and corrupted by flame.

It’s a sodden and meager thing to find so fulfilling, but it’s the only thing from which to reap comfort.

Doomed as she may now be to whatever her captors have planned, she, too, has plans: plans to remember Tobirama’s prudence, adopt it as her own. Whatever awaits her, she can face with her chin held high.

As she’s herded into a crowd of the Senju hostages, uncertain of their holistic fate, the cries and tears of anguish from men, women, and children alike hurt her beyond words.

When the leader of the invaders stands before them and addresses them, with his coal-black eyes piercing every one of them even in the dark void of night, she feels anger beyond words.

And when she learns of his plans to occupy their land, to keep them as prisoners of war, she feels determination.

⤰

When she’s brought before Madara Uchiha in the coming days for the purpose of interrogation, he senses immediately that she isn’t a Senju.

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon, and Madara knows Hashirama is quick to support alliances with clans he finds trustworthy enough. Madara wonders who, among the Senju prominent enough to be pursued for political marriage, might call this woman their wife.

Feeling foolish for having not expected such a question in advance—though somewhere, she’s hardly able to blame herself, given the chaos of the last few days—her mind races for explanation when he inquires about her husband.

“I’m a widow,” she lies. “He died months ago.”

She remains with the Senju to uphold the alliance her marriage created, she says, hoping he believes it.

His gaze is startling, and she fears intermittently that he’s staring right through her with those merciless eyes, extracting the truth under her lies, truths that needn’t be spoken, only simmering underneath the surface for his scrutiny to grab.

She feels apprehension like she’s never known when, after her explanations, he’s quiet. Utterly quiet.

Then, just as she tries and fails to steel her heart’s rapid beating, he dismisses her.

As she’s led out of the tent the Uchiha have constructed for their own purposes of war, she takes a calming breath.

If she plans on putting her wits to use and curbing the punishments soon to be expounded against the Senju innocents, she needs to leverage herself with composure.

She can’t let Madara Uchiha rattle her this much if she plans on contriving against him.

If she plans on winning his trust.

⤰

It’s fairly easy to be granted an audience.

She’s rigid in her loyalty to the Senju, and answers any of Madara’s interrogations about Senju information with silence or ignorance. Still, she’s compliant with otherwise basic facets of the Uchiha occupation; she tells him where best to find food and water in the land; from which fields they might find the most harvest; offers insight on neighboring clans that may contend the Uchiha occupation of Senju territory, loyal to the Senju as they were.

In compensation, Madara is usually merciful with her requests. She asks that the Senju hostages be given more daily rations and more room in which to sleep and live, now that the Uchiha occupy most of their old homes.

Generally, entreatments to the betterment of their well-being are met with leniency. Something for which she is glad, but the brother, Izuna, is not.

She hears them arguing sometimes: Izuna claiming that his elder brother is being too forgiving on the enemy—she assumes she is the enemy in question—and Madara stating in response that he has no quarrel with Senju commoners, and that amending some of their grievances is no harm to their cause.

These small victories continue to mount, until she finds herself at his side almost daily, discussing hostage afflictions, enduring his queries and, occasionally, even his frustration at receiving no answers.

This frustration burgeons quickly, until she’s half-convinced that her play at ignorance is one he sees right through. But he always dismisses her when his irritation becomes visible and unavoidable, almost as if to save her from facing the brunt of it.

It’s the first of the strange, apprehensive intimacies that he gives her.

More apparent, soon after, are his long-held gazes.

They sweep over her, inspect her while she talks, greedily scrutinizing her responses. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through her when his dark eyes linger for too long.

She isn’t naive enough to think this prolonged regard is devoid of any suspicious undertone, nor is she naive to dismiss the lust behind his gazes; the careful inspections of her very body that describe something hidden and desiring under his facade.

She doesn’t want him to look at her like that. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the way it makes her skin crawl, or her heart stutter.

But how can she be ungrateful for his dangerous admiration when it might prove profitable?

⤰

She reaps the benefits of his greed not long after their invasion.

He’s taken up residency in one of the precluded houses near the center of the camp. No guards stand watch outside; he doesn’t need them.

When she asks for entrance to his room he gives it, albeit cautiously. She doesn’t bother disguising her visit under any pretense; she’s there for him, and he knows this, apparently, judging by the careful look he gives her when she walks in and shuts the door behind her.

Shame and irritation sizzles underneath her skin, but she ignores it. Her efforts have guaranteed the safety of the innocents under Uchiha rule so far, but those efforts won’t last forever. There’s more to be done.

It’s not long until she’s pressed against him. Insistently her hand rubs over the space between his thighs. He’s soft, unaffected by her touch. It discourages her, but she continues, regardless.

“What do you hope to gain from this?” he asks, eyes steely and trained on her, as if her eager hand isn’t even there.

He hasn’t made a move to stop her, so she urges herself on.

"Isn’t this what you want?” she implores.

“What makes you believe that?”

“The way you look at me.”

It’s a calm declaration, though she’s still explicitly hiding something under her tone, he sees, something like frustration.

“How do I look at you?” he inquires.

When she refuses to answer, he lifts a finger under her chin and forces her gaze to him.

“Like you want to control me,” she answers bitterly.

The bulge under her hand twitches to life. She rubs harder. His face changes; his expression is tighter, more concentrated.

“And that’s what you want?” His hand stretches across the back of her neck, keeps her head still. Fingers brush at the nape in deceptively gentle tandem. “To be controlled?”

“No.” She squeezes her hand, hard. He replies with an angry, swift breath. “You could never control me.”

The hand at her nape curls into her hair and yanks hard, so hard that her rubbing stops.

“I already do.”

She’s infuriated by his words, he can see that plainly on her face. But he doesn’t care. She’s made the mistake of dangling her seductions in front of him, and he’ll rise to the occasion, if she's so determined to stir him.

It shocks her how smoothly he maneuvers her to the futon at their feet, lays her down and climbs over her; how expertly his mouth captures hers and his tongue slides over her lips.

She opens her mouth obediently, lets him explore. Shame courses through her when a hand between her thighs coaxes a pleased, albeit startled hum from her mouth.

His fingers work her up quickly, pull her clothes off without a hiccup or delay.

She had, foolishly, underestimated the strength of him. After she’s stripped bare, when he holds her arms down, there’s no room for her to fight back. As he looms over her, powerful and dangerous, she realizes she should be shaking in fear, in hatred, in uncertainty.

Instead, her body is calm, forcefully calm.

Sensing this, he sees it not as her resolve, but as a challenge.

She refuses to close her eyes when he starts, and stares up at him, disputing his gaze. The pleased sigh that leaves his mouth when he starts rocking into her makes her shiver, despite her determination to keep her body still, keep it pliable for his pleasure but loyal to her convictions.

His thrusts are deep and hard, reaching into her in ways she didn’t even know possible until now. Her breath catches with every snap of his hips, until those breaths are choking off into surprised gasps when he angles his body a certain way, hits a certain spot inside of her that makes her legs jolt with pleasure.

One hand is planted firmly into the sheets beside her, keeping his body suspended over her. The other holds her thigh, keeps it pressed down to ensure she’s stretched as open as he needs her to be.

When pleasure urges him to go harder, he takes her leg and curves it around his waist to dig into her deeper. With the new angle she can peer down, watch his cock spear into her with precise finesse. She tears her eyes away, the sight of it making her nerves tingle, making the unbidden pleasure that much more potent.

Even if she wanted to vacate her mind, to numb herself to all feeling until she could be sure he was done and her task finished, it’s an impossible feat. Too many sensations; his heavy breath coming in low pants; strong thighs shoving against her legs with every thrust; his eyes, even when she turns from them, searing into her, pinning her down.

A flush spreads over her body, hot and feverish and anxious. In the scant light she sees his skin giving way to his own pleasure; sweat lines the curve of his prominent clavicles, a drop on his brow as it furrows with the heightened pace of his thrusts.

She starts to tremble uncontrollably as he roughly pounds into her, losing some of his rhythm, a basic need for release urging him. Rumbling, chest-born moans spill from his lips, and against her body’s wishes, she cums with a hard-fought whimper.

As she shivers through the onslaught of pleasure, he stares down at her, his face an emotionless canvas.

She doesn’t even realize he’s near his end until he grabs onto her hard, grunts loud and staggered, then stops moving.

He takes a moment to let the pleasure sink in, eyes closed to revel in the wet heat surrounding him, pulsing and twitching. Then he pulls out.

He leaves her on the mat, naked, curled into herself as if to hide the shame of her orgasm. Nothing in his posture speaks of an identical sentiment on his part. The sex she finds so monumentally impairing, he sees as nothing more than what it is: sex.

No sooner than he moves away from her is he dressing, the raw muscle of his back moving with every motion, his sweat-glazed scars glistening in the moonlight that invades from closed curtains.

Before he leaves, he says, “I assume you have herbs.”

Her eyes open.

The herbs.

She had almost forgotten. She hasn’t needed to take them since Tobirama left, since there was no one else to share her bed…

The thought of Madara’s seed quickening inside of her makes her nauseous. She’s almost grateful he’s reminded her of the contraceptives.

“Yes,” she says. She’ll take them first thing in the morning. They were made to work even after the fact. No need to panic.

“Good.”

He leaves her in his room, and she falls asleep despite her errant thoughts.

⤰

She draws a bath for herself and slips into the lukewarm water.

The bruises and love-marks haven’t gone away. Every time they do, every time her skin is returned to its unsullied state, she’s in his bed again, tempering him, giving herself over to his rough desires in some hope it will continue to coax leniency out of him.

She’s been bathing more often, she realizes: some meager attempt to wash his scent and his touch from her, no matter the pleasure she takes from it in kind.

But there’s still much resistance in her thoughts when she gives herself over to him, a chiding reminder in the back of her head that says what she’s doing is shameful.

She’s a married woman, after all; widow, in Madara’s eyes.

But the masquerade doesn’t take away from the guilt she feels every time she opens her legs for his lust. It’s not even easy to imagine it’s Tobirama anymore. Tobirama isn’t so purposefully rough, isn’t keen on making pleasure so hard-fought with such domination that she receives from the Uchiha.

A chill runs through her to think of the difference between them, to think she might never again know the softer, more loving touch of her husband. The possessive, taking nature of Madara’s intimacy might be all she ever knows.

She touches the skin under her breast, feeling no texture on the flesh, but knowing the seal Tobirama left is still there: a risky, but comforting reminder of his caresses.

She so misses them. She misses his voice, his touch, his earthy scent. The room around her is so devoid of it. The very air feels seized by the conquest of her Uchiha captors. Every breath she draws is more of their smoke, their fire, their danger.

She sinks underneath the surface of the bathwater, eyes closed, a calming air reserved in her lungs.

The water is comforting, reminds her of Tobirama. She imagines it’s him surrounding and warming her skin, if only for a moment.

She lets the world around her numb to nothingness, hoping at some point, so too will her anxieties leave her and make this dilemma all the easier to endure.

⤰

Izuna hadn’t meant to come across her this way.

The woman isn’t answering his brother’s summons, and the guards stationed outside her home say she won’t respond to the calls or demanding knocks they make at her door.

Izuna isn’t a patient man. He has much better things to do than fetch his brother’s stubborn whore.

The guards at the door had apparently been warned not to intrude on her sanctity more than necessary, and utter a protest when Izuna barges into her home unannounced. He ignores their murmuring, unfamiliar with the respect—or whatever it is—that keeps them compliant.

The living area is empty and so is the kitchen. He calls her name once, then twice, irritation coloring his shouts. They garner no response.

At the back of the house, he hears a sound, and goes to it. He hears it again once he’s closer, coming from the washroom, he thinks.

He knocks once.

No response.

He knocks again.

Still, no response.

Sufferance all but worn, he pulls open the door.

There’s a bath of water, her form distorted underneath its surface. His intrusion is apparently louder than any previous call for her attention and she folds up quickly from underneath the water, breaking the surface and sending splashes everywhere in her haste to glance around, size him up, and cover herself for modesty.

Too late. He’s seen it.

Never mind her naked body. Even if he needs to be forgiven for barging in on her later, he doubts, now seeing the mark that she quickly goes to hide under her breast, that she’ll be getting mercy from him or any other Uchiha from this point on.

⤰

When Izuna drags her into the war tent, Madara is more startled by the interruption than irritated.

She’s half-clothed, body and hair wet from the remnants of what he assumes was an interrupted cleanse; Izuna has a distraught look of fury on his face that never bodes well. What surprises Madara most, however, is the way she cowers into herself when Izuna throws her down at his feet.

“What is this, Izuna?” Madara demands of his brother, mildly offended to witness this treatment of her, at his brother’s hand, no less. Madara’s intimacies with her are common knowledge, if not frowned upon by some of his Uchiha lieutenants.

Izuna points an accusative finger down at her. “Look at it.”

Madara blinks through his confusion, waiting for clarity. Izuna hisses in anger, grabs her hair, and yanks her upright.

“Show him,” he commands her.

She groans angrily in response.

He yanks a little harder.

“Show him.”

Madara’s suspicion gains with rapid unease. The doubt always tugging at the rear of his conscience comes to the forefront, ready to be fed with truths, ready to reap its victory.

Izuna forces her to stay still, then claws at the hand she has wrapped about her stomach, hiding something beneath the haphazardly-adorned clothing.

Madara catches on, and approaches.

She slows her writhing when he crouches down in front of her. Then something like preemptive defeat rushes through her when he puts his hands on her, and she stills completely.

Madara doesn’t know what he expects to see beneath the fold of the robe he pulls away from her skin—the skin which is always covered by bandages when he strips her bare at night; courtesy, she always says, of a wound received during the invasion—but Tobirama’s Senju’s hiraishin mark is definitely the last.

The silence that ensues as he scrutinizes the seal is far more tormenting, she thinks, than any punishment he can possibly have in store for her.

He’s enraged, of that she’s sure. And the indignant, defiant scowl on her face which receives him when he looks at her undoubtedly makes that worse.

But she’s been found out, she knows. There’s little else she has to her aims at this point except her resentment, a resentment which she can now display with liberation.

Her masquerade is extraneous now; any excuse she can possibly make redundant. She has to accept her fate, with her chin held high.

Like Tobirama would.

But the conviction doesn’t last long.

“Hold her down,” Madara tells two of the Uchiha men in the room.

She panics.

When Izuna’s hands leave her and more vindictive ones take their place, she starts kicking away, trying to fight and make their hold on her that much more difficult to win.

But it’s useless against the pure fear that runs through her when Madara slips out of the tent and returns a moment later, in his hand, an iron poker which had been mending the campfire outside.

When he brings it over to her, she feels the heat radiating off of its glowing, orange, sharp tip.

Her heart rate skips into the margins of delirium and she shakes her head.

“Don’t—” she pleads, glaring up at him. “Don’t—”

Madara presses the singeing iron against the skin below her breast and she screams. Loud and ragged. He doesn’t care.

Even before the deed is done, the smell of her own burnt flesh nauseates her beyond the limits of her endurance, and she passes out.

⤰

The burn is so severe that it leaves her bed-ridden for days on end.

Every twist and turn of her body stretches the thin, pink skin and leaves her whimpering in pain.

Uchiha medics tend to her wound. She isn’t allowed the relief of healing jutsu; the burn is treated with oils and creams which alleviate only some of the pain, and none of the superficial scarring. Something for which she knows she has Madara to thank. He wants her to bear the mark of her deceit, wants the charred flesh to serve as a reminder of mockery.

She had slighted him with her seductions, made a fool of him with her deception. The burn itself would be a meager sanction in comparison—he could have killed her, after all—if not for the scornful significance it held that did more justice to his condescension than any words could.

Any semblance of superiority her secret had once given her is all but crushed with the wound. Tobirama’s seal had soothed her, served as a pillar of faith and courage; a warm breath of comfort on her skin whenever the chill of her captors’ doujutsu fixed her, whenever Madara’s gaze searched her for weakness.

Knowing her husband’s latent protection remained hidden from the eyes of the invaders had been enough, amidst all the turmoil, to shield her from fear.

Now it was gone, rendered useless and indiscernible under corrugated skin.

Like her home, her body now, too, at the hands of the Uchiha, denied her refuge.

Yet in some twisted, ironic way, the wound still grounds her. The pain is a bittersweet reminder that her body is alive, and not a shell for the hopelessness she feels inside.

It’s a degrading and pitiful comfort. But it’s all she has now.

⤰

Madara makes infrequent visits during her recovery.

The first few are made in silence. As she lies there, pitiful and motionless, he stares without a word to spare. His scrutinizing gaze, both spiteful to set eyes upon her and satisfied to see her agony, is the only acknowledgement he gives.

The patronizing graduates to interrogation. He stands over her impotent form, leering down as he demands to know the reason for her having the seal on her skin, demands to know her relationship to Tobirama Senju.

The line of questioning betrays the deductions he’s already made. He’s already decided that the woman is Tobirama’s spouse, or at the least, some sort of lover. The intimate placement of his seal is telling enough, and her previous elusion on the subject of her purpose on Senju land is further proof. All the suspicions piece together and exploit her lies.

But he wants to hear the truth from her own mouth, the very mouth which conspired to deceive him with its pleasure, keep him pliant with its warm caresses on his body. Only then will he be satisfied, only when she admits who she is, what she is, who she belongs to—

Then he can remind her that it’s he who owns her now. He who conquered her home as easily as he had conquered her.

Her silence isn’t as defiant as she thinks, not by a long shot. To patronize her is a pleasant notion, but the hooded, resentful gaze she gives him fails to stir him in any way besides to sing praises of his own power.

⤰

“Kill her,” Izuna insists.

His determined indignation on the matter comes like a chant in the days following the revelation.

Madara’s commitment to deciding how best to deal with her is only marginally interrupted by his brother’s input, but it does disrupt his logic and feed his own fury.

He should kill her. Should string her up for the rest of the Senju to see: let her be an example to whoever else among them may have delusions of defying him.

“What point is there in keeping her alive?” Izuna presses on. “Kill her. Send her body to the Senju army. Let them know we won’t be trifled with.”

“No,” is Madara’s decisive reply. “She serves more use to us alive.”

“I fail to see how. She’s done enough to outwit you. I would’ve thought you eager to be rid of her.”

Madara resents the comment, but tempers his irritation. “I know your dislike for Tobirama makes you enthusiastic to do her harm. And why is that? Because you know harm done to her is harm done to him.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you should understand the benefit of keeping her alive.”

“Fine. Keep her alive. But not unscathed. If you want to use her as leverage, deliver a gift to the Senju. The correspondence between you and Hashirama has been pitifully civil so far. Send something with the next envoy. Something of hers. A finger will do.”

“No.” Madara’s tone is unequivocally firm. “We will do no such thing.”

Madara has little doubt that his brother’s enmity runs deep enough that an adequate offense on her part, no matter how slight, might be cause for Izuna to damage her. That’s not something Madara can allow.

His conscience forces away the fact that part of his aversion to his brother’s threats are rooted in possessiveness; Izuna has no claim to her, has no entitlement to her punishment.

That’s Madara’s. That’s his. And his alone.

⤰

How she finds herself sharing his bed again, she may never know, and will never be brave enough to ponder.

She’s silent when he moves inside of her. Even when he makes her cum, as easily and powerfully as he always has, she barely lets the ragged, frustrated moan loose from her lips for a second before closing her throat and swallowing down the tightness.

When he rolls off of her he lies in silence. Where he would usually get up to bathe or leave, he remains, like he's done so often recently, to sleep beside her.

He taunted her once, told her he had no fears of sleeping beside her now, because she knows what it would mean for the Senju hostages if she tried anything.

That aside, she’s half-convinced that he’s awake at all hours of the night regardless, waiting patiently for the opportunity to catch her plots and punish her accordingly.

But how difficult would it be? To kill him, leave him, save as many hostages as she can while he bleeds out in the room, alone and cold.

It’s a fantasy she allows herself to imagine over and over again. A fantasy too opportunistic to ignore after their nights of scornful passion leave her weak and spiteful.

The kunai she left under her pillow feels cold as ice when she slowly reaches for it, hiding the purposeful movement behind a comfortable stretch.

It’s been a long hour since she first played at sleep. She never hears him breathing, but considers his silence as good a signal as any that he’s unconscious.

When she carefully turns over, she confirms that his eyes are closed. He sleeps on his back, always, as most shinobi do. Alert and at the ready even in slumber.

Slowly she rises from under the sheets, ever so careful not to let the fabric move an inch across his skin. She should just slit his throat, she realizes. But piercing into him will be swifter, and more profitable.

The kunai wavers in her hand. Killing unwitting men in their sleep isn’t so difficult a task; shinobi and kunoichi alike do it all the time, don’t they? That was war.

It should be easy to stab down into his heart and twist, to watch him wake in tormenting shock as the blood fills his lungs and chokes him. She would enjoy that.

But the wavering in her hand worsens to a subtle tremor.

He’s not an unwitting man, not some simple enemy to kill for convenience. That makes her confidence ever harder to steel, but she has to. She has to kill him.

She won’t wait a moment longer. Kill him, destroy him, and be done with it.

But just as she raises the kunai, a strong hand wraps around her wrist in an unforgiving grip.

His eyes are open, glaring at her.

She shivers with fear and rage as his hand tightens to a bruising grip. Her panic sends her mind into a frenzy of action.

She can still do it. Just one stab downwards and she can end it.

But even pushing down with both hands doesn’t overwhelm his strength. He still glares and scowls, infuriated.

She tries again, putting her entire body’s weight down on the weapon, limbs shaking with the effort.

He doesn’t budge.

He flips them instead, and the kunai is suddenly in his hands, pressed against her throat.

“There are easier ways to kill me,” he mutters. If his blood is boiling at her trespass, nothing in his bored, thin voice betrays composure. “You could be more creative.”

Tears prickle her eyes. Her hands press desperately against his, trying to push the cold blade away from her skin. But he keeps it there. Even the smallest movement will slice the flesh.

“Remember that you are the one at my mercy. I could kill you and every Senju in this camp any time I wish.”

“You’re horrible,” she seethes, breath shallow in anger. "I hate you.”

“I’m aware. Yet you continue to share my bed night after night. You still think you’ll gain anything from it?”

The words sting her pride, split her open to let the doubts and faults and fruitless depravities spill in.

“You do nothing but shame yourself. Look at you. Spreading your legs for me like a dutiful whore, thinking it will somehow save you and your people. It’s pathetic—"

She slaps him, hard.

Though his cheek burns with redness, he’s otherwise unfazed by pain. He scowls and slams her arm down to prevent any more of her rage.

“You may think you have control over me,” she says in a seething whisper. Even with the kunai pressed against her jugular, the expression on her face is nothing short of brazen. A lofty, defeated brazen that comes across as scorn. “But you don’t, and you never will. There’s only one man I’ve ever loved. When you’re on top of me I think of him and only him. It makes it bearable. You’ll never be half the man that he is.”

He scowls at her, his eyes like burning, silent daggers. She knows she might have sealed her fate right then and there. But so be it. Let her last moments of life be spent spiting him.

Her body relaxes, unconcerned with fighting whatever comes next.

She doesn’t expect him to laugh.

“Tell yourself that, if you must,” he says, with a sadistic, grim smirk. “But you know very well the power I have over you.”

His eyes turn crimson and she gasps, but by the time she makes to look away, it’s too late.

In the illusion, Tobirama is frowning at her, eyes wide, a sneer of disgust on his face.

She doesn’t understand why, at first. Why does he look so gloomy? She feels only joy to see him. Joy and unbearable relief.

She tries to run to him. But burning hands at her throat summon her back. Despite no voice, face, or body to accompany the unforgiving grip, she knows it’s Madara who impedes her by the ferocious strength alone.

“Whore.”

It’s not Madara’s voice, but Tobirama’s. It carries over to her, like they’re separated by a valley despite his being only yards away. If she could reach out to him, touch him, feel his embrace—

“Uchiha whore,” he barks at her again, scowling now.

“No,” she pleads, eyes stinging with tears. She tries to pull the grip from her neck away and escape, but Madara locks her arms down to her sides, rendering her utterly trapped.

“Tobirama,” she begs for his sanctity, for his forgiveness. But he’s backing away from her now.

She cries and cries desperately, screeching in frustration when Madara’s grip tightens to a visceral degree, until she feels like her skin is alight with flames.

She looks down, and sees that they are. And the skin which these flames scorch dies off to corrupted, pink flesh as it travels up her arm in a slow crawl. An agonizing, horrible, slow crawl.

Hours elapse as she endures the torture. Hours of raw, inhuman pain and her husband slurring his vile insults at her. The sheer destruction it pillages on her mind and body makes her feel small, makes the flames which take their time in exploring her skin burn brighter and hotter until finally she feels like nothing but ash.

The last of her willpower billows away with that ash, as she watches Tobirama’s form start to disappear on some horizon that defies logic.

She still wants to touch him. Still wants to be held by him. She still wants him, despite how clearly he doesn’t want her.

His obscenities circle her thoughts, all-encompassing, completely and finally defeating her.

Whore. Slut. Traitor. Weakling.

She cries a voiceless cry when Tobirama disappears, and Madara takes the illusion away shortly after.

She blinks for clarity, eyes adjusting back to a reality no less harrowing than the previous artifice.

He leers down at her, takes in her anguish and her seedy frame with gluttonous cruelty in his gaze.

Numb, teary eyes stare up at him as they slowly read his form. Realizing her predicament, she starts to hyperventilate, and tears run down her face.

She shuts her eyes in one last attempt of modesty, forcing the stream of salt to sluice more violently down her cheeks.

“Tobirama,” she pleads weakly, the only thing that she can think of in her hazy pain.

It angers Madara.

“He doesn’t want you. Now look at me.”

She refuses.

His hand twists into her hair and snaps her head back so hard that she almost sees stars behind her eyelids.

“I said look at me.”

“No,” she cries weakly, though she obeys, regardless. Her bloodshot, desperate eyes feed his sadistic vengeance. Then she’s turning her head away from him. Meager defiance. “Please—”

Satisfied with the short admission of her defeat, he takes her face and forces her look at him.

“Try anything like that again and I’ll make sure you spend an eternity in a nightmare of my making. Do you understand?”

She has no energy to respond.

“Answer me.”

All she can offer is a weak nod, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

In a moment of triumphant vindictiveness, his fingers press harshly against the burn under her breast, bringing to life a reminiscent pain, a crushing reminder of what he’s done to her.

He pushes her face away and she curls into herself, thinking of Tobirama.

In these makeshift quarters he’ll find no sleep; his mind is a mess of anger, desperation, and confusion. He needed to hurt her, didn’t he? She had defied him again. What other choice did he have?

Another moment spent in her presence is another pin of irrational emotion nudged into his chest. He needs to leave.

He catches her glaring at him when he climbs off and starts to dress. It’s a look full of pure, searing hatred.

But he says nothing. He’s extracted enough triumph from her.

His silence is in victory; hers in defeat.

⤰

She feels less alive each passing day.

She doesn’t see him very often, not since the incident in the night when she’d failed to take swift revenge.

Occasionally she hears him on the other side of the door, inquiring the guards who stand watch outside about her disposition. Rarely does he enter and see for himself.

When he does, they exchange no words. He examines the room for any plotting demonstration of escape or sabotage, disguising his observation of her underneath these sweeping inspections.

However, sometimes he gives up on the pretense and simply stares, studying her, trying to decide how he feels.

His actions are regrettable, of that he’s sure and self-condemned, but there’s still a glimmer of insolence in her eyes when he catches her gaze: one which rekindles the spite within him, fans vengeful flames and reminds him that she brought this upon herself.

She would see no pity from him.

Any words of apology on his tongue fizzle away then, and his visits conclude as silently as they begin.

⤰

The fight in her dwindles helplessly, and as it dwindles, so too does all sense of reservation.

The prodigious determination there once had been to contend Madara and his Uchiha conspirators is all but spent. What good does it do her now? She’s broken, subjugated, and without leverage.

Her body, which had once enabled her to use its seductions to the advantage of her people, is now depleted and only a shell. A shell for the hollow, cold heap of defeat that she now is.

How deluded was she to think she could save all the people here? How had she ever thought that she alone could protect the hostages from the evil at their door?

And Tobirama, whose embrace was denied to her even in dreadful illusions—what would he think of her? Madara was right. What else was she now but an Uchiha whore? Obsolete, ruined, soiled.

Tobirama won’t want her. Not now. Not ever again.

What more is there for her?

As the weeks go by, Madara’s distrust ebbs away. Suspicions of subterfuge die with her audacity; the times he does happen upon her, she’s nothing but a husk of the sharp woman she had made herself out to be.

House arrest soon becomes a superfluous precaution, and even when the guards leave their posts, she makes few attempts to leave her home. And when she does, she wanders aimlessly, meanders without direction and without purpose.

She’s pitiful, Madara decides. Pitiful and crushed. He has nothing to fear or suspect from her. Her fire is gone.

What he doesn’t expect is that the last ember of that fire holds one desperate dredge of scorn. One which she won’t allow to be extinguished.

When she wanders into the Uchiha war tent that day, she isn’t stopped.

She’s given no second-glance by any of the Uchiha shinobi. Even if they were to give her careful inspection, they would never know of the kunai in her pocket, the steel icy and begging to be utilized for one final, desperate fight.

Madara isn’t there. Instead, she finds Izuna.

“Where is he?” she asks weakly.

Izuna pays her so limited attention these days, regards her as little else except the harlot his brother broke in and conquered, that her presence has nothing more than a fleeting impasse on his patience. Like a gnat buzzing around his head.

“My brother? Who knows.”

When he accords her his attention he sees that she’s looking lifeless as ever. Sometimes he ponders the nature of the unkind things his brother has done to her, with a fraction of a fraction of pity. Then he’s reminded of the trespasses she’s made, and the pity is gone.

“What?” he mocks. “If you’re hoping to charm some leniency out of him, you’ll get nowhere looking like that.” He tsks, a sneer marring his lips as he pulls his eyes over her form, like it’s a harrowing task to complete. “You’re better off groveling on your knees... save him the displeasure of looking at your face, at the least.”

Although she doesn’t react, he sees humiliation simmering underneath the hardened, broken surface of her expression. He would have favored a more promising response to his taunts, but he’s satisfied to see her tamed of her previous unruliness, nevertheless.

He turns his back to her. Her misery is pleasant only for so long; the more he looks, the more unsightly it becomes.

The Uchiha sigil stares back at her, stitched proudly and delicately onto the back of his garb.

It mocks her, does more to incite her than any of his degrading condescension can.

Unthinking, she moves to him.

Hearing her approach he turns to meet her, the same bored sneer on his face.

The melancholy is still in full bloom on her features, but there’s something else there, too. Something that tells him she’s struggling to express a grievance on her tongue.

He scoffs.

“What is it, woman?”

He’s not Madara, she decides, but he’ll do.

Aimlessly, she yanks the kunai from her pocket, then brings it down on his neck, not caring for whatever consequences will follow.

⤰

She wondered why Izuna didn’t kill her the moment he wrangled the kunai from her grip.

Blood spills from his neck; thick crimson pours in rivulets down his shirt, down the hand that presses against his wound.

It may not be fatal but it’s certainly critical. Sharingan had worked in his favor. An inch more of the dagger’s descent studied without the activation of his doujutsu might have guaranteed his death. He inched away just in time.

She doesn’t have time to lament her failure.

He did throw her to the floor in his anger, but nothing else comes. If he hadn’t been so occupied with sealing his wound, she imagines his ire would prove much worse, if not terminal.

She doesn’t bother pushing up from her place on the floor when another Uchiha, hearing the din of Izuna’s angry hollers, barges in, sees the chaos, and sprints away after taking orders from Izuna. She doesn’t hear the essence of these orders, numb to the world as she is.

Had the kunai been in her hand, she would slit her own throat in defiance. Death would have been preferable to what comes next.

When Madara storms in, she’s still a pile of hapless defeat on the floor.

He says not a word, but the pure rage boiling behind his gaze says all it needs to: She made a grievous mistake.

She gasps when he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her to her feet. She screws her eyes shut, unwilling to look at him. He doesn’t seem to care whether she does or doesn’t.

She’s certain that he rips hair right from the roots when he whips her around, shoves her forward with enough force to break every bone in her body. A bookcase greets her as she barrels into it. That’s when her eyes open in pained shock, a rushed gasp escaping her as she struggles to regain the air thrown out of her lungs.

She wants to collapse, but a hand clasps around her neck and keeps her standing. Then the fingers tighten around her throat. She chokes pitifully for oxygen.

“I told you that if you ever tried something like that again that you would regret it.” His voice is cold with anger. “But to make an attempt on my brother’s life?”

She doesn't answer. Apparently, he doesn’t expect her to.

He shoves her back to the ground. It knocks the wind out of her, and when she pushes herself up on shaky limbs, a heavy boot in her back sends her to the floor again.

She yelps as he digs his heel into sensitive muscle. A burst of hot and red pain spreads through her back. Her kidneys, maybe? She doesn’t know. But he’s damaged something internally, and she wishes she were dead.

Her breaths are pitiful and scant when he finally takes his foot away. She says nothing. Thinks of nothing.

“Get up,” he demands, in a rigid, thin voice devoid of anything except fury.

Even if she wanted to obey, her body refuses.

“Get up,” he snaps, and the unforgiving hand returns to twist into her hair, sending webs of pan across her scalp as he hauls her to her knees.

He crouches in front of her, a hand still fisted in her hair. Now he wants her to look. His other hand takes her face and squeezes, so hard she’s half-convinced he plans to crush her skull.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Desperately, she tries. But it’s a task to keep her eyes open without nausea seeping into her gut. Her eyelids force themselves to shut in an effort to quell dizziness.

But then he jostles her around by the grip in her hair, so hard and so viciously that her entire world blacks out momentarily. The motion sends her mind reeling and her vision swimming.

“Open your eyes.”

Adrenaline shoots through her and demands her to obey.

She isn’t surprised when the red of sharingan is there to greet her.

Everything goes black in the world of his making. She almost expects to see Tobirama there, for him to shout at her and degrade her again.

Instead, she feels pain. The worst pain she’s ever felt. So painful she can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing that exists is the hot, searing flame of anguish that stings every inch of her skin, every gap of her insides, down to the very organs.

A hundred kunai stab into her head. She hears them slicing flesh to ribbons and digging fractures into her skull. Her blood curdles until it’s set aflame. That too, she hears, bubbling underneath the surface of her skin like thick, boiling water.

Everything hurts. Everything is endless agony.

When air finally fills her lungs, she wails.

So loud, so violently, so wretchedly, that it’s almost itself anguish to hear.

Then he takes it all away.

The relief is heavenly. She crumples into a ball.

She hates it. She hates the weakness. If Tobirama could see her…

Then the pain comes again. She screams in tandem, then bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

The cruel routine goes on, for what to her deluded, frenetic mind seems like hours, but is in reality passed in mere minutes.

Izuna watches as his wound is tended to, his expression as devoid of any mercy or sympathy as his brother’s.

⤰

Two weeks later, when her body and mind make the slow, pitiful climb back to equilibrium, she notices the change.

It’s unlike one she’s felt before, but not entirely unrelated to an irksome nausea: a queasiness in her stomach that neither food nor rest alleviates; something new, like an aura, that swathes her and accompanies her every second of the day; an extra weight added to the burden of her body.

Then comes the fearful ascent of logic.

Amidst her turmoil, she’s forgotten about missing her monthly bleed. Its absence could be blamed on the toll her body has taken, but she knows better.

The revelation brings her into a spiral of hectic anxiety, of despairing conflict.

It’s not long before she finds herself sneaking into one of the medical tents, decision already made on how best to deal with the new predicament.

She shuffles through the stock of vials and herbs which the Uchiha medics keep at the back of the tent, finds what she’s looking for and almost escapes as covertly as she had infiltrated, when she’s stopped.

“What is that you have?”

She pauses a foot away from the tent’s exit, her body in a mode of panic.

“Some herbs for my wounds,” she mutters.

An elder Uchiha woman, a medic, turns her around and inspects the filched items in her grasp.

“That is ginger root,” the medic observes warily. “If you need something for the pain, I would suggest dried poppy.”

The young woman stares fretfully at the old woman; the old woman stares back.

“Thank you,” the younger stutters blankly, unable to make a step in either direction; play along and heed the advice to go search for the proper herbs, or flee and risk suspicion?

“You look ill,” the old woman says, eyeing her, putting a hand to her forehead.

She backs away. “I just need rest.”

“Let me examine you. I can help you find the right medicines.”

“No,” she says. Any medic will be able to feel the life inside of her, given the chance. “I’ll be alright.”

She tries to leave then, but the old woman doesn’t let her.

⤰

When Madara answers the request for his presence at one of the medic huts, he’s surprised to find her there, sitting on a cot, hunched over and distressingly quiet. Two Uchiha men stand at her sides, supervising her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Madara asks.

Recently, he’s appreciated any reason to stay away from her. The sight of her makes him sick, makes a conflict of rage and confusion and culpability dance angrily in his head.

The old woman offers him the ginger root, and a small vial of clear liquid. “She was after these.”

Madara takes them into examination. “Am I supposed to know what this is?” His patience, already thin, dwindles considerably for the roundabout elucidations.

“A toxic mixture,” the old woman explains plainly. “Boiled with regular tea and these will certainly destroy whatever grows inside a womb.”

With subdued bafflement, Madara looks at the woman on the cot, understanding all at once.

She doesn’t dare meet his eyes. Even now her body trembles with frustration, with fear, with defeat.

Izuna, who had accompanied his brother, scoffs, incredulously loud. “So either you managed to put one in her, brother, or it’s the Senju’s.”

“Can it be determined?” Madara asks the medic, ignoring his brother, and never taking his eyes off the frail form on the cot.

“In a month’s time the chakra should be durable enough for us to sense.”

“Kill it,” Izuna insists, coming to stand next to his brother, a voice of frustrated reason. “If it’s a Senju, better off unborn. And if it’s an Uchiha... you would pass on the clan’s power to halfling filth.”

Unperturbed, Madara stares in silence. Finally she meets his gaze, unsettled by the look of dark concentration in his eyes.

“Why attempt to destroy the life inside of you unless it’s a burden to you?” he ponders out loud.

She realizes his train of logic: it must be his, for her to be so adamant in her pursuit to terminate it.

“If it was my husband’s,” she says, “and it is, I would do the same. You would kill my child the moment I bring it into this world. Why let life grow that is destined to be murdered in cold blood?”

“And if it were mine?”

“It isn’t."

Madara scowls.

“And if it were,” she goes on dangerously. “All the more reason to destroy it.”

That visibly infuriates him.

“Give her the herbs,” Izuna asserts again. “Let her solve the problem. Either way she’s doing you a favor.”

Madara doesn’t speak for a long time.

His careful inspection of her lasts long enough to make her doubts rise afresh, make her feet fidget uncomfortably and her heart pound in desperation.

“She stays here tonight,” he decides ultimately, looking to the Uchiha guards at her side. “She doesn’t leave.”

Izuna looks muddled, and somewhat irritated by the decision.

She just looks afraid.

⤰

He doesn't return for many days, but his absence can’t be appreciated as much of a reprieve at all; her mind is a mess of anxiety and denial the entire time.

This can’t be happening, she tells herself countless times. She can’t be pregnant. And worse, can’t be ignorant to the father. There’s no possible way. It can’t be happening.

Part of her reasons for the better: it must be Tobirama’s. No more than three months have passed since the Uchiha first conquered and occupied the land, no more than three months since she’s been with her husband.

The other part of her, downtrodden and beaten into pessimistic depravity, knows that with the chaos Madara brought, so too came a negligence to her normal routines: was she taking the contraceptive herbs as diligently as she needed to, given their intimacies? Amidst the turbulence he caused, had she remembered each and every time they were together to make sure nothing was conceived from their depraved liaisons? How could she not, when the way he touched her and took her made her sick?

But then, doubt: leading her astray, reminding her that everything horrible and miserable that could happen already had, so what was a bit more to the mountain of suffering she already endured? What was stopping fate from deciding that the life inside her womb belonged not to her loving husband, but to her unforgiving captor?

Thinking about it drives her to depressive insanity. By the time Madara comes to see her, she’s depleted almost all of her brain power.

“Leave us,” he commands the guards who have been assigned to watch her.

They obey, and the pair are left in silence.

Her mind pleads with her to run, to attack, to simply scream—anything. Anything that will quell the distress of the pause in the air, the distress of not knowing his intent.

When he takes a step forward she inches back. Noticing this, he’s dissuaded from approaching any closer.

“So long as the child is inside of you, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her heart pounds so furiously in her chest that she’s sure it’s audible in the quiet of the room.

The statement angers her, scares her, and much to her shame, relieves her.

“It’s not yours,” she claims.

“Unless I’m miscalculating, the Senju host left a week before my arrival. And not long after that, a fortnight at most for the sake of assumptions, this child might have been conceived. Between us.”

Bile rises in her throat and she wants to protest, but he goes on, badgering her with the logic she’s thus far refused to entertain.

“If it were his, you would be farther along. Visibly, for one. And more than likely, I would be able to sense the chakra, deduce which clan it belongs to.”

By now she’s trembling quietly with her fear, fighting the urge to deny him, to preserve the hope that the reality he speaks of is in fact skewed.

“The child inside of you is an Uchiha,” he says determinedly.

She shakes her head.

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re not,” she argues. “You said yourself there's no way of knowing. Not yet.”

He cocks his head. “Then you really have no idea, do you? No idea who it belongs to? Normally mothers can read the chakra within them at this stage. Can you not?”

She won’t grant him an answer, instead stares down at her feet as they dig into the ground, as if in a desperate attempt to escape underneath.

Madara watches her with careful scrutiny. “I suppose we’ll have to see, then. But somewhere in that head of yours, you know I’m right.”

You’re not right, she repeats in her mind. You’re not. You’re not.

Just as he makes to leave, he stops.

“And let me be clear,” he says, menacingly. “If you make any attempt to destroy what grows inside of you, you won’t be the one suffering the consequences.”

The glare he gives her speaks volumes: The Senju hostages. The violence that would ensue. The atrocities he might commit if she disobeyed.

He leaves her. She clutches her stomach, letting the first, long-suppressed tear roll down her cheek. A warm, wet trail is left in its wake.

In the turmoil she finds evidence for and against his claims when she lets her thoughts run away with logic. A wash of anxious desperation enlivens her, makes her conscience grab for a reprieve to her doubts. But even that is denied by the crushing reality of her situation.

The life inside of her might belong to the enemy, to the Uchiha.

And still, it might not.

She stumbles between one acceptance and the next, each clouding her ever more until the tears are spilling in streams down her cheeks.

When she puts every morsel of her ability into sensing the life within her, she can’t tell if the faint trace of Senju chakra she feels is authentic, or a desperate manifestation of her mind’s making.

#madara #madara uchiha #naruto imagines

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handme-myshovel · 3 years

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My thoughts on Self-ish

The album Self-ish is a journey of self. Not a journey of self discovery, but of loss of self. Prefacing this essay with: this is entirely my interpretation, not trying to claim I know authorial intent.

“Self-“ is the introduction, the question. Will is stating he is gonna be “myself again.” Clearly he remembers having some form of identity at some point and has since lost it (see 2012). “Self-“ itself mentions 2012, which is the next song on the album.

2012 starts with a discussion of how he used to be: “innocently cynical, a proud individual.” Quickly he follows this with how he can’t remember how he “forgot himself” in the year 2012, which he also can’t remember. The song contains imagery of both hallucinogenic drugs and many different religions and spiritualisms: Taoism, Christianity (both in general and specifically Catholic), Zen Buddhism, and Mahayana Buddhism. The song explains his lack of self and identity, stating he lost it due to a desire to find his place in the world through hallucinogens and spiritualism; ironically, this is how he lost any idea of having a place in the world. It’s important to note that much of Will’s music also deals with his personal mental health. Bipolar-II, which he has, is characterized by, among other things, a weak sense of self and identity.

Cotard’s Solution, the next song on the album, is a reference to Cotard Syndrome, where a person believes they are dead and decaying. This song moves from the explanation of loss of self to questioning the reality of the self. “Cry my name, remind my brain of my identity, I’m not gonna listen.” “How many people am I? Now that I keep em in my memory, still I check in the mirror to see how I look, I look different in different ways. You do the math, who’s looking back? That’s not me!” “Carving my initials in the back of my hand in case of losing track.” Are all lyrics which suggest the falseness of self in the first place. In terms of motifs, the song contains a bit which is reprised in the albums penultimate track, Dr. Sunshine is Dead, “if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares?”

The next song is Mr. Capgras. This song (even its full title alone) is a reference to many things: capgras syndrome, where one believes a loved one has been replaced; face-blindness; tulpamancy, the art of creating a false spirit/person; among other things. The song opens with a repeating line of “you’re trying to replace yourself.” This fits right in with the developing theme: loss of self, questioning of identity, and now the creation of a new “self” to replace what was lost. Because of the title and nature of the song, though, it is made out to be a negative, false thing to try and manufacture a replacement self; or many selves. “All the false identities,” “And another man in your repertoire, ready in your head and fed up in your memoirs,” “What you feel and what you do, are those things really you, and if not then what is?” The song also repeats “You’ll never take me alive!” This implies a paranoia over the loss of the false self (really, many selves) he has created. As motifs go, the backing track at the end (“this is not enough, this is not enough to prove it yet, no I need to hit the bottom”) is a motif taken from a later song, Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!

The next song, The Song With Five Names, continues this idea of loss of identity. This song’s thesis is that one can never be certain of anything, especially when it comes to the self and the identity. By this point, Will is starting to accept this lack of identity rather than fight it or try and accommodate for it. He states that the self is all in the head anyways, so how can anyone be certain that it’s real? And what does “real” mean in this case anyways? He talks about identity and self being a projection to “protect you from the void within the form.” The lyrics continue the religious motifs of the album, referencing Judaism through a Hebrew epithet of God(I Am Who I Am) and a Christian Gospel song (Old Time Religion). The chorus references digging and shovels, saying “you can break a shovel when you break new ground, you dig dirt up when you dig deep down.” This seems to be a direct argument against the next song Hand Me My Shovel, which talks about needing to dig deeper and hit the bottom. While Hand Me My Shovel wants to get to the bottom of this loss of self, The Song With Five Names wants to simply accept it. The repeated “gotta get to the bottom of it” also appears in this song, further linking the two. The song also contains the line “I noticed that the sunshine is a gaslight.” This could refer to the album’s penultimate track “Dr. Sunshine is Dead,” in which it is sang “I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night.”

Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In! breaks the trend thus far. It stands in contrast to many songs: while 2012 is about forgetting, this song is about remembering; and while The Song With Five Names accepts the lack of identity, Hand Me My Shovel wants to prove something, wants to explain it. He recalls how he got to where he was through the verses, and in the chorus states “this is not enough to prove it yet, no I need to hit the bottom.” This could refer both to getting to the bottom of an investigation and “hitting rock bottom.” The song contains references to his mental health (“Ill bookmark my DSM cause I need to remember my place”) and substance abuse (“Bottle, well, or barrel? All are empty. Dug, or drank, or poured it out.”) The titular lyrics “Hand me my shovel, I’m going in” can refer to both embarking on an investigation of his past and going deeper into the spiral of addiction he’d already faced, similar to the double meaning of the “hit the bottom” line.

The album’s penultimate song, Dr. Sunshine is Dead, explores identity through the metaphor of light and dark. It references Plato’s Cave, an allegory which discusses ones perception of reality, which is also explained through the use of light and shadow. The chorus states, “I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night, well who else could I be, when I can hardly see?” and “I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night, I’m no one if I’m nowhere in between.” The use of sunshine and moonlight is interesting, since moonlight is just reflected sunlight; Will is not his original self, nor is he a reflection of who he once was, but someone else entirely. This is also stated in another line: “who should I be, then, if I’ll never be the same?” This question is promptly answered: “I will be my sunshine, I will be my moon at night.” He has supposedly changed his mind, asking “who else could I be?” He exists as all forms of himself at any time, not just whichever he wants to put out to be seen. If no selves are true, then all selves are true, this song explains. The song ends with a reprise of Cotard’s Solution: “if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares? I’ll stay awake tonight.”

Finally, the album ends with “-ish”, the second half of the first track “Self-“ This is the answer to Self-‘s question, the conclusion he has come to after exploring these questions through the album. Even the way the songs are titled explains this: “Self-“ introduces the concept of self and identity, and “-ish” challenges that. He has decided that ultimately, his sense of self or identity doesn’t matter. “I am a point in time and space. I am the truths that I create. So when my matter takes its stand, no it doesn’t matter who I am.” What’s the point of identity anyways? The only person it matters to is you, and you’re just dust in the wind. It doesn’t matter who you make yourself to be.

The thesis of Self-ish as an album is that it is pointless to worry about your sense of self and identity, as it’s arguably false by its very nature (one could say that “all identities are equally invalid,”) and ultimately doesn’t make any change to the reality of the universe.

#Will Wood #long post #Will Wood and the tapeworms #wwatt #self-#-ish #2012 #mr capgras #song with five names #cotard’s solution #hand me my shovel I’m going in #dr sunshine is dead #self-ish #self ish #oc

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martvota · 4 years

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Reading “The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes” by Suzanne Collins [1]

✴ The switch of perspectives, an utterly rotten setting, the return of various symbols, something about proper character crafting and should we even like Coriolanus Snow? ✴

The first thing I’ve noticed was that people worried Collins might try and give Snow a redemption arc or use the new book as an excuse for his latter actions but I wouldn’t fret – doing so would only invalidate the universe she has built, would make one of the most important characters inconsistent. No proper writer wants that.

If anything, the way I see it, the book is intended to give us more insight on the beginnings of the system and state we (along with Katniss and Peeta, and all the rest) already know. Which is somewhat fascinating, as all well-crafted universes are.

We are given some more information on the civil war/First Rebellion that has spawned the Treaty of Treason but it (mostly?) doesn’t come in form of a history class; it flows quite freely with the main character’s thoughts and other characters’ conversations. There is no excessive detail or raw facts. Instead, we are presented with broken memories and broken homes, traumas, political and economical outcomes – and none of it is impersonal. Susanne Collins has successfully portrayed a society that has just experienced war. The streets that remain ruined years after “peace” has been achieved, the fierce… nationalism, I’d say? Though Panem is technically one state. What I meant was the approach of Coriolanus’ grandmother, almost teary-eyed over Capitol’s completely false glory, extremely hostile while speaking about the Districts. The “us versus them” mentality, the extremely protective kind of patriotism (post-war patriotism, I’d say). The state is trying to lift itself up, the old money families are attempting to regain their riches, and they are choosing the most cruel tactics to achieve that.

We got to know the situation in the Districts thanks to the previously published books – but this time we are taking a look at the Capitol at its least glorious (and if the Capitol hungers, then it’s easy to say the rest of the country is dying of starvation).

That being said, I think it is crucial to remember whose perspective we are adopting for the sake of the novel. In this case, it is young Snow’s so – a ruined upper class family’s heir, raised to believe that he deserves what is the best solely due to his surname. Yes, he is to become the cold-blooded tyrant and killer of millions. No past excuses those crimes, ever.

But we have to keep in mind his upbringing, his origin – he has never been taught to empathise, only pity or detest; he has never been taught to respect people from the Districts unless that brings him gain (and even then, such respect should be faked – think of his beginnings with Lucy Gray).

So of course he was not crafted for us to enjoy. In fact, painting him as an obviously likeable, misunderstood boy would make for a redemption arc or an excuse, wouldn’t it? Instead, we are given a young representative of an extremely corrupt system, by no means its victim but rather product. He might not be a straight-out villain just yet but this book is our chance to observe him grow into one, all the while remaining not entirely bad nor good – he is remarkable at many things and it shines through the pages; he is remarkable at playing the protagonist. He is not one, he was never supposed to be one, and a great feature of this book is that the narrative tricks the readers into forgetting that fact.

If we are looking for a just and compassionate lead, this novel is not the right place for our search. Few of the characters are outrightly bad, as in, even the ones we’d expect to have no remorse whatsoever show some of it every now and then (and I am mostly talking about the Capitol’s citizens). Which is good – I’d say it prompts the reader to question, why would they do that? ( ← I might touch upon that in another post or add examples in reblogs. )

The only actually good characters I am seeing so far are Sejanus and Lucy Gray, but I believe that might have been the author’s intention.

Speaking of which, I have seen someone accuse Collins of (perhaps unknowingly) attempting to lessen the value of a compassionate and vulnerable stance (such as the one displayed by Sejanus) in the eyes of the reader, due to the way the lead character views it as. I disagree – the reader should not agree with any of the ideology Coriolanus follows from the very beginning of the book. Him being the main character doesn’t mean that the author agrees with his views. And if the reader falls for that narrative for a moment, then that is completely okay – the way I see it, it mainly shows that the character has been written properly (he does with the real life audience the same thing he does with the fictional people around him, tricking them into looking at things from his perspective).

Besides, there is plenty of wake-up calls (though once you get lured in by the narrative they may become less striking), such as the bizarre scene where teenagers are brainstorming how to make a mass execution more interesting. Under a teacher’s guidance, in class, just freely exchanging ideas that will later take a toll on the lives of thousands. That’s terrifying.

Or the entire concept of the monkey cage, the message it conveys; they are locked up in a rundown zoo, out in the open for other human beings to view and mock – as if they themselves weren’t human, as if they were humanoid. Similar, but not developed enough, not bright enough, clever but not intelligent and never equal. And then the privileged masses that put them there dare to act afraid.

That’s disgusting. That’s cruel and absolutely outrageous, and I love how Suzanne Collins has not given up on her expert usage of symbols (another example: the names, but I could go on and on about that), even if I do think some of those metaphors could have been disguised better and not just served on a platter.

( I’m aware this review might come off as void of criticism but it was completely unplanned— my first impression, if you will. )

I though I would wait with voicing my opinion until I finish the book but now I’d rather update this post as I go, as not to forget anything.

I found out about this prequel by pure chance, just because I had been meaning to give the HG trilogy another read after a long break (so chances are I wasn’t and won’t be able to pinpoint all the allusions to the saga).

#lmao what is this #suzanne collins #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #the hunger games #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #readblr #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #sejanus plinth #book reviews #bookblr #what tags do you people use for these #literature #tbosas

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shyrose57 · 3 years

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Thank you other anon for wishing me well!! That means a lot to me!

He does but Raq doesn't actually know Rans backstory. So he doesn't know Ran has siblings. He just assumes his mom either died or abandoned him due to finding Ran completely alone and being a hybrid. Before Ran would just scream at Raq in Enderian, now both Raq and Ran scream at eachother in it. Jackie describes it as, "A screaming match to assert dominance."

Yep, his body was already straining itself to fend off the posion and the teleporting ended up straining him more than he could handle. So as soon as he teleported them he collapsed and wasn't able to even stand.

That just made me imagine them digging down only to look up and see Phil clambering down after them like a mole.

After he made a scavenger hunt made out of everyone else's items. Phil found his axe in a destroyed tree trunk and Ran found his sword buried in the ground. While Sapnap found his bow hidden behind stones and Jackie was never able to find his particularly because Ranboo forgot where he hid it.

Yes, although its very rough.

Porkius is very very suprised and needs time to come to turns with them being there. While Porkius reacts well to Techno, Techno does not like Porkius and has threatened to punch him a few times and one time he followed through and punched him hard enough to make him fall to the ground.

Definitely.

---------------------

Ranboo is still his ancestor! Ran feels mostly confused, startled, scared, and oddly a bit comfortable. Phil makes him feel comfortable because he reminds him so much of Watson who was a very close and comforting figure to him. But Techno kind of scares him cause while Porkius was kind to him he was also strict, so he's afraid Techno will be stricter and mean just due to how he looks. He also just kinda ignores Ranboo at first because he can't handle the fact he's looking at his now alive ancestor.

Not really I'd say, even though they all have different enderman percentces, they have the same instincts. Though due to Ranboos memory problem, his memory of enderman culture is almost non-existent, and instead presents itself through his instincts. If any of that makes sense?

Karl is terrified upon seeing Ran, as soon as he even hears he's here he immediately drops what he's doing and after a few questions runs off to find and confront him. Tubbo is incredibly fascinated by Ran and at first he respects Ran's boundaries and stays away from him, but as soon as Ran is walking around outside and exploring the surrounding environment, he sees that as the perfect opportunity to bombard Ran with questions. Eret (who I like to headcanon is like a medic and knows a lot more about medicine than most), doesnt comment at first and is instead focused on helping him, but after he learns more about Ran, he is fascinated by him but takes time to get to know Ran and work on making a friendship with him. No one else, not even Michael knows about Ran being there, though they do eventually find out.

A multitude of reasons 1. He landed wrong and ended up breaking an arm and cracking two ribs due to the sudden stop. 2. He isn't used to traveling through time so time travel had the affect of making him very sick, including headaches and nausea. 3. When he was dragged into the timetravel a match in the Pit just ended and he had a few bruises and cuts that hadn't been taken care of yet, so the travel and harsh landing just aggravated them and re-opened some. 4. The harsh landing ended up also giving him a concussion.

When Ran is finally consciousness enough he refuses to speak in anything other than Enderian. At first Phil and Techno are scared he can't speak nor understand their language. But Edward steps in and tells them he can both understand and speak it he just doesn't want to necessarily. So Edward does the communication with Ran on their behalf, he also takes the time to comfort and help him come to terms with him being there. Edward is also the one to gently push/convince Ran to actually speak to them.

Agreed, uh, maybe From Future to Past? Idk.

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I already have a name for this au thankfully, Tip of the Iceberg AU. (Also I wanna say real quick not every single character in the Dream SMP or Tales From The SMP will be featured in this au because it's just to many characters for me to keep track of, it'll mostly be characters I feel like I understand if that makes sense)

They end up everywhere, the Bandits end up in Las Nevadas and end up robbing the place before they bolt, running with no real direction in mind. Zack and Cletus end up just outside of Las Nevadas but they run off into the woods once they hear yelling inside the country. Isaac, Porkums, and Grievous end up in Kinoko Kingdom. Ran lands in Erets castle and accidentally breaks a window from his entrance. Jackie, Jon Jon, and Sheriff Sherman end up in Pogtopia but manage to get out (expect Jackie who is stuck and they can't get him out so they actually left for help). Benjamin lands into the ocean around the Guardian farm. Ranbob also lands near the Guardian farm but instead on land. Charles and Watson land somewhere nearby Foolish's summer home. Ranbulter and James get dropped onto Tommys Memorial Island. And Ash lands in Snowchester. (Note I believe these will be all the tales characters I'll be mostly using, but if any get added I'll probably mention where they also ended up).

Something important though is that almost no one stayed where they landed, Ran ran off into the surrounding forest so he could focus on regathering himself and calm down without worrying about getting attacked, Benjamin just randomly picks a direction to go (North) and ends up picking up Ranbob to join him. John John and Sherman went different directions to look for help; the Kinoko Kingdom group argues before finally Porkums and Grievous head off together having elected to follow the oceans edge (they think the Kingdom is abandoned and think following the ocean will eventually lead them to a city or something), while Isaac calls them stupid and stays around the Kingdom, exploring and taking stuff; and Charles and Watson just kinda walk around though stay in the general area. Anyone I did not mention stays where they landed or is close to where they landed. SOMETHING IMPORTANT THOUGH IS THAT NONE OF THEM GET DIRECTLY SEEN BY ANY SMP MEMBERS RIGHT AWAY, its only found out what happened when Quackity accuses Fundy of stealing from him which he heavily declines. And instead says that he saw others riding out of the country so it must've been them (he saw them from a distance), and their descriptions are enough to unnerve Karl who then goes back to Kinoko Kingdom to look at his Tales from the SMP books where he runs directly into Isaac and realizes what he feared is true.

Once Karl gets confirmation that people from both the past and future are here he immediately calls an emergency meeting and just tells everyone almost immediately that he's a time traveler so it doesn't become a problem later, they don't believe him but Isaac is kind enough to help convince them. Soon everyone is convinced and while everyone is included only a few are actually part of a active search party. Those people being Techno, Phil, Ranboo, Tubbo, Foolish, Quackity, Sam, Eret, Bad, and of course Karl. Everyone else is assigned to just keep a eye out. Not everyone is in the party because they didn't want to be or they had other stuff to be doing.

He explains the In-between and Other Side but other than that they never really interfere, if anything he gets dragged into both sides when sleeping and the two sides both push him to find everyone and fix it all.

Jackie, as per usual, is the funniest gremlin on the block.

Poor Ran!! At least he gets some rest?

Absolutely terrifying image, I pity the poor fool who witnesses it.

Pfft. Can you just imagine the chaos? Half the time it's probably just caused by his memory issues. Prank war a few weeks ago? Ranboo forgets the traps he put up, and everyone ends up with brightly colored hair, and a large amount of rabbits in their house, and he;s standing right there with them trying to figure out who did it.

It's something, so I'll take it!

Technoblade: Nearly starting wars since...uh, whenever he spawned in, I'm not really sure of the details there.

Good.

-----------------

So Ran is aware Ranboo is his ancestor? Does he have the same backstory as Brothers AU!Ran?

Does this mean Ranboo is working solely on instincts when around other Endermen or Ran? How does that work out?

And since Enderwalk has all his memories, what are Ran's encounters with him like? Is he aware of Enderwalk state, or was that lost to time? Where do their instincts lead them? Does Ranboo get a bit more hesitant towards Ran when he's leaning more on them? Or is he more open and welcoming? Can he tell Ran shares his blood?

Confrontation? Uh oh, how does that go? Especially considering Ran's possibly the only one to have a vague idea of Karl's hobby? Does it end up coming out?

How does Ran feel about having Tubbo constantly ask questions? Is Tubbo just curious, or is he trying to figure things out? Does this mean Ran ends up in Snowchester, or does Tubbo head to the Antarctic? Medic Eret?? What kind of relationship do they have with Techno and Phil to get called in and come to their aid? How do Eret, Karl, and Tubbo learn of him, if this is being kept hush-hush, and why is it being kept such?

Poor Ran, he's really gotten the short end of the stick here. So time traveling can negatively effect those not used to it/built for it? Does Karl suffer similarly?

And Edward speaks Common, then? Also, Edward!! Is he still Techno's roommate here? Does he have a little nearby area? Or does he head back to the End when he's not hanging around? Has he been helping Ranboo as well?

Sounds good!

-------------------------

Gotcha, gotcha.

The fact that the bandits first instinct upon appearing in a strange new place with no prior warning is to rob it brings me great joy. How does that go for them? How far do they get, what do they steal?

Cletus & Zack: Dunno who you are or where I am, but I don't like the sound of that, so lets bolt.

Issac, Porkums, and Grievous actually don't sound like a chaotic combination, so they probably don't cause too much trouble.

Poor Eret. Imagine just trying to enjoy your day and coming back in to see your window broken.

Jon Jon and Sherman with Jackie just sounds really funny actually. The blatant contrast from time periods and all, and Jackie's pure chaotic energy...Also, they'd both be so much taller than him. Why was he stuck though? What happened?

Another question is, at what point was everyone tossed back? Long after Karl had left, before meeting him, in the middle? Is it different for some? How do those who've met him before react? Why does Isaac believe Karl, and how does he help convince the others?

Who's found first? What happens then? Is anyone hurt? What are both sides definition of 'fixing it all', and how does being dragged in between the two effect Karl?

#Brothers AU #dream smp #dream smp au #From Future To Past AU #Tip Of The Iceberg AU #tales from the smp #karl jacobs #ranboo #tubbo #technoblade

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notnctu · 4 years

Text

both sides - k.jw

shyboy!jungwoo x fuckgirl!y.n warnings: mentions of alcohol, hooking up and swearing summary: relationship (n) - the way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected. In this video, two people in some sort of relationship take turns answering questions about their relationship while the other person cannot hear any of their answers.

a.n: hi i am author xuxi ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ and this is like a small script scenario that was inspired by @mistymark‘s the one with the ex boyfriend series and by jubilee’s youtube series called both sides. i rlly hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it :)

[In the frame, there were two empty chairs. In between them was a small coffee table with one set of large earphones and earplugs. The only thing that could be heard in the first few seconds of the video is the creaking of a large metal door and light footsteps.]

[Y.n opens the door and holds it for Jungwoo to follow behind her. As they weave through the cameras and lights to get to the set, y.n suddenly gets shoved in front of the camera, a small ‘oof’ heard behind her. When she turns around, she erupts into laughter as Jungwoo starts hopping into the frame, wires tangled around one of his ankles. The scene then cuts to her sitting in the chair, laughing so hard she’s holding her stomach as one of the set employees unwraps the wires from a blushing Jungwoo]

Introduction

Y.n, confidently: Hi, I’m y.n and I’ve been dating this clumsy man for a little over two years now

Jungwoo nervously rubs his hands on his thighs: Hi I am clumsy man Jungwoo who has been dating this amazing and beautiful y.n for about 118 weeks.

Y.n, teasing him: I didn’t know that converting the years into weeks was part of your engineering degree.

Jungwoo: See guys, you gotta do that math in the relationship, helps make her think that you’re good at math and will be rich in the future so she’ll never leave you.

[Y.n starts laughing again and Jungwoo only stares in awe at his girlfriend, he could never stop himself from admiring her beautiful laugh.]

[Jungwoo hands the headphones and earplugs to her immediately, she nods in a pleasure shock]

Y.n: Wow, never in my life did I think that you would volunteer to say something first.

Jungwoo with his little silly side smirk: Maybe I’m feeling extra brave today, the effect that the y.n has on me.

[She laughs again, as if every little thing Jungwoo does makes her the happiest person in the world, it’s one of the only things that Jungwoo takes pride in as seen when the camera zooms into his small smile while he watches her slip the headphones on]

Y.n, loudly: Do I look ugly with this on?

[Jungwoo leans forward and pulls out small strands of her hair that were stuck behind the band of the headphones. He then pulls her longer strands from behind her shoulders to rest in front of her chest.]

Jungwoo: Not anymore, you looked a little bald at first.

Y.n, her lips falling to a frown: Did you just call me bald?

Jungwoo: Yea Caillou. Bald.

How did you two meet?

His side

Jungwoo, laughing: I mean, the very first time I saw her was at a frat party, and she still does not know anything about this. In fact, I haven’t really told anyone about this except Lucas, but basically it was at his party and she was totally blacking out. Oh, and I already knew who she was too.

[He pauses, lips pursued, finding the best words to describe the situation]

Jungwoo: Let’s just say - she’s a social butterfly, quite popular. But basically, she had been shoved and I just happened to catch her. I shit you not, she looked me dead in the eyes and said ‘you better not kiss me’ with the most drunk yet devious smile I’ve ever seen.

[He laughs at the memory nostalgically. Never in his life did he think that one of his fondest memories would be at a frat party. Y.n is obviously confused.]

Jungwoo, his gaze soaks all of her in, completely smitten by her: Looking back at it, I totally shouldn’t have saved her ass, she probably deserved to eat shit.

Y.n, eyes still clearly lost: What are you talking about?

Jungwoo, though blushing, was still able to say in a high pitched mocking tone: None of your beeswax!

Her side

[Y.n hands him the headset and earplugs, she starts rubbing her ears]

Jungwoo: It’s loud isn’t it?

Y.n: Yea, but nothing will ever be as loud as your high pitched screams when you get scared.

[He rolls his eyes as she flashes her small mischievous grin, putting the earphones over his ears.]

Y.n: Uhm, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if we met at one of our mutual’s countless frat parties. But if we did meet there, there’s no way I’d remember.

Y.n, smiling fondly: But the very first time that I really met him face to face, and sober might I add, was when I bumped into him and Lucas on campus. Lucas invited him to his party, of course, that night and said something like ‘Jungwoo is gonna be there! You gotta go cause he never goes to my parties!” so I really had to directly look at him and I was thinking like ‘wow, they’re complete opposites’ because at the time, I had never seen him before.

Both sides

[Jungwoo places the two accessories onto the table, his eyes wide with curiosity.]

Jungwoo: Tell me what you said, I wanna know what you think our first meeting was.

Y.n, raising a brow: Think? So we totally met at a party once huh?

[Jungwoo just slyly smirks at her, remembering how sharp y.n always was. He nods his head, motioning her to continue.]

Y.n: I talked about when Lucas and you bumped into me on campus, and he invited me to one of his parties.

Jungwoo jumps a little in his chair, excited that he remembered that moment: Oh my god yea! That was our first time meeting sober.

Y.n: Yea, and I was thinking like, oh my gosh, they’re complete opposites.

Jungwoo sighs: I get it, I’m not as tall, as buff, as handsome or as cool as Lucas Wong. He’s only friends with me because we were roommates back in first year.

Y.n: Not even, Lucas loves you, he follows you like a lost puppy all the time. Also you don’t want to be Lucas, he’s kind of a, ya know-

Jungwoo: A douche.

[They snicker, but then suddenly, y.n stops and look directly at Jungwoo]

Y.n: Wait, what happened at the party when we first met?

Jungwoo: I mean, I just talked about how you were making out wi-

Y.n sighs into her hands, cringing: Oh my gosh, don’t bring up my past.

[Jungwoo turn to the camera, a hand blocking the sight of his devilish grin from his girlfriend, and mouths to the camera with the subtitles assisting the watchers at the bottom of screen]

Jungwoo, his mouth exaggerating each word: She used to be a fuck girl

[Jungwoo never says his real answer, he’s always been too shy to admit that he was drawn to her since that very first night and that Lucas bumping into her that random day was staged.]

How was your first kiss?

Her side

[She immediately groans into her hands, her legs dramatically stretch out as she slips down the back of her chair, clearly disliking the memory. Jungwoo’s eyebrow’s furrow in animated confusion. What could’ve possibly made her this embarrassed again? Her pink ears make release a baffled laugh, shocked by her sudden outburst.]

Y.n, still hiding behind her hands: It was so strange. I never felt nervous to kiss someone before, nor did I ever kiss someone without it leading to a hook up. It was also in the trunk of his hatchback, we were watching the stars at a look out point. Even the literal setting was something I wasn’t used to.

[She looks at Jungwoo’s very concerned, confused, and focused face. She can tell that he is trying so hard to decipher what is making her so annoyed. She rolls her eyes, but a small smile peaks through as she looks at his very lost face.]

Y.n avoiding his eye contact: It was romantic. It was the first time I really felt like a kiss had some sort of meaning or feeling behind it.

His side

[Jungwoo bursts into laughter, knowing exactly why she reacted the way she did. He nervously rubs the back of his neck but the joy never left his eyes. She glares very intentionally at him with the look of ‘you better not say anything stupid or I’ll kill you’ being extremely prominent.]

Jungwoo: For her, I’m sure it was a surprise, or a little bit weird, especially because it was me of all people in the world. Some dorky loser that wasn’t even one of her countless hot frat boys. I had never seen her so shy and hesitant, probably because the setting of the kiss was very different for her.

[He stares at her, as if waiting for her reaction, thinking that she might kill him once she hears his answer.]

Jungwoo: For me though, it was dreamy, almost like it came out of a movie, perfect.

Both sides

[Y.n buries her face into her sleeves as she takes off the headset and he laughs, remembering her first reaction. Needless to say, he is very amused by her distaste for the question.]

Jungwoo: I know, I really swept you off your feet that night.

Y.n: Shut up, it was only okay.

[Jungwoo is about to interject, but sees her stubbornly looking away with her pink cheeks and just happily sighs. He is satisfied that she’s still so embarrassed about it even two years after it happened,]

What have you learned from them?

[Jungwoo swings his legs from the chair as he calmly listens to the music. His eyes intently yet curiously looking at y.n as she clears her throat. Normally, she was good at hiding her feelings but anyone could see that she was a little overwhelmed by his gaze and the question.]

Her side

Y.n, her stare so affectionately bores into all of Jungwoo: So much. I don’t think this man knows how much he’s taught me in so many ways too, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and in math.

[She laughs, making Jungwoo release a slightly confused laugh. It was always one of his habits, laughing because everyone else did, even if his laugh came out due to awkwardness.]

Y.n: But I think one of the biggest things is that I don’t have to always be this bad bitch that is strong and independent.

[She pauses, maybe to stop the tears from slipping from her eyes as she still struggles to really comfortably talk about her emotions.]

Y.n, after taking a deep breath: He is probably one of the only people that’s ever really seen me cry. He made me realize that I don’t always have to push people away that care for me, that the walls I have do more hurt then protect.

Y.n: Whenever I push people away, or feel scared of people leaving me, he always tells me now that he’ll be my forever wall and I’m really thankful for that.

[She lets out a few sniffles in between her light airy giggles as she motions for Jungwoo to switch roles. He grabs her hand as she takes the set from him and squeeze her fingertips.]

Jungwoo: I would kiss your sniffles away, but you’re kinda far.

[She laughs her wholehearted laugh again and Jungwoo swears that the studio lights get brighter.]

His side

Jungwoo: Ah, this is easy. She always taught me to be more confident in myself. I mean for the longest time, actually, I still think this sometimes, I just always thought that she was out of my league. Just look at her, she’s hot, social, funny, daredevil, risk taker, intelligent, extremely thoughtful. She’s basically everything I’m not. I’m more shy, reserved and kind of weird.

[He glances at her again and she suddenly sticks her tongue at him. He is surprised by the abrupt face and looks visibly offended and taken aback, causing her to laugh, which then follows with his laugh, still in a little disbelief by her surprise attack]

Jungwoo: See? This bitch is, fucking weird and amazing in all the best way possible. But she reminds me everyday, that I actually am kinda cool? She really brought me out of my shell and built my self confidence.

[He laughs again, mainly because he can’t take himself seriously. Y.n rolls her eyes]

Y.n to the camera: He’s being insecure again isn’t he? He is such a beautiful human being, can someone please tell him that for me?

Jungwoo huffs his bangs out of his eyes, jokingly pretending he’s annoyed but he’s definitely turning a little pink: She doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She just says it. As much as I don’t want to admit it, she has been a good influence, only in that sense.

[He sighs, thinking about her more bad ideas such as skipping class, drinking the nights away, running in the middle of the street. When he looks back up at her, she has the sweetest doe eyes that were only focused on him, as if she wanted to hear more of what he was saying, even though she couldn’t even hear him.]

Jungwoo, looking away: But yea, I guess what it all boils down to is that she really made me feel comfortable in my own skin. Plus she finds me genuinely funny, so now I guess I’m less afraid to make jokes and laugh with people rather than trying to stop myself from saying anything and looking around to check if anyone is looking at me weirdly.

Both sides

[After she removes the music, there is a brief silence. They both just look at each other with such warmth, that the people on set feel like they’re suddenly intruding.]

Y.n, hesitantly: I know that you were talking about how you think I’m out of your league.

Jungwoo crosses his arms: Maybe, don’t get cocky.

Y.n sighs heavily, annoyed: There are no such things as leagues, I like you, and only you because everything you do is what makes you, you. Therefore, I like every single thing, imperfections, perfections, giggles, jokes, faces - everything.

Jungwoo reaches over to grab her hand: Hey, thanks.

Y.n, confused: hm?

Jungwoo: Just, thanks for always being my number one supporter.

Y.n smiles: Always. Thank you for being mine too.

Jungwoo reflectng hers: Always.

[They stare for a small moment, their fingertips just barely grasping each other. Their eyes reflect the same glossy daze. The just immerse in all the feelings, words, and emotions floating in the air. They barely even reflected and discussed each other’s answers, but they just know, the love is there.]

That was the last question. Thank you so much for coming in today.

[They both get up from the chair. He brushes her cheeks and squishes them quickly as he leads them out of the frame.]

Jungwoo sighs: Man, I really thought I was gonna embarrass you more, but I guess I didn’t really have the chance.

Y.n, her voice distant: More? What did you already say?

Jungwoo, their steps clicking in sync: Oh, ya know that you were that hot bitch and that everyone wanted to get into your pants and somehow I got the honor to cuff you.

[A loud gasp is heard and a quick smack. The last thing heard is a small yelp and a light laugh as the camera is fading to black.]

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boyy-wonder-grayson · 4 years

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Winter's Weather // Dick Grayson Au!

Previous chapters: 1 2

Chapter 3

Warnings: nothing, kinda sad, mentios of sexual themes kidna.

A/u:Hey guys i’m kinda back, sorry i left this series alone i just didn’t have much inspiration to wirte for this, and i dind’t want to write something shitty just for the sake of writing, so hopefully you’ll enjoy this new chapter! thanks for following me and the series and i appreciate you caring for my writing. sorry for mistakes, and thanks again!

It’s been a month already since she arrived at Mystic, and it’s been one week since she last saw Dick. The first week went by quickly; Y/n had been so caught up with taking care of the cabin that she didn’t realize how much she had been inside the house. The weather was getting increasingly colder as the days passed, and the colder it got the feeling of loneliness started to creep inside of her. The first few weeks went somehow okay; the nostalgic feeling of being inside the house that held so many memories from her father was ever present in every waking hour, but the more time she kept herself preoccupied, the better she got at handling it. It was the nights that always got to her.

Y/n was someone who enjoys being alone; she liked to be able to enjoy quiet nights, with a glass of wine and a good movie. She enjoyed being alone, what she didn’t enjoy was the feeling of loneliness. It’s been a few months since she broke up with her former boyfriend, and she was fine with being alone once again, but on quiet nights she missed the warmth of being in someone else’s embrace. And much to her chagrin, her mind took her to the only man that made her feel a resemblance of warmth, since she arrived at Connecticut.

Dick.

It was strange of her to feel something so soon for something she didn’t really know. Dick was a mystery, that much she knew. It was an understatement to say he was an attractive guy, everyone with eyes could see that, but his eyes held something that drew her in. It was ironic how much of a lifetime movie her life had become since she came to town. Meeting a mysterious man; the random encounters they had around town, but as much as a cliche that was, she liked it. She chuckled, thinking about the few times they’d run into each other during her first month. More often than not, they found themselves standing in the cereal aisle fighting. It was a routine at this point for them. One that both waited to happen sooner than later.

That’s why she realised she hadn’t seen Dick since last week. She went grocery shopping on Tuesday and he wasn’t there,nor any other store for that matter. She hasn’t realized how comfortable she has become with him until he wasn’t there. She wondered, if something happened to him, if he was okay. She didn’t want to stay inside and wallow into her own self pity - she also didn’t want to stay in and think about dick because that might lead to some unholy activities - so she got dressed in some warm clothes, turned on her car and made her way towards the nearest bar.

The Hood.

The Hood had seen some of the best and the worst nights of Y/n. She was not proud to say that the first time she got drunk, it was there and let’s say it did not end pretty. The moment she set a foot inside the bar, all the memories smack her in the face, some making her cringe at some, and smile fondly. The owner, Slade, a war veteran who had lost an eye in battle was the friendliest bartender you could ever meet. He was quick to shut down any creep that got too handsy with people around the bar, and he was one of the most respected men around town. For y/n, was like an uncle. He and her father were fishing buddies back in the day, and so grew around the man, and knew how much of a softie he was underneath that eye patch.

“Uncle Slade!” She cheered once he spotted him across the counter. The man’s ears perked up at the familiar voice and when his eyes -eye- found the source a smile made its way into his face.

“Y/n? Is that you!? My, my you’ve grown kiddo” he said moving around the counter to engulf his niece in a warm hug.

“Oh, i’ve missed you!” she said, separating herself from the man. “I see you’re doing pretty well” the girl gestured at the almost filled bar.

“It’s okay,” he said, looking fondly at the girl whom he considered a daughter. “How have you been?” He asked delicately. The girl sighed knowing where the conversation was going; after all they were almost brothers.

“I’m okay, been back here after so many years, it’s been… rough, but I like it. I always did love this town.”

“Wel, I’m glad you’re back. Adelaine is going to be happy to see you again” he said. Adelaine was one of the sweetest woman in town. Being married to someone like Slade wasn’t easy Y/n used to think -still does- but adelaine made it work. They had a son, Jericho, who loved to hang out with Y/n when they were younger.

“Is she here?” She asked excitedly.

“Not today, she usually helps me on Fridays and Saturdays. But we definitely need to have you over the house one of these now that you’re staying in town” Slade said with a smile.

“I’d love to! I miss you guys a lot.”

“Well, I assume you didn’t come here just to chat, so what can I get you kid?“

“House special” she replied with a smirk.

Slade laughed before replying: “one Red Hood coming.”

Red Hood was the drink that gave the bar the name after all –minus the red of course–. It basically consisted of a Jolly rancher which was green apple vodka, some peach schnapps and cranberry juice, with a little orange slice rearranged to make it look like it was covering the top of the glass, you know like a hood. It was Y/n’s favourite drink.

She sat on a table not too far from the counter and grabbed her phone. She had a few emails regarding work, that she was not going to open today, and a few texts from her sister. She opened the conversation, just when Slade placed the drink on the table. She thanked him, and took a sip from the glass, tasting the fruity drink and snapped a selfie to send to her sister with the caption ‘getting drunk tonight on red hoods. Xo.‘

She sighed after drinking some more, remembering all those days she used to come to the same place every other weekend, to drown her sorrows in alcohol and greasy food. It seemed that not much has changed.

“I didn’t peg you for the drinking type” a gruff voice said. Standing in front of her was none other than the man that had plagued her thoughts the past few days. Dick Grayson.

“Fancy seeing you here Dick” she said in a mocking tone. She hid her smile behind the glass checking him out, not too subtlety. That didn’t go unnoticed by Dick. He smirked as he took a seat on the table making the girl raise a brow.

“Don’t remember inviting you to sit down here"

"I don’t see you objecting about it either” he replied.

“Touche.”

“So, what brings you here Grayson?” She tried to sound nonchalant but her voice was laced with worry? Dick shook those thoughts away, and cleared his throat.

“The alcohol” he replied, making her chuckle.

“Cheers” she lifted her glass in the air, nodding her head at the same time.

They stayed silent for a while. Enjoying each other’s company. The silence was surprisingly not awkward at all. This gave y/n time to really look at him. He looked tired, but handsome as usual. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was a little too long. Y/n that he looked incredibly hot. The shirt under the leather jacket had two buttons opened, leaving his chest a litte exposed, and maybe it’s been too long since the last time she had sex, or maybe Dick was natural just hot, but that little window that show his tanned skin made her feel all sort of things. His Adam apple bobbed up and down whenever he took a sip, and god she needed to get laid now or go home and take care of it on her own.

Before her imagination got truly wild, Dick spoke:

“Why are you here?"

The question took her by surprise, not quite understanding why did he ask that.

"What do you mean?” She said, confusion all over her face.

“I mean, why are you here. In Mystic. Is not really people’s first choice for moving in” he said taking a sip from his beer.

“I came here to my dad’s cabin. It’s been a while since I came and I needed to see the state of the house before deciding what to do with it” she replied avoiding eye contact.

“That’s not what I asked."

"That’s exactly what you asked,” she said, looking down at the empty glass in front of her.

“What’s the real reason?” Dick pressed. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk about it with her, but he was intrigued by her. She was the only person in town that made him want to leave the house so he could casually run into her. Not that he would say that to her,of course.

Y/n sighed, knowing that sooner or later she was going to be confronted by someone about her real reasons, but maybe speaking with someone who doesn’t really know her would save her from the judgment.

“I did come here because of the cabin,but I also needed time to think I guess. To breathe” she began “I broke up with my boyfriend a couple months ago, and I guess I needed a break from it all,you know? Is not that I’m doing this because of him, but also my mother kept on pressuring me about getting older and finding a husband, and getting married and I just don’t think I want that. Not now at least. And I just couldn’t handle it anymore, and this was a good chance, maybe to start over, to chance, but now I just… don’t know” she said sighing not looking at Dick.

“I came here five years ago, for the exact same reasons as you,” he said,surprising the girl.

“And?"

"And… nothing changed” he admitted looking down at his now empty beer bottle. “I came here five years ago, wanting to do something about my life and I did nothing. If anything I became more reclusive.”

Y/n knew that even though dick and her were not exactly friends, and did not know each other at all, she thought that maybe he felt the same. Telling the story of your life to a stranger can be comforting in a way; like she said saving yourself from the judgment from your family. She knew that asking dick a question might end in either him answering truthfully or maybe he’d shut himself off even more than before, but since she was kind enough to tell her own story she hoped for Dick to do the same. So she asked:

“Why did you come here?"

Dick huffed and ran a hand through his long hair. He didn’t like talking about this topic with anyone. Not his family,not his friends, so why was he about to pour his feelings out for some girl he barely knew? He did not know the answer to that yet, but the warm smile on her face, and her kind eyes gave her a weird sensation in his stomach. Maybe he was starved for connection with someone other than his family,maybe he liked her enough to trust her.

Maybe.

"Before I came here I was supposed to get married with my back then fiancee, Dawn; I was the happiest guy in the world. I had a good family, friends and someone I trusted with my life. But a few days before my birthday I found out she cheated on me with my friend Hank.” He stopped to look at her, waiting for the same look everyone gave him when they heard that story. But her eyes were soft, a sweet, comforting smile was waiting for him, rather than pity. Dick somehow understood the look she was sporting. She understood because she had

been there herself. Dick sighed loudly, releasing all the tension and stress that he had been carrying for years. Being in her presence was like a breath of fresh air for someone whose head had been surrounded by smoke and each time got harder to breath.

It wasn’t until she came to the town that Dick allowed himself to breathe the air that the city provided him with.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing #titans #titans imagine #netflixs titans #dcu #dc #fanfic

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cosmiciaria · 4 years

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Assassin’s Creed Unity Review/honest thoughts/discussion - SPOILERS (long post)

So I decided to finally settle on a proper review – although this one is going to be more of what here in Argentina we call a "sincericidio": basically I will spit my guts out and cry in one corner, while being completely honest about my feelings. I will try to keep most spoilers at bay, like I always do, but there's just one thing I cannot not talk about which is THE spoiler so – I want you to be considered warned.

Before I start, I should state, since this is my review and reviews are quite personal actually, why this game is so important to me and why I wanted to play it so bad. There's a combination of factors, and obviously this game isn't going to strike the same chords with everyone, so bear in mind that this is strictly subjective and, right now, personal.

First factor and I think the most important one: I like writing. Wait, don't leave the review just yet. I like writing and creating characters. I have many. Lately I've been revisiting a character that had a very sad backstory and added quite long happy ending for him. I made him fall in love again. He's black haired, wears a short pony tail… his new love interest is a redhead with wavy hair… ok, you get me now, don't you? And what's worse, is that their story takes place in a fictional world that resembles quite much Europe of 1800's. So clothes and ballrooms and palaces and big, fluffy dresses are a thing in this story of mine. I think that, if you've ever created a character, to find another fictional, similar character in any medium is going to draw your attention to that product right away. It did happen to me with Cal Kestis from SW Jedi: Fallen Order, I have another redhead baby boy that needs to be protected at all costs. It's a way for us to 'see', let's say, or imagine our characters being brought to life.

Second factor: I love Paris. I visited Versailles and Paris back in late 2018, and I went there with zero expectations, only to fall in love with France. I love the Château de Versailles. I love palaces. I love the Seine. I love the Louvre. I love it. All of it. If I could, I'd live there. Sadly, I'm poor and speak little to no French at all.

Third Factor: I'm learning French! I dream with the day I can speak like five languages as well as I speak English (I studied it for ten years so… it kinda makes sense that I feel comfortable with it). I'm still struggling with French, but I will get there someday. I will. Because I love it. I love the language. Oui.

Fourth factor: I also really really, really like the French Revolution, and I've never, much to my surprise, watched or played any series, videogame, movie or anything that takes place in such a context (if you have recommendations, please drop them right away!). And I say "to my surprise" because I really like that part of History! So, to live in almost first person how the French Revolution unfolded – to hear the chansons and to see people gathered in crowds at every corner, listening to a liberty preacher wielding the French flag – that was glorious.

Fifth and yeah we're done: I love Les Misérables. I know it happens way later than the French Revolution, but since this musical (and the 2012 movie) became my 'home', I can't help but feel a stronger connection with everything I said above. I can watch that movie over and over and I will still sing Empty chairs and empty tables with tears in my eyes, despite its flaws.

I had like every reason to play this game. And it paid off.

Before plunging into it, I did read the novelization. Sadly, it was only to satisfy my soon-to-be-fulfilled obsession with the game, since I don't think the quality of the narration was, uhm, that good – it felt like you needed to have played the game before reading it. And I get it, it's a videogame adaptation, that's fine, but when you look at it as standalone book, it doesn't stand alone that good. What disappointed me, though, wasn't the narration, which was what I totally expected it to be, nor the dialogues or the ending – it was Élise. I was bit weary about this because she came across as completely different character than what I had in mind about her, and I didn't like her. At all. In the book, at least. I didn't like her because she had a few comments and took some decisions that made her look like she was stupid and/or selfish. I can understand the selfish part; I do not want to even believe that she's stupid. So that's why the book was a bit of a letdown for me. I recommend it, though, if you're a fan, because there's a book exclusive character that really gets the plot moving and he's endearing: Mr. Weatherall. Oh, what a man.

Now, regarding the game itself – it shouldn't come as a surprise that I thoroughly enjoyed it. As I've stated in another post, this game is barely an Assassin's Creed, since you delve like zero into the AC lore, and it's just an excuse for your character – Arno – to know parkour. Which in fact he knows before becoming an assassin, so it begs the question, why is this game even in this franchise? I digress. It's an AC game at the end of the day and that won't change.

But do not jump into this game expecting it be your average AC story. I firmly believe that the creators wanted to convey a different story here. For starters, Arno is no hero. Arno doesn't want to save the world. Arno doesn't care about any artifact or magic or creed. Arno only wants to discover who's the man behind De La Serre's death. That's his main driving force. And behind that, there's this undeniable and yet quite destructive feeling that pulls him forward: Élise.

Élise and Arno's relationship goes deeper into this story than it's noticeable at first glance. When you look back upon the plot, you discover that without their love 'subplot', there's no plot at all. If I may be so bold, I would even argue that Arno's story is a tragic love story. All the assassin's lore, all the betrayals, the first few assassinations, it all falls back into the background when Élise returns to the stage almost halfway through the game. And even though they only share like one kiss or two during the 40 hours of gameplay, there's still this latent, persistent motivation behind each of Arno's actions, that he wouldn't be doing what he's doing if it wasn't for Élise.

And it all comes down to that one line: What I wanted was you.

I cannot stress enough how much I loved all of the drunkard memory of Versailles. I think it embodies Arno's perfect character development. The constant rain and the bluish filter on every framerate added to the overall depressing atmosphere. I felt miserable while playing those quests, and the moment he steps out into the entrance of the Château de Versailles and reflects on his past decisions – decisions that have been stolen from him, because he could never defend himself nor change the course of actions on his own accord – that exact moment that he sits down and cries, I cried too.

Because all the game, all the memories, all the dialogues go in a crescendo only to crumble into this abyss. And this, in turn, creates a fleshed-out character, with a believable development, believable feelings, believable motivations. I can feel for Arno, I can understand him, I pity him, and I want to hug him. The whole game reaches its peak in its main character's worst moment: when he realizes that he's screwed everything up.

And not always do we get a story where the main character doesn't win. He just doesn't. Underneath its revolutionary streets, this story reeks of inexorability and fatality. You know it, you know it in the back of your head, but you push that thought apart because you want to enjoy jumping over rooftops and finding the best strategy to kill that man. There's this underlying, looming melancholy in every memory that you play in, and that's why the end doesn't surprise us.

It makes us cry, of course, but it didn't come as a surprise at all. If you're shocked about the end, then you haven't been paying enough attention to Élise's dialogues, to the tone of the story, to her letters, to where this plot was going. Because, like I said, the story is about Arno and Élise's relationship, it isn't about defeating the bad guy. And there was only one way that story could end.

*cries in French*

*Je pleure beaucoup*

I know the game has been panned by players for its performance. And being the 2020 year of our lord, I cannot say I reject those allegations, since it's been 6 years since the game was released. I hope enough patches were implemented to salvage the bugs. I only came across one bug in my entire playthrough which bothered me a little: some NPC's would sometimes pop into cutscenes and phase through the characters like nothing. At first it was funny, but then towards the end it happened two more times, in important cutscenes with our lovely couple, which kinda destroyed all immersion, if you know what I mean. The rest was fine: it never crashed on me, I didn't encounter the infamous, horrendous bug that unleashed memes in internet, never a T-pose or something that rendered the game unplayable – nothing, only that funny bug I mentioned. I did see the drop in framerates, specially in very crowded areas – but to be honest I never saw a game with so many NPC's together in the same place, like, hundreds of them, each with unique animations and varied models. I only come from playing Syndicate, and even there the number of NPC's was lower. Here is jarringly unreal, I didn't know the French Revolution was THIS jam-packed with people!

On a graphical department, this 2014 game still holds up. Very well. I think it even looks better in some scenes than some of its successors. The cutscenes were sometimes very cinematographic, with close ups, zoom outs, certain angles, with quite real lighting and shadows. I know it's not Naughty Dog and it doesn't have the whole Sony battalion behind, but damn if some of the character's expressions were really good. It didn't happen often, so when one of them had this very specific face I was like *insert surprised pikachu meme*.

I also enjoyed the music a lot. I don't know why but the one from the main menu stuck with me for a while. All of the songs have this Versailles, aristocratic tone to it which put me in the mood.

I have only one minor complaint and its entirely optional, let's say – I want to platinum this game. But I don't own PS plus, because it's, uhhh, expensive in my country (do not want to indulge in dollar exchange rates right now). And there are like two trophies only obtainable through multiplayer, which renders my trophy hunt useless. But, alas, I knew this before buying the game. I think that games shouldn't come with multiplayer trophies for the platinum. If you have to pay extra for something, it must be completely optional. And so should be the trophies related to it. It's a bit disappointing, though, because after finishing this game I want so bad to return to it, but if I can't platinum, I don't see myself coming back to it soon. Either way, I could still earn the rest of the trophies, but that would only enrage me more when the last 3% is going to be locked forever *cries again*.

All in all, my major question at the end is: why does this game receive so much hate? I guess if I came from a hardcore fan standpoint I could understand it more. If I had played all its predecessors before this one, I would also feel that the gameplay and the objectives are repetitive. That the challenges are bs. But the stealth aspect has been improved, the parkour has been redesigned and adapted, and as of now, bugs aren't a problem anymore. I want to believe that when a remaster for the PS5 comes out or, I don't know, if someone by divine grace has an epiphany in the near future regarding this game, people will change their mind on this one and will appreciate more what it wanted to be, than what they made it to be. After all, this is Arno's story. Arno's tragic love story.

Also this game is beautiful JUST LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT!!!

Sorry couldn’t help myself

#assassins creed unity #assassins creed #ac unity #arno x elise #arno dorian #arno victor dorian #elise de la serre #assassins #templars #review #videogame review #ubisoft #assassins creed syndicate #germain #play station 4 #rant #long post #versailles

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loudlypanickinginvenezolano · 3 years

Text

Life is a Big, Bad, joke; 1s Chapter, Edited.

I am happy about how this turned out!

His mind went through a powerful halt, forceful enough that his eyes hurt again, and he was sure there may be some mid-lasting damage to his thinking. Or maybe his eyes hurt for the abrupt way they almost popped out of his head thanks to the surprise, that was another theory of his…

Whatever it be, the sight before him didn’t change, not even after waiting for a while, and slivers of hope dissipated slowly the darkness he felt prior as, as time passed, he became more and more convinced that, indeed, this was reality, and his friend was really sitting in there!

Or, more exactly, he pushed it all down with all of his might, not willing to let the other know of his inner turmoil just yet.

“Shadow?!” So, he did scream in that part, so he didn’t think twice about the other´s wince. Sonic, admittedly, was too preoccupied with being mad at himself not noticing Shadow before, at SHADOW himself for not saying something before, and, well, happy, as he may now have a chance at getting out of there more quickly and easier than before.

It totally didn’t have something to do with seeing Shadow at all. It wasn’t like his stomach got all giddy with emotions every time the hedgehog and he crossed ways.

Anything but that.

“Mh…Yes?” Came the wary response, which, was admittedly unusual coming from the dark hedgehog. Shadow was looking at him rather strangely, as well, as if he were searching for something on Sonic`s face, but also holding what…looked like a juice box maybe? As if it was a shield, a worried frown marring his face and eyes darting to the door every so before coming back to him.

Sonic wasn’t sure about what was that about, and he really was trying to ignore the bad feeling growing in his stomach sooooo… he could be forgiven if he didn’t stop to question it too much, right? He really wasn’t sure if he even could afford to do it.

He was trying not to have a mental breakdown, after all.

“Yes-a nothing, man! You need to get me outta here!” Sonic rattled his wrists in an impulse, grimacing at the loud clanking sound it made. It echoed dauntingly in the big space, bouncing from wall to wall, which almost made Sonic grumble.

Yes, yes, big, bad and scary place, we got it.

Shadow also grimaced, and recoiled even, though he almost seemed in pain, the strange expression making Sonic stop dead on his tracks.

You see, maybe they weren’t the closest to each other, and there were still a lot of walls and facets that Sonic still needed to pass through and see; He was sure of something, though, and he hadn’t needed to befriend the other hedgehog to realize it, so clear as pure water of a lake, if could very well be as clear as the petroleum: Shadow didn’t like doing pained faces, may it be pride or actual fear, he just didn’t. He avoided it, at all costs. He would growl, hiss, stare at you dead in the eye and pick up as many fights as he needed, but he wouldn’t let you see him hurt in any way. Shaking fists, broken bones, bloodied noses, tears and gashes, you name them; Shadow would hide them all, or ignore them so well you would find yourself tricked, and ignoring them too.

To see it so clearly on his face…Uhm. All of Sonic alarms were suddenly ringing.

Didn’t the ambience feel a bit strange?

“…Why?” The ebony mumbled at the end, almost uncomfortable, and Sonic tried hard, he really did, to not let his smile falter.

“Why, you ask.” He breathed slowly, feeling how his insides froze entirely, reaching up to his throat and hurting with his breath intake, spreading to his every limb until they felt even numbest than before, feeling how his chest seemed tighter, his hands even more unsteady, and how his stomach became a rock. This…wasn’t happening. It really, really wasn’t. How could it be true, for real!? This wasn’t okay, not at all. Just…What?! “Why…Why wouldn’t you? We need to get out of here, Shadow. Don’t you--know?”

Ah, it really did.

He searched for it, unheedful of how his voice seemed to falter, to die mid-word, as if his strength was really leaving him. Sonic searched. For his face, for his true, and he knew mostly were to find it. Even the ebony had some tells.

But… There was some curiosity in Shadows eyes, curiosity. Since when is Shadow openly curious about something?

There was also confusion in the set of his brow, and what he was sure was mistrust. He was used to seeing it there, all right, it was almost by default in Shadow´s face, it never left, but never… never in this-this quantity.

Not directed at him anymore.

There was no recognition.

It hurt more than what he expected.

Maybe because he never expected this to really happen?

Sonic kept smiling, though, he kept waiting, hoping for a brighter outcome.

That is what he did, right? What Sonic the Hedgehog™ was supposed to do…

But it didn’t came, and as time kept going Sonic found himself staring straight at the bitter truth. At the one he had tried hard to ignore, he had tried hard to make himself believe would never come ever again.

“You don’t… You don’t remember me, do you?”

<<You forgot about me again, didn’t ya?>>

Shadow demeanor changed entirely, so fast it could have been funny.

Sonic felt like doing anything, but laughing.

The ebony sat straighter, ears perked and eyes as wide as a little scared deer. Could it be that he had really been frightened? Sonic could see him, feel him almost, the anguish that surged as his mind overworked itself, running wildly in search of the right answer to give.

It pained Sonic. A real lot, to be honest, and suddenly, he didn’t feel like hearing Shadow response.

He felt like he already had it, maybe since long ago.

He still needed to hear the ebony confirm it though. He just needed to be sure.

Shadow was left gaping, stiffened to his soul (Did he had a soul?) under that fella scorching gaze, trying to say something, anything that came to him, trying to deny it, that small fucking detail, that damned weakness that left him so clearly disadvantaged in front of others but…but he couldn’t, not when it was the truth and not when it was so obvious and not when he was in this fucking state.

Shadow couldn’t deny it, even when he wished the situation wasn’t like this, even when it caused some… something to this other guy, going by his sorrowful expression.

It was the reality now.

Nothing he could do to change it, right? No matter how bad you asked for it, life would never be fair.

But

Why did it ache, then?

Ruby eyes snapped back to his juice box, and Sonic found his blood running cold, real cold on his veins. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it, a loud ringing sound that almost drowned everything else. It was like every single thing was getting worse by the moment with such a speed, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering, Was this one of his nightmares?

Would he be able to wake up and find Tails bossing around in the house, maybe trying another disaster-recipe in the kitchen as Cream laughed in delight at the scene? Would he be able to go running around the city, and find Shadow discretely eating a small-sized ice cream under a tree?

Could he?

Don’t take him wrong, even in this kind of situation, they were going to remount! No doubt about it! It just…it just sucked a lot right now, maybe to an extreme beyond words as they could not describe it, or maybe it was him who couldn’t find them…

Thanks to a lucky flash, he suddenly wished fervently to wake up soon.

“What… who did that to you?”

His mind reminded him that they were losing precious time. They really needed to get out of here and go stop Eggman and go search for Tails and go save the world again. They didn’t have time to do this, this whole awkward dance and this whole useless wishing and thinking.

The stunned words still left his mouth.

Shadow hands shot to his head by reflex, trying to feel the injuries there or maybe hide them, he wasn’t sure, but the memory of being told not to touch them stroke him like a thunder, making him stop in the last moment, hands hovering awkwardly over his injuries as his eyes quietly looked around, wondering if there were cameras watching him. Them. Whatever.

They hurt, a lot, there was no way to beat around the bush and downplay the agony he felt at first, and that to some extend he still feels, but they had stopped bleeding mere moments ago, so he didn’t wanted to mess it up and cause a major disgrace. It wasn’t like he didn’t knew what bleeding was, or how to accordingly deal with it, so his worries were forcefully ignored unnecessary, actually, non-existent.

He had gotten worse, also, so there was no real reason to make a fuss about this small matter.

This was okay.

This, really was okay.

Right?

#No, it’s not. Please be kind to, and take care of, yourself. If you don’t feel fine, it is valid to take your time or ask for help. #

Shadow sighed when the other urged him, calling his name in a strange, demanding way. Even if he didn’t wanted to, he guessed that this mister did deserve an explanation, however chopped was the information Shadow could provide. Wasn’t part of his duty answering what he could?

No, really, was it? It was, right?

<<??>>

What was he supposed to do now?

His being stung for a command.

“I-I don’t know, sir.” He shook his head slowly, letting his hands fall back to his lap and crossing his heels. He desperately kept his gaze glued to the floor, unable to stand and watch this hedgehog face as he reported. “I don’t know what happened, nor do I know who, uh, who are you, nor where we are, if that is something you wonder. When I woke up I wasn’t gave more instructions besides than to hand over the invention and wait here for the others. No information was shared. I…I don’t have any answers you may need.”

<<I am sorry, fella, I can’t help you at all. >>

It shattered Sonic´s hopes. Maybe not all, but quite the bit definitely.

“It…it’s no biggie. It really isn’t, just´s a-a setback, we will find a way, alright? We have been through worse! It’s just… We still need to get out of here, Shadow, to get going. Quick. ”

<<I need to get both of us outta this shithole, yesterday. >>

He couldn’t let the other hedgehog in G.U.N.´s hands when his memory was in such a sorry state. Like this, wasn’t he even more malleable, and even more easy to manipulate, than the first time they met?

The list of ´what if´s´ kept growing with more disgusting scenarios each time.

The things they could do with Shadow, the things they could do to Shadow… There was no telling if his state and those ugly looking injuries weren’t a G.U.N. experiments product, and he knew by a good informant that these where awful and really invading, enough to render the brooding-looking hedgehog stomach sick in bed, or anxious for days to come.

Sonic didn’t knew wherever it was how sickening his ideas were, or because there was an actual possibility of them becoming true, but his whole being shuddered, feeling cold and nauseated.

No. He couldn’t keep thinking about it.

The image of a bloodied and unresponsive Shadow still lingered behind his eyelids, no unlike many dawns in which he found himself waking up without breath and tangled up in his sheets, shivering and soaked in sweat like a leaf during a storm.

AO3: 6 chapters, still without editing.

#sonadow #Life is a big bad joke #My writing #sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #fanfics #quarantine fic #angst #tw; mention of blood #Shadow is amnesiac #brotherly sontails

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 41: The Dementor

Regulus had never considered the rocking motion of the train any comfort. In fact it made him sick to his stomach, this bit of transportation was as good as the embodiment of every expectation he'd ever had put on him in his life. Now he was trapped in a compartment with a list of people he'd never have asked for, and the book chose to fall onto his head.

He rubbed the spot and glared up at the luggage compartment where he was unsurprised to see Hedwig snoozing in her cage next to a very battered briefcase with a tag hanging off the edge, but he was distracted from making out the handwriting by the cat carrier still sealed shut. Crookshanks was obviously still inside, he could see his squashed orange face trying to peer down below. Regulus briefly wondered why Scabbers wasn't present up there as well, but perhaps if he'd remained on Ron's person he wouldn't be present?

The pets were the lucky ones, remaining up there while a thick layer of tension sat on all the seats. The Marauders were clearly no happier than the other three to be forced back into such a small space, Evans had made quick work of checking the compartment door to make this otherwise. Nothing came of it, so Regulus was left in the awkward position of sitting across from his brother next to the window with two groups of people on each side. One thought his brother a cold-blooded murder in this future, the others insisting otherwise. He kept waiting for someone to demand he pick a side.

Yet no one had. Sirius hadn't asked him what he really thought of this, nor had his fellow purebloods in Longbottom and Smith turned to him and tried to say their point on the matter to him. This time, he was really left to make a decision. He tried to imagine what his mother would say about this, stand by the purebloods side and defend such accusations, or would Sirius being who he was would not get such a reprieve from their mother. It seemed like an honest toss. Then he remembered his mother didn't always know what's best anyways, she'd been wrong about the Dark Lord and who knew what else. So maybe, for once, he should come to his own conclusion without an outside voice.

He licked his lips with nerves and instead began flipping through to the new slot of empty pages for now. As always words materialized at the new chapter, entitled The Dementor. For a moment he was sure that one lone word would break the heavy silence around him, nobody could disagree those scourges of the Earth could mean anything good to come. Rain continued to lash upon the windows outside, the train rocked violently and kept trucking on no matter the gale force winds making it all so much worse, and the luggage above creaking was still the only accompaniment noise, until, "hope the food trolley still comes around," Pettigrew said into the awkward silence.

Regulus chuckled with agreement to that at least, glancing around to see every one of them making some indication of agreement as he began.

James was grateful Harry didn't get the chance to repeat any of this to his friends while the Weasley family was scrambling to pack for the train. He didn't need any of the vilifying comments against Sirius repeated, least of all the ones concerning Harry. It was all ridiculous to the extreme and he hoped something changed soon other than having to hear of this horrid news.

He'd really been hoping nothing of interest would take place, for once, but Harry didn't even get a chance to hop aboard the train before Arthur Weasley was pulling him aside and laying it all on even worse. Even if some You-Know-Who supporting murderer was after Harry, which wasn't Sirius!, who on Earth was crazy enough to think his son would go looking for him? It somehow even made less sense than putting Sirius' name into the mix, and he wouldn't have thought that possible moments ago.

Remus was already exhausted by the constant glares being shared across the small space. Squashed between Sirius and James, he was getting the majority of them. It's not as if he wasn't used to such looks, their group wasn't exactly popular when they were the reason a whole corridor was ducking for cover. Not to mention Evans seemed to have made it her personal mission to glare at them as many times as was humanly possible and beyond. It felt different now though, that they didn't have a corridor to exit from, a class to get to, something else to occupy their time in between constantly having to put on a face for others.

Time was a wonky mess, and it had been since all this started. He was sagging back in his seat in a dead exhaustion, eyes heavy lidded and ready to take a long and restless sleep from a full moon he hadn't run. He could feel it in his bones though, that it should have happened, and this had been going on for, days? It was impossible to tell.

Regulus' voice was calm enough though as Harry began looking about the train for a place to sit, and he was quite warm. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lolled off to sleep, and Sirius' shoulder just so happened to be rather comfortable... "Professor R. J. Lupin."

Said man snapped out of his seat as if he'd been electrocuted, suddenly wired and quite alive, chest heaving as he looked from Regulus to his friends and back as if waiting for someone to scream, 'gotcha.'

None did. His three friends were looking at him like he was a ghost, the other four had their faces scrunched up in a variety of expressions stating incredulity this news existed.

"Well, there goes our idea the rest of us are dead," Sirius spoke, his voice barely heard in the howling wind.

"I, I don't understand!" He choked out, gazing up at the luggage rack where it still sat, plain as day. Fingers trembling so hard he could barely grasp the handle, surely his shaking hand would make the weather beaten suitcase come apart before he found the latch.

"Obvious ain't it," Evans muttered, her eyes now narrowed even farther with mistrust.

She was ignored, finally Peter took pity on him and reached over to release the contents. Maybe it was some insane coincidence with some other man's initials, but that idea was ruined as Remus couldn't keep his fumbling hold and everything fell to the floor.

There were a few different sets of patched robes that were several sizes too large that covered most of the foot room now, a bar of chocolate that had landed half under Frank's seat, and a few bathroom belongings that could have fairly belonged to anyone.

Then there were the rest of the things peeking out that only the Marauders could have known to associate with their friend. One of those articles of clothing was an old threadbare cardigan all four of them had taken turns wearing so many times, none even knew who the original owner was. Several books were dog eared with messy scribbles in Moony's handwriting all over varying Dark beasts of the world, bits of parchment on a mound of subjects all bound together as if waiting for notes to properly be taken, and on the bottom inside of the suitcase was a crudely hand drawn circle.

All four of their eyes were drawn to it, lost in the memory of choosing something so simple yet personal to them to put on every bit of luggage they owned. A full moon, a letter in each of their chosen names, something with no ending or beginning and was simply meant to last forever.

"Moony," Sirius broke into his frozen mind, but the expression on his face left him clueless what was coming next. "Congratulations on making something of your life, at least one of us did."

That smile was fake, the jesting tone was forced, but Sirius was making an effort not to let the others see the pit twisting him up inside at the idea now being presented before them. That their friend was alive and well, and a teacher of all things, while Merlin knew what was going on with Sirius.

Regulus just snorted and muttered about the odds as he continued, but the Marauders couldn't bring themselves to pay attention to anything else he said. The kids dissolved into talking of Hogsmeade and all sorts of things, even Sirius again, but they were pretty fixated on this new bit of information and had no way to get it out of their system.

What had Remus been doing all this time if not spending every day with the Marauders? What was this future like if Sirius had really been in Azkaban this whole time and Prongs long dead. What about Wormtail, had he just moved on with his life as well? Did the two even keep in contact? The idea seemed ludicrous to question now, but all four of them were suddenly faced with the very real idea none had ever questioned before now, what was really in store for them?

Alice watched with curiosity, and even some worry, as the more that was exposed this year the quieter the Marauders got. It wasn't natural. Not once in the years she'd been in their vicinity had they ever been any such thing even close to this. Even if they weren't laughing obnoxiously, shouting to each other about all their jokes, or whispering in the corridors, these pale wide eyed faces looked alien.

When Regulus mentioned Harry's birthday Sneakoscope going off and the silence persisted in here, she got up curiously and located Harry's trunk above her head. She had to rummage for a few moments before finding a nasty pair of yellow socks the little top was indeed inside of, but even as she held it out for inspection it wasn't going off now.

"Wonder what's got it in a twist round them then?" Frank happily picked apart this new puzzle, hearing nothing but the younger Black reading this whole time was starting to get eerie.

"Maybe Lupin's not really sleeping, he's faking it," Lily pointed out, still with a heavy look at him where he'd slowly sunk back into his seat, now sitting on the very edge though and looking paler than usual, which was really saying something.

"That's Professor Lupin to you now!" Potter tried to correct with his usual boasting and cocky grin, but even as Lily watched something seemed off about it. He seemed stiff, his eyes out of focus instead of trying to catch hers. She found that unnerving, and then with a horrid self reflection, she realized she felt bad for him. James Potter! She really couldn't help it though, no matter how hard she tried to shove the feeling away. The poor teen had learned that he was to die, where his kid would be relocated, and now two of his three friends had some pretty shoddy things going on in their future lives all in a matter of days. It was a lot for anyone to take in.

For a moment Lily thought the deep lurch had come from inside her, but then she nearly fell out of her seat as the train did come to a screeching halt.

Regulus fumbled with the book and only just managed to keep hold of it, words stumbling a bit as he got to the same part. He shivered in trepidation, for what he didn't understand, until he shivered again and realized it wasn't just some feeling. It was true, bone deep cold, the windows were icing over and he could see his breath.

"Wha-what's going on!?" Pettigrew demanded, his voice shrill as he recoiled from the door, wand already drawn.

The others had already done the same, even as the answer was presented. A dementor was aboard, and it had its sights on Harry.

The youngest Black was reading in an outright panic, flying through words to try and get this chapter over with before they were forced to experience anything similar. Sadly even after he got past the part of Lupin in the book banishing the creature, they remained in the black void. Regulus could feel his chest rattling, his mind was buzzing painfully as whispers from his past began cluttering to the forefront and he could barely concentrate on the words in front of him.

He wanted his dad to put a big, warm hand on his shoulder and tell him his plan. He wanted his mum to tell him what there was to do and how to solve this. More than anything he wanted Sirius to wrap an arm around him, like he hadn't done since before before that Gryffindor nonsense began. He wanted his big brother to promise their parents weren't really mad at Regulus and he would handle everything. He couldn't grasp that feeling, that emotion, just kept stumbling along through Harry's bizarre recount of a woman screaming, Malfoy being his usual petty self, and finally as he felt his soul rattling in his chest as if it could sense the monster beyond that door, they were in the castle and McGonagall was looking into the incident.

His eyes flinched without his permission, to the door and back to the words in a panic as he kept waiting for it to happen. Smith was beside him shaking in her seat, a silent scream trying to pass her lips. Sirius was still across from him, his hand clutching his chest and mouthing something unintelligible, the horror on his face unmatched. He checked again, and just beyond the window pane he saw a tall, dark, cloaked figure with grotesque, misshapen looking digits reaching for the handle.

In one last desperate breath, he declared Hagrid and Lupin being made Professors, then Harry finally getting safely into his own dorm, and finally they were out.

#PoA #Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Marauders #Jilly #Wolfstar #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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