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itshype · 1 year

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Navigate any storm, with nothing but the stars to guide you (DC x DP)

Hello! My other dc x dp notfic blew up overnight so here’s another one (this is not a part 2 but here is the link to Kingmaker, Kingbreaker, Crowntaker, Realmshaker where Danny is an important political ghost figure)

So, there are only a few Astronaut!Danny fics and most of them don’t quite land with me. They’re really good, but a lot of them have Danny getting his job at NASA because of his ghost powers. And like, nothing about Danny’s arc/s ever hints to me that he would show up to a government agency and give them a full rundown of his abilities – even for his dream job.

So instead of a protection-obsessed Danny, his Obsession develops as wanting to go to space. So, he’ll still fight the ghosts because he’s not a psycho with no regard for human life, but these fights aren’t a priority to him the same way in canon. Instead, Danny fights a lot dirtier, goes to 10 a lot faster – instead of it being a rarely used ability, his go-to is the Ghostly Wail in round one of a fight because it’ll get everything over nice and quick. He needs great grades to even enter the space program let alone astronaut training.

Because of this, Danny isn’t getting involved in problems just because ghosts are involved.

Did he turn the portal on for the first time? Yes.

Is it his responsibility because his parents refuse to add security or even just turn it off when not in use? Absolutely not!

There’ll definitely be a short-term dip in Danny’s grades but he plays up the “I was in a lab accident” thing to his school (actually more like he just didn’t cover it up) and can get extra credit or whatever (in Australia they’d just ignore the assignments you missed/failed and make your average from everything else but Teen Wolf fics often go on about extra credit so lets whack that in for Cultural Authenticity). But after that, Danny only gets involved if it’s getting really dangerous out there because he can’t skip this test/miss this homework etc.

Because of this, Phantom would probably be a lot more popular. Instead of running around and chasing ghosts and causing damage, he shows up like a Deus ex Machina when people are terrified, and lives are at risk. Downside is probably that Amity calls him Invis-o-bill for a while longer – he still wants to go by Phantom but correcting people isn’t his priority.

Also, his obsession makes his crush for Paulina turn off because I never found that a fun storyline. Also, when he gets in trouble for Dash’s bad behaviour he fights back against Dash and/or the teachers because “There’s a new documentary about theoretical White Holes tonight and our DVR gained sentience and ran off, so I have to watch it live.”

Downside of all these great changes? Jazz. In canon it takes ages for Danny to find out she saw his death-event. But in this, Danny’s personality changes are a lot more evident and drastic. I still don’t think the parents would suspect anything because my opinion of them is so far down it popped out of the other side of the Earth and spun off into the cosmos.

Jazz wants to be a psychologist. ‘Drastic changes in behaviour and personality’ are the early warning signs for hundreds of things from bipolar disorder, to drugs, to schizophrenia, sexual assault or joining a gang. She would be less likely to blow this off I think than in canon where his personality changes can be explained a lot more easily with “moody teen being taught by teachers who are on the bully’s side.” She figures out what’s happening a lot earlier. She doesn’t love that her baby brother is a ghostly hero, but his grades are great and it’s pretty hard to say “No you should let the town be destroyed and get a part-time job instead.”

So then, when the GIW come to town to try and set up, everyone is like “oh yeah, sure, go for it, except for Phantom, he’s our little meow meow.”

The GIW try to attack him anyway and the responding retaliation from Casper high students and most adults is so violent and extreme that the GIW mark the town as being completely 100% possessed with the hopes that they’ll get carte blanche to attack anyone they want in Amity (mostly because they’re petty manchildren).

However, declaring open season on an entire town is a bit much and all this ecto-nonsense is pretty new so the fear hasn’t 100% set into the administration. So instead, the President contacts the Justice League who call in the Justice League Dark (the magic department of the Justice League).

They’re probably freaked out but then Oracle finds footage of the ‘Possession attack on government agents’ from a security camera or something and Constantine is immediately like “None of those people are possessed, hope that helps, I have to go I’m late for a booty call with Beelzebub.”

MEANWHILE!!! Jazz has started coming to fights when she can (dressed like a real Fenton ghosthunter – Dad is so proud) and loudly announcing their insecurities because we know that psychic damage can actually cause ghosts to physically change (i.e. when Cujo is threatened he goes Big, when Spectra is satiated she appears more human, Amorpho’s whole thing). Within weeks, the less-evil ghosts want to make deals. I mean skulker and walker probably won’t want to concede, but the others get day-passes from the ghost zone like:

Ember can throw a concert and hypnotise everyone attending or streaming online but she has to let them go when the show is over.

Maybe Kitty can possess Jazz for a few hours for a date, or Tucker can build her a robot body assuming ghosts that aren’t Technus, master of all technology can possess electronics if they want to.

Eventually, Danny goes “Why is coming here so important, why do you go to so much effort and constraints to leave the Ghost Zone?”

And that’s when he finds out that the Ghost Zone is a ruthless, desolate place that’s awful and dangerous.

So, he calls the Justice League (Tucker gets him the number and he dials right into the Watchtower PA). And he essentially goes:

“I am Phantom, bridge between worlds. The ghosts of Amity Park were interfering with my Ghostly Dream and I have recently discovered that this is because the Infinite Realms is a sucky place to be. Can you fix it?”

The Justice League are thinking ‘wow two birds one stone and we get free amazing publicity!’ Then they talk to Constantine for two-point-five seconds, and he is all “It’s infinite, you morons, you can’t patch it up one villain at a time. Anyways I have to go sell my soul to a sixth party to prevent a magical demon war, peace out.”

So then, the Justice League are in Amity and tell Phantom that they’re very sorry but what he asked isn’t really feasible. And immediately they figure out that something is slightly off.

Now I stand by my headcanon that the Justice League wouldn’t immediately figure out Danny’s secret because there’s no real reason to think a ghost would have a secret identity. But just speaking to any of the halfas you can tell they’re different. Less obsessive, don’t go violent as fast etc.

Now, just because they don’t realise Danny is 50% human, does not mean they did no research. They looked him up and came across historical records made during his time travel jaunts and immediately reach the fairly reasonable conclusion that he’s special, more powerful and more human because he’s just that old. So they ask him why the ghost zone is like that and if it could be changed or fixed – even just a small portion of it for use by less aggressive ghosts.

Danny admits he has no idea, but they could all go find out because it was Sunday. None of the Justice League know why the day is relevant but through the combined powers of Sam, Tucker and Jazz, they manage to get his parents onto the other side of town while they enter the ghost zone.

They quickly find Ghost Writer, because he’s an under-utilised character. He explains that long, long ago the ghost zone was a much brighter place with a golden sunrise sky and an overflowing font of ectoplasm under the rule of the powerful King of the Infinite Realms – Inferna the Bright. But he was brutally overtaken by the disgusting Pariah Dark. Inferna never recovered and the entire zone changed, becoming dark and harsh like her master whose obsession was subjugation. Pariah was sealed away, but by a large group instead of in single combat. So technically he was still at the helm of the entire dimension.

If only there was another ghost, brave and powerful enough to defeat Pariah Dark. One strong enough to bear the helm of the Crown of Fire. One with an obsession that would transform the ghost realm into a place of wonder once more.

If only…

(TBC??)

(IN CASE IT WASN’T OBVIOUS, each King makes one artifact: Inferna was obsessed with the Sun but expressed it healthily, Pariah Dark was obsessed with winning and beating other people and expressed it terribly)

Also, fyi Inferna doesn’t just sound like Inferno but is also Latin for the Underworld, so the implication is that they were king for FOREVER before Pariah.

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august-anon · 3 years

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You know i gotta hop in on that Taakitz action!! Perhaps something with cold hands? Either them tickling Taako or Taako issuing retaliation tickles because Kravitz keeps sticking them on his warm body.

Admittedly at first I was like "when would this even be set because I thought his hands warmed up from the power of love" and THEN i remembered that there's at least a few months between the end of the last arc and that line at Carey and Killian's wedding, so there's a good time for this fic to take place lol. So they're dating, but there's no L-word just yet lol.

Also, thank you for the prompt, I loved it!

Fandom: The Adventure Zone: Balance

Ship(s): Taakitz

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Taako/Ler!Kravitz (brief Ler!Taako/Lee!Kravitz)

Word Count: 1736 words

Summary: Taako would love nothing more than to cuddle close with his boyfriend. Unfortunately, the heat of the kitchen and the chill of Kravitz's hands don't quite mix. Kravitz doesn't intend to give up so easily.

[ao3 link]

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Taako smiled as he heard the front door open and close, but he didn’t move from his spot in the kitchen. He continued flitting between his pots and pans, preparing dinner, listening as Kravitz completed his routine and made his way through the house. By the time Kravitz made it into the kitchen, Taako had everything on a low simmer.

“Good evening, my dear,” Kravitz said. “Everything smells lovely.”

Taako hid a smile. “It better.”

Taako didn’t move away from the stove, even as he heard Kravitz prowl up behind him. He relaxed back into Kravitz’s chest as Kravitz’s hands came up to rest on his hips, humming as Kravitz pressed his lips to Taako’s shoulder.

“How long until dinner is finished?” Kravitz asked, his breath across Taako’s neck sending shivers down his body.

Taako hummed. “A little while. Why?”

He tilted his head to give Kravitz more access as his lips started trailing up Taako’s neck. He finally let the smile show, figuring that Kravitz wouldn’t be able to see it from his vantage point in Taako’s neck.

And then Taako shrieked and jumped away as Kravitz’s hands slipped up under his shirt to brush across his bare skin.

“Taako?” Kravitz asked, his hands still hovering in the air where Taako’s body had just been. “Babe?”

The warmth of the kitchen had soaked into Taako as he had cooked, leaving his skin overheated and sensitive to even a normal temperature. Kravitz’s cold hands felt worse than ice, sending a startling shock through his entire body.

“Cold!” Taako shrieked belatedly, rubbing at his sides.

Kravitz’s shoulders relaxed as he shook his head and chuckled. He started rubbing his hands together, as if the friction would be enough for Taako to let those hands come near him again.

“Don’t you come near me with those,” Taako said.

Kravitz raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “Taako,” he called teasingly, raising his hands as he crept toward Taako. “Come here, dear.”

Taako pointed at Kravitz, backing further away. “Kravitz…”

Kravitz lunged. Taako yelped, a frantic, high-pitched sound he would never admit to making under pain of death, and darted out of his path. Kravitz followed him, chasing him around the kitchen island and towards the dining table. Whereas Taako had respect for the furniture Magnus had crafted for his and Kravitz’s home, Kravitz seemed to have no such concerns. While Taako ran around the edge of the table, trying to get to the far side, Kravitz pulled himself atop it.

Taako made a desperate bid for the archway leading toward the rest of the house, but Kravitz jumped off the top of the table, tackling Taako to the floor. Taako winced, prepared for pain, but Kravitz had carefully maneuvered them so that he took the brunt of the fall, Taako landing on top of him, back to chest. Taako gasped once he found his bearings, trying to escape Kravitz’s arms, but his grip was sure. He was well and truly stuck.

“Don’t you dare,” Taako said, hoping the grin stretching across his face didn’t come across in his voice. He had to appear stern, after all.

“Don’t what, darling?” Kravitz asked, his fingers teasing at the hem of Taako’s tunic. “I’m just trying to show my lovely boyfriend how much I care about him.”

Taako didn’t get a chance to retort, shrieking as Kravitz’s chilly hands slipped under his shirt once more. Taako squirmed under the freezing touch, grabbing at Kravitz’s wrists and trying to push him away. Kravitz laughed and fought to keep his hands on Taako’s skin.

“Taako-- come on, quit-- just let me--!”

Kravitz grabbed at Taako’s side in an attempt to keep his grip, squeezing at the flesh. Suddenly, Taako was squealing for a whole new reason. He kicked his legs frantically, trying to propel himself out of Kravitz’s grip.

Kravitz laughed again. “It can’t be that cold, Taako, dear.”

Taako didn’t say anything. He was perfectly content to let Kravitz believe that was the issue. If Taako had managed to hide his little weakness from Kravitz for this long, he could manage to hide it a little longer.

Except then, in all their squirming and tussling, Kravitz’s hands kept shifting and moving, squeezing and pinching at places with an unfair amount of sensitivity. It only made him squirm worse, which only led to Kravitz accidentally tickling him more. It was a vicious circle that Taako didn’t know how to escape.

Taako thought he would be able to hold out until Kravitz got bored. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten far worse from Magnus or Lup, or even Barry at times. Only then, Kravitz hands landed on his ribs, his nails scrabbling and scratching for purchase against Taako’s skin as he continued to squirm. Taako couldn’t help it, he burst out into squeaking laughter.

“No!” Taako cried out, though it was far too late.

Kravitz’s hands only faltered for a moment, before he let out a low chuckle directly against Taako’s ear, making his ear flick as he let out another squeal. His hands started scribbling against Taako’s ribcage a lot more deliberately, searching out tickle spots.

“I don’t think this about the cold anymore at all,” Kravitz murmured into his ear. “I think someone has been hiding something from me.”

“Kravitz, please!”

“Please what?” Kravitz hummed. “Please… warm up my hands using your warm, ticklish torso? It’d be my pleasure, my dear.”

Kravitz’s scratching nails managed to find Taako’s sweet spot, just above the middle of his ribs, slightly towards the back. Taako nearly screamed, despite the touch being so light and teasing, the buildup and taunting making everything so much more unbearable. He thrashed enough that he was able to escape Kravitz’s grasp at long last, throwing his dignity to the side as he tried to crawl away across the tile.

“Oh, Taako,” Kravitz called, starting to crawl after him. “I don’t think my hands are quite warm enough yet.”

“Don’t touch me,” Taako shouted back, still giggling at the phantom tingles dancing down around his torso.

Taako shrieked when he felt a cool hand wrap around his ankle, slowly tugging him back. The worst part was, Kravitz’s hands did feel warmer. It wasn’t fair. He kicked against Kravitz’s grip, managing to throw him off, and scrambled to his feet. He raced out of the kitchen, and he could hear Kravitz’s footsteps thundering after him.

“Taako,” Kravitz called after him, his voice cajoling and teasing. “Come back! I promise I won’t do it again.”

Taako didn’t need a Zone of Truth to know how big of a lie that was. He could practically feel those wiggling fingers looming over him already, more than prepared to seek out all of Taako’s sensitive spots until he was begging for mercy. Embarrassingly enough, it wasn’t an outcome Taako would necessarily mind, but he had a reputation to uphold, an appearance to upkeep, and despite his care for Kravitz, it still was not something he could give up so easily.

But he wouldn’t have to give up that control if he got Kravitz pleading, first.

Without a thought, Taako switched directions, barrelling toward Kravitz instead of running away. Kravitz yelped, an adorably startled sound that Taako was not blessed with often, and stumbled over himself trying to stop and avoid collision. A new grin rose to Taako’s lips, feral and hungry, and he tackled Kravitz back to the ground.

“Maybe this will teach you to go around sticking your cold, clammy hands on everyone,” Taako said.

He slipped his hands under Kravitz’s own shirt, dragging his nails down Kravitz’s chilly sides. Giggles bubbled out of Kravitz’s mouth even as he raised a hand to cover it, using the other to swat at Taako in a feeble attempt at self-defense. Taako laughed, high and unaffected, and gently pinched around Kravitz’s stomach.

“Perhaps I can be persuaded to be merciful,” Taako said. “If you told me where you’re most ticklish.” He lightened his tickling to let Kravitz respond with more ease.

“I’m not an idiot, Taako,” Kravitz said around his giggles. “I know better than to tell you that.”

Taako harrumphed. “Suit yourself.”

He dug his fingers back into Kravitz’s flesh, climbing up his sides and ribs. Kravitz cried out and tumbled back into laughter. His arms clamped down to his sides in an attempt to halt Taako’s ascent, leaving his laughing face in full view. Taako resisted the urge to swoon.

His eyes crinkled with his laughter, joy clear in every wrinkle. His smile was the most beautiful thing Taako had ever seen, Taako could barely bring himself to look at it since it was so bright. Taako didn’t even have words to describe how musical and magical Kravitz’s laughter was.

A certain L-word came to mind, looking at Kravitz like this. Taako refused to acknowledge it, for the time being.

Unfortunately, this all left Taako very distracted. While his tickling fingers hadn’t stopped, they had slowed considerably. It gave Kravitz ample time to gather his wits about him and slide his hands under the hem of Taako’s skirt. Taako screeched, both at the once-again-freezing hands and the ticklish massage his thighs were suddenly being assaulted with. He almost toppled right off Kravitz’s lap with his cackles, doubling over and ceasing his own tickling to try and push Kravitz off, as unsuccessful as it was.

“Distracted, my dear?” Kravitz asked, focusing his tickling on Taako’s inner thighs and making him gasp for air. “Clearly you don’t understand the position you’re in.”

While he continued tickling at Taako’s thighs with one hand, the other crawled up Taako’s body. Taako cursed how smart he was, how good his memory was, as his fingers quickly found that death spot on his ribs once more. Taako toppled forward, face-planting into Kravitz’s chest as he lost himself to his frantic laughter.

“Unfortunately,” Kravitz said directly into Taako’s ear, making it flick and flinch away from his ticklish breath, “my hands are still very cold. I think it may take a while to warm them up.”

Taako wailed with mirth.

“Good thing dinner won’t be ready for a while yet, hm?”

Taako knew he was in for a long evening. The only thing that would get Kravitz to stop would be his timers going off, and they still had plenty of time left before that happened. Kravitz was going to ruin him.

Taako couldn’t wait.

#tickle fic #My writing #taz tickling #taz:b tickling #lee!taako #ler!kravitz #ticklish!taako #taz #taz:b #Taako Taaco #taz kravitz #taakitz

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opbackgrounds · 4 years

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I don’t have the time or energy right now to do another ask-a-thon or to do a bunch of long meta posts, but in celebration of reaching 5000 followers I did want to do a write up of a character that I see overlooked a lot by the fandom who is very near and dear to my heart. What makes them especially interesting is that I think their existence is a prime example of Oda’s skills at a writer, foreshadowing plot elements that wouldn’t be expounded upon for hundreds and hundreds of chapters.

It’s pretty common for Oda to play the long game in his writing. Going back through the series as I have I’ve gained a new appreciation for Oda’s world building and his ability to set up certain element of the story that won’t be pertinent until far in the future. It helps the world feel organic and lived in, but on the downside, it’s sometimes easy to forget that certain characters or organizations even exist, which can make their sudden reappearance in the series feel jarring or forced.

There are also characters and plot elements that are in and of themselves not very prominent but are there to help establish themes and motivations for other characters. For example, Gaimon was only in the manga for one chapter (and a couple of cover stories) but helped answer one of the driving questions of the East Blue: “What is treasure?”.

The character I want to talk about today is a good example of this second group. Like Gaimon, they were only around for a single chapter, and yet their importance cannot be overstated when it comes to understanding Sanji’s character both in the Baratie and in arcs to come. They’re a type, a way of foreshadowing, and absolutely instrumental to the overall plot of the Baratie arc all at the same time. It’s pretty rare to see a character able to fulfill so many roles with such a short amount of screen time, and as much as people gush over Oda’s character writing, this is one instance where he doesn’t get the credit that is due him.

Who is this mysterious character you may ask? Well, Batchee of course

It’s not a coincidence that Batchee is introduced in the same chapter Sanji is, because in a way, their stories mirror one another. It’s ironic that Fullbody would dare to accuse Sanji of hurting a fly when the Whole Cake Island establishes without a doubt that Sanji is not only has the gentlest spirit of the Straw Hat Pirates, but cares so much for the world around him that he is literally willing to feed hungry rats. To be clear: Sanji would not hurt a fly, especially if that fly was a woman. In the same way, Batchee shows a remarkable resilience, never once retaliating against the injustice they faced for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And unlike Sanji, who is outwardly very coarse and uncouth, he does so quietly, uttering not a single line of dialogue throughout his brief appearance. It’s this instance with the soup that triggers the entire plot of the Baratie arc (and is paralleled towards the end when the chefs try to force Sanji away by insulting his cooking), making Batchee an absolute essential component of the arc, one of those tiny gears that hardly anyone notices but would cause the whole machine to fall apart if removed.

We see Batchee suffer in silence as he’s horribly abused by the people around him. Not only was he attacked unprovoked by a jealous Fullbody, notice how we see no other insects during the Baratie arc. Batchee is alone, just like Sanji was alone before Zeff rescued him. It’s no coincidence that Oda used a bug in this scene, as bugs have exoskeletons just like the Vinsmoke siblings, and although it’s arguing from silence, I would not be surprised if Batchee was likewise driven away from his family for being too weak. As to why he was on the Baratie at all, I can only assume that he dreamed of being a chef, only to have that dream torn away from him by a cruel and unjust governmental system, setting a precedent for further atrocities later on in the series.

There’s just not enough information given to speculate further, but I have the fullest confidence that Oda won’t let this plot thread dangle. I’m not someone who likes guessing about future chapters very often, but I would not be at all surprised if he returns during the Wano arc as one of Kaido’s gifters as another Duval-type situation where an old, forgotten foe swears revenge on the Straw Hat’s cook. Hopefully he’ll be given a similarly happy ending. After all he’s been through, he deserves it.

(Edit to add: while looking up stuff for this post I found an old interview that’s pretty interesting

“...Unfortunately Gin’s will wasn’t strong enough to defeat the deadly poison...But even with that, I think fans can be excited for what’s planned next...2016 was the Year of Sanji, it’s time to get ready for the Year of Batchee...”

—Eiichiro Oda

Oda’s predictions on his timeline are famously bad, but with everything going on in the story I could definitely see an imminent return)

An interesting thing to note is that Batchee has a drastically different character design in the manga than the anime. Historically the anime has worked closely with Oda in order to ensure maximum accuracy, however the insect shown during these episodes can’t possibly be a fly. It’s got 10 legs, antenna coming out of its butt, and no wings to be seen

Obviously this is another reference to Sanji’s future transformation abilities. Unlike the the Vinsmoke siblings, Batchee’s power isn’t named, but his color scheme makes me believe he fulfills the role of the brown Power Ranger. With such a drastic transformation (albeit offscreen, likely to preserve the surprise during WCI and beyond) from common horsefly to...whatever that is...I wouldn’t be surprised if Vegapunk himself had a hand in his creation. Only time will tell.

To wrap things up here, the story of Batchee and Sanji are closely intertwined. One cannot exist without the other, and just like how Batchee foreshadows much of Sanji’s Whole Cake Island storyline, I believe that Sanji can help us see Batchee’s ultimate fate. One Piece is ultimately a very optimistic series, and since there’s no confirmation that he actually died during his introductory chapter I have to assume that the little guy is still out there chasing his dream. I would have liked to have seen him during the post-time skip cover stories, but his absence can only mean that Oda has big plans for the future, and I for one look forward to seeing what he has in store.

#opbackgrounds #one piece #long post #batchee #sanji #parallelism #character analysis #thank you for supporting me being ridiculous #to the anon who let me know it was his birthday #I think you from the very bottom of my heart #deliberately misconstruing facts for my own amusement #just for fun

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slayernina · 3 years

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Hello! I found your blog thanks to the spoilers ^_^ Do you think there is a chance we will see Billy somehow on s4? Or 5? After all, the rest of "dead" characters "came back", like Will, Brenner or Hopper (I'm not counting Barb or Bob or Alexei because they were smaller roles)

Thanks for the question, Anon! I hope you enjoyed the leaks as much as I do XD

Well, get ready for a very long answer…

On a personal level, yes, I want Billy back. He is one of my favourite piece of shit characters on the show, and also one of my favourite piece of shit character in TV/movie fandom overall. It doesn’t matter if you liked him or hated him, he was so.fucking.entertaining.to.watch. And Dacre Montgomery nailed the role.

NOW, LET’S ANALYZE ALL THE POSSIBILITIES:

On an external level:

PROS: apparently the actor enjoyed his time on Stranger Things, enjoyed his time with the cast/crew, they enjoyed their time with him, and no shitty behavior has emerged from set.

CONS: the actor is Aussie and we are talking about bringing someone from the other side of the world (bureaucracy and everything) during a global pandemic.

On a narrative level:

Yes, Max deserves something to close his death and some kind of resolution. If he’s alive, Billy needs a proper redemption arc. Max needs to set her boundaries and resolve their relationship. Both needs to fix their relationship, if they can. Billy should repair the damage he's done to everybody.

If he’s truly dead, Max deserves something more than mourn him, he shouldn't be left as a martyr, and it would cheap his death and the writing overall if there is a flashback that goes along the lines of “turns out he’s not an awful brother and he and Max made amends somehow off-screen!”.

On a symbolic level:

There is no way the writers don’t address Billy’s existence. Max is going to the high school he would be attending his senior year (damn, that would have been an interesting sight having the two siblings at the cafeteria at the same time), she still lives with his father as far as we know, Lucas is in the basketball team now, Jason mentioned him during a public pep talk and the Hellfire Club is heavily related to heavy metal/rock music and drugs. Hell, if we take Jason and Eddie into account, totally looks like the writers splited Billy’s “concept” into two minor characters.

IT IS POSSIBLE FOR THE CHARACTER TO APPEAR AGAIN?

If he’s truly dead: Yes. Even if we take into account the wig, the actor shaved his head in the middle of filming for no discernable reason (one of the main points of being an actor is that you are not allowed to change your aspect at all during filming) and there is a pic from the makeup team creating an unused cast of his head and shoulders. So maybe there is a secret scene of an autopsy filmed during season 3, or an autopsy photo in some Dr Owens' file that shows Billy is dead.

If the actor is “there”, Billy could appear as a nightmare to Max or Eleven caused by PTSD, or as some sort of “spiritual guide” to interact with Eleven, or the Mind Flayer (or Kali, she has that power too) uses his image to scare Eleven.

If he’s truly alive: Yes again. We don’t know the exact amount of powers the Mind Flayer gave to Billy, but despite being almost a decadent corpse, he was burned, later threw through a wall, later car crashed and later “burned” again… and he was still alive and moving. He died after the gate was closed. The writers can get away with “oh, the gate was reopened, and that caused the powers came back to Eleven -and Billy-, and now he is a Venom/Wolverine type” (mandatory comic reference here). Also, a lot of horror/gore movies from the 80s are about resurrection and/or zombies.

IF THE CHARACTER COMES BACK WELL:

Redemption arc and Max scenes. A lot of drama. He would join the Party, which is good for 2 reasons:

On a D&D level, he would be their barbarian fighter/berserker. The Party and allies fighting techniques are along the lines of intellect, deductive skills, street smarts, superpowers, throw things to monsters, and physical attacks. The latter part was usually covered by Hopper (not now there) and Steve. If Steve isn’t there for whatever reason, it’s good to have some dumb muscle. Also he can drive, which is good if any of the adults, teens or Max is not around.

On a mental/emotional level, he would be their criminal. He has already a crime record, he is way dark/grey morality than the rest of the characters, he is not shy going places where the other characters are afraid (such as tortures, manipulation, car fu, and “distract people with sexy”). That could be used for good, or to don’t turn your heroes into assholes. Also given his context and past scenes, he can be a healer type due to his experience with fights and abuse, and perform CPR was mandatory on his job.

On a funny level, just imagine the Cool Bad Boy Dumb Jock surrounded by the Supreme Nerds. Trying to get laid with Robin. Awkard moments with “I almost banged your mom” Wheelers. Or Erica roasting his ass off. Basically, he would be the Spike from Buffy. Damn, maybe he is a secret nerd, imagine a scream contest with Dustin about some obscure D&D concept while the others watch with a WTF face.

IF THE CHARACTER COMES BACK WRONG:

He can be demented and PTSD, and be the character at Pennhurst Nancy and Robin were investigating. Or the girls were there for Victor Creel, and they crashed accidentally with crazy Billy, who is a John Doe founded wandering around and bought there meanwhile the Pennhurst workers are trying to discover who is he.

He can be also trapped in the Hawkins lab (I doubt the scientists wouldn’t kept his body). Redemtion arc and Max scenes from above and a lot of drama too.

IF THE CHARACTER COMES BACK (WELL OR WRONG) AND HAS SUPERPOWERS:

Please. The black comedy would be endless. This asshole would be Deadpool and we know it. He is the kind of character who would be using his powers for the LOLZ to piss off people. He would leave behind his mutilated hand giving the finger to the army. He would draw with blood a dick over Brenner’s desk. He would rampage the lab, or jump from a skyscraper, or set himself on fire because he is soooo bored. He would mess Max showing her gun holes or performing autosurgery in the kitchen with a fork. He would let Lucas and Steve kick his balls with a bat as a “retaliation”

Basically, Billy has all the potential to become a dark twisted himbo ala Damon Salvatore and I'm here for it

#billy hargrove #asks #slayernina writes stuff

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akechicrimes · 4 years

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You have the best takes and I was wondering what an actual Akechi redemption would look like? Sending him to prison is a weird take I've seen considering the themes of power, corruption, and manipulation of youth, and quite frankly it's just boring and lazy from a plot/character standpoint. I imagine the first step would be talking to Futaba and Haru (and others who were affected by his actions) but I'm not sure what would happen after that.

ok firstly THANKS i do my best yellin into the tunglr void

second “Sending him to prison is a weird take I’ve seen considering the themes of power, corruption, and manipulation of youth, and quite frankly it’s just boring and lazy from a plot/character standpoint” is the SEXIEST sentence ive ever read re: goro and thank you for putting these words in this particular order i want it framed, truly it makes zero sense whatsoever

third thanks for this super duper cool question because weirdly enough i havent…………….. really thought about it before??? ive seen more than a few really interesting goro redemption arc fics but if i were gonna do one myself………………….. hmmmmmm

ok ok ok ok ok ok i will. do my best. big psuedo revisionist fanfic under cut

a redemption arc needs to address the wrongs and hurts that he’s done, as well as just generally other noxious junk. to rattle them off so we know what we’re working with, he

killed wakaba (unknown circumstances), which hurt futaba

killed okumura, which hurt haru

assisted shido in his rise to power

assisted an unknown number of other douchebags like shido in their rise to power

killed an unknown number of other douchebags

created psychotic breakdowns, involving casualties and potentially some deaths

was generally a shit on live television

lied to sae.

betrayed joker.

and from there he needs to address these in such a way that his character grows and is better for it.

simultaneously i think it’s important to weigh the opposite issues, which are the ways that akechi is either right or has a valid point, the ways that akechi has presumably been mistreated/abused by people around him, and just generally following through on seeing akechi become happier and healthier for having gone through a redemption arc. in no particular order, he:

apparently desperately craves approval/recognition from others, but not in a productive way (sorry the TV audience does not actually love you lmao!!!!!!!)

has some kind of complicated relationship with shido to say the fuckign LEAST, and i think addressing that angle of shido’s abuse is important

really suffers from his inability to be honest with just about anyone; how deeply he’s hidden his true self has not only exacerbated his loneliness, but it’s done so in a way that i think should be really understandable to any one of the thieves, who also need to hide their true selves and feelings when in public

is 100000% correct about how much shido should eat shit and die

does have a valid point about how dangerous the phantom thieves are, and, in irony of all ironies, probably is a good critic and moral barometer to make sure joker doesn’t go over any lines

is canonically the character who is most unafraid to go against joker’s orders

is smart all absolute FUCK while maintaining an attitude of FUCK COPS

so with all that in mind:

i’d say, the engine room confrontation happens as SOON as they enter shido’s palace. not necessarily specifically in the engine room, but that confrontation happens off the bat. the phantom thieves take two steps into shido’s palace and find that they can’t go anywhere–everything’s locked, or off limits, and the whole place is under more surveillance than any palace they’ve ever seen. sojiro was right when he said that shido’s paranoid as fuck.

they try to leave the palace for the day to regroup, and akechi’s there like a guard dog ready to defend shido’s psyche. why wouldn’t he be? he must have planned that perhaps the thieves would retaliate like this, whether or not joker was alive.

that whole very embarrassing breakdown happens. haru and futaba already canonically seem in favor of akechi rejoining the team, so although haru does say she won’t forgive akechi, i do think that doesn’t need to be at odds with them being in favor of him working with the team.

so, say, akechi’s on the verge of being convinced to work with the team, and he’s not necessarily all in on this whole “being alive” thing, and he’s not super convinced that he deserves redemption, but the phantom thieves really really really insisted, because the phantom thieves can and do change hearts, even when they’re not in palaces, and they’ve just changed akechi’s.

cognitive akechi doesn’t show up because i’m using him later.

first thing: akechi, haru, and futaba need to have a talk, which is actually pretty easy and not even irrelevant. go through shido’s palace, get the letters of rec, everyone recognizes akechi. like haru in okumura’s palace, akechi’s practically their ticket into half the ship.

getting the letters of rec naturally brings up okumura and wakaba, imo, because it hammers home that these sorts of scumbags are the kinds of people that akechi was killing. and also that this is the kind of scumbag that okumura was, in life. have haru go through the five stages of grief all over again, like she did back in okumura’s palace, realizing that her father kills his own employees for the first time. have her struggle all over again to reconcile the father she loves with the father who died with the father who murdered and exploited and drove his employees to the brink of death. have akechi face that even the people he killed were people, too.

depending on your interpretation of wakaba, she was either just as corrupt OR she was genuinely a nice woman, but that can be addressed in a bunch of ways–akechi didnt know what he was doing at the time, or he totally did but didnt feel like he had any other choice–either way, some sort of contextualization of wakaba’s role in shido’s conspiracy needs to be unearthed.

say futaba wants to know what her mother was like. say she asks akechi because akechi knew her, maybe knew wakaba better than futaba ever did, because futaba was young and also because futaba never spent a few days literally crawling through her mother’s psyche like akechi did. make akechi tell futaba about the woman he killed with his own mouth. maybe he tells her only the good parts. maybe futaba MAKES him tell her the bad parts. maybe futaba thanks him for it, and akechi figures out that an apology could never be enough.

the point, basically, is to use shido’s palace to have haru, futaba, and akechi come to terms with each other. forgiveness isnt necessarily the point–understanding is more important. haru and futaba come to understand how and why akechi did what he did, while akechi has to sit through several weeks of looking his victims in the eyeballs.

for extra bonus points of making akechi look his victims in the eyeballs, personally i think that futaba would be the most supportive of all the phantom thieves of akechi turning over a new leaf. she canonically tells him that “it doesn’t matter where you start over” and relates his struggles to her struggle to turn her own life around, and honestly i think sympathy would fuck akechi up the most.

meanwhile, in the real world, capitalize on akechi’s position: if he’s deep in shido’s conspiracy, it really only makes sense that akechi could locate the people they need rec letters from in the real world, and use that to find their cognitive equivalent in shido’s palace. show me akechi’s relationship with shido, founded on akechi trying to appease shido and trying to avoid shido’s wrath simultaneously.

maybe shido’s closing in on the phantom thieves in the real world. he suspects that things haven’t gone according to plan. make use of the fact that shido trusts (to an extent) akechi’s word, and have akechi cover for the phantom thieves in the real world.

maybe show me shido actively manipulating akechi with praise. show me the greys of that relationship, like how we saw madarame treat yusuke well, or saw sae at her best and worst with makoto. show me how difficult it is for akechi to continue to help the phantom thieves even while actively engaging with his own abuser.

make akechi a traitor to shido. being a traitor was his role, wasn’t it? to betray the thieves? just have him betray shido back. he’s good at being a traitor, isn’t he? akechi probably volunteers himself for the role. let him capitalize on his ability to lie and outsmart those around him. let him make it up to joker in the only way that akechi feels he can: even more lying.

get all the rec letters. akechi himself hands shido the calling card. confront shido–cognitive akechi is there and just as much of a bitch as always. show me how much disdain shido has for akechi, how little he thinks of akechi, how nasty he is–and how blindly adoring cognitive akechi is in return. it’s gross as all hell, but it’s a final nail in the coffin to haru and futaba’s grieving process, even forms some sort of solidarity.

there’s half a second where akechi is in the position to kill shido. shido’s shadow is down, akechi’s got a gun, he could pull the trigger before anyone could stop him. futaba tells him not to.

haru tells him that he can kill shido if he wants to.

everyone’s like HARU??? HELLO???? but haru says, as far as i’m concerned, this man is just as much my father’s murderer as akechi-kun is. if you want to, i won’t stop you. but i know that it’s harder to survive than it is to die, too.

akechi does not kill shido. they steal shido’s treasure and return to the real world.

at this point in the canon plot, yaldabaoth starts to happen really fast, but bear with me for five seconds–bring sae back on the scene. shido confesses, and akechi’s reputation goes up in smoke. people call him a fraud, people won’t stop talking about shido being his dad, akechi’s name gets dragged through the mud worse than back when the PT were at their most popular.

sae takes up prosecuting shido’s case, and akechi can’t avoid her forever when he’s supposedly a key witness. sae says, i’m going to give you one chance to explain yourself. you lied to him, you tricked me, you pretended to be my partner all that time and then ran rings around me. talk.

so akechi explains himself, even though half that stuff isnt permissible in court. he doesn’t butter her up and he doesn’t use his cutesy prince mask, and for the first time sae sees him as he really is. and sae says, those are some pretty serious offenses, akechi, what are you going to do now?

akechi’s just gone through that whole bonding session with haru and futaba, during which akechi had to realize, ah, shit, i fucked over the lives of these two very nice girls and even inflicted the same trauma that i myself went through onto other people. so akechi tells sae, well obviously i don’t fucking know, i dont have a career, i might be expelled, and i’ve killed a shitload of people and there’s no way that i can make up for that. but if i could, i would want to do something to right the wrongs that i did–i’d want to address the murders i committed, and maybe do something to fix it.

sae says, you’re smart as all hell, what you’ve done is irrevocable, you know your way around the police and its corruption, you’re willing to do better and you know how hard doing better is going to be. i’m the same way. i might not have killed anyone, but i’ve ruined the lives of so many people in the name of my career and a distorted sense of justice. if you want to do better, i could use a person like you. what do you say that when this case is over, we become partners for real, this time?

akechi says, but sae-san, what about your reputation, what about your career, wouldn’t it be bad to have a fraud like me by your side?

sae says, i didnt have you as a partner the first time around because you were stupid. use your head, make it work, and maybe i’ll buy you sushi off the conveyor belt someday.

case number one is prosecuting the shit out of shido. sae said they’d be partners after akechi is no longer a key witness, but at this point, being a key witness is basically like being her assistant. sae’s there every step of the way while akechi gets shoved through the public wringer. i say, make him lose all his public fame and reputation and more, everything that he thought he wanted, and he come out with sae’s respect, akira’s support, and the phantom thieves on his side.

the trial starts to stall because of yaldabaoth’s influence, which then brings us to that whole reveal about yaldabaoth using akechi as well for yaldo’s own ends. yaldabaoth offers the p5 vanilla bad end, in which the phantom thieves continue on and become incredibly famous and eliminate most crime because they just change the hearts of anyone who does anything halfway wrong.

i say, let the thieves deliberate on that one. all of them, not just joker. it’s not actually a very bad deal, necessarily; it’s just vaguely skeevy and authoritarian. let’s say, akechi is the biggest opposer, and points out that if akira goes down that route, akira will be doing exactly the same thing akechi did for so long–using his power for his own self-satisfaction, power unchecked and out of control. let akechi use the fact that he’s akira’s “rival” and outspoken critic to good use. akira tells yaldo where he can stick it.

fight yaldabaoth, win. sae takes akira into custody. akechi makes good on his deal with sae, and both of them work together to use akechi’s testimony, akira’s testimony, and shido’s testimony to nail shido and clear akira’s name.

from there, flash forward to the epilogue in the same way that it happens in canon, except akechi is now sae’s lackey and she’s overseeing his efforts to undo whatever damage he did to all the nameless people he’s hurt over the years. she’s going to become a defense attorney, and akechi’s probably going to become her assistant and later paralegal. both of them are committed to reforming the justice system for the better and addressing their past wrongs.

im actually big fucking mad at how little i had to change about persona 5 canon to make this redemption arc work. @ persona 5 royal meet me in the pit.

#mine #meta #it's not really meta but lmao #Anonymous

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hopeswriting · 4 years

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Credit image: @noaa - Unsplash

Edit image: Pixlr/Canva

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Title: The Nuances of a Wrathful Sky

Author: @hopeswriting

Rating: T

Pairing: Varia & Xanxus

POV: Third Person Limited, Alternating

Summary: Xanxus doesn’t want, nor looks for, and definitely doesn’t need Guardians. His Guardians find him all the same when he needs them the most (not like he’ll ever admit that aloud), and then just never leave.

Themes: Formation of Varia, Varia’s Backgrounds, The Craddle Affair, Minor or Background Varia Arc

Chapter: 1/? (2057 words)

Squalo wasn’t predestined to be a swordsman, nor the way of the sword called him or chose him or any of that shit.

Squalo decided he wanted to wield a sword. He wanted to spill the blood of his enemies, to stain his weapon and clothes with it, wanted to watch the pain and struggle and despair on their face.

Squalo wanted to be close enough to them to not miss the moment they’d realize he was the death of them, but far enough away so they couldn’t retaliate easily.

He chose the sword and worked to make it an extension of his arm, of his whole body; worked to make it so no other weapons would ever feel so right in his hand.

Whiny Dino splutters and panics and is being his usual pathetic self when he tells him he wants to travel the world to master his technique.

Squalo snatches him by the collar. There’s worry and fear in his eyes of all things, as if Squalo can’t take him on any day, any moment.

“Voi, don’t order me around you scum. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“But Squalo—” There’s a flickering determination in brown eyes, and Squalo considers letting it come to life fully. It’s not often he succeeds to goad the clumsy Sky in a serious fight.

He gets Dino on his tip toes, tightening his grip on his collar, cutting off his breathing. “Don’t insult me Cavallone, who do you think you’re talking with?” A dangerous grin splits his face from ear to ear. “You’re looking at the best swordsman of this generation.”

The first thing Squalo learns on his journey is what defeat tastes like. It tastes like looming death, like unfulfilled cravings and a bleeding pride. This one defeat is tainted by mercy, which adds a sharp, sour taste of anger and disdain at the back of his tongue.

“Voi, what do you think you’re doing? Kill me before I kill you.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to die?” the swordmaster says. “I gave you the fight you wanted. I did not hold back either, merely matched my skills to yours. You survived. The way of the sword didn’t let you down just yet.”

“What kind of bullshit is that?” Squalo spits out. He doesn’t live in a world so kind he’ll be given second chances. Victory is living to see the next fight while defeat is death. There’s no room for draws in Squalo’s world. “Kill me before I kill you,” he says again.

The swordmaster turns his back to him and walks away. Squalo crawls to his sword and stands back up. The swordmaster goes down.

Squalo continues his journey, tackles on Italy first then Europe, goes to Africa and America, roams the streets of Asia and doesn’t forget Australia. He challenges all the masters he can find, their refined styles clashing against Squalo’s simple sword, which gets deadlier each time he leaves in his wake corpses he dragged down from their pedestal.

They call his first win against a swordmaster a fluke, call him a child who’ll get burn by the fire he’s playing with sooner than later. The second swordmaster he kills is deemed too sloppy, the third one too soft. The fourth one and all the others after him expect him, know better than to underestimate him, don’t hide their killing intent from him. Squalo gives back as good as he gets. Squalo is still the last one standing, and is quick to move on to his next prey

It’s particularly delightful to watch the so-called flawless, strongest and invincible style of the swordmaster and his two apprentices crumbles under his blows. There’s no such thing as a flawless, strongest and invincible style. Squalo swears only by his sword but it’s a truth he acknowledges. It’s a truth he won’t make the mistake to ever forget.

When the Varia tries to recruit him, he’s known and respected as The Ravenous Shark who always finds himself where the blood smells the strongest, and never leaves without a new fresh layer of red trailing his steps.

Squalo goes to the Varia headquarters to refuse their offer and gets them off his back. As “independent” they may be they’re still Vongola, and he’s none-too keen to be ordered around.

A step in the mansion and all of his body tenses under the weight of Sky flames all over the place. The undercurrent of anger and violence, the sheer threat of the flames behind their calm aspect isn’t lost on him—it wouldn’t be lost even on the dumbest of dumb fucks on this world.

It’s not a display of power, Squalo knows right away. It’s not a demand for submission either, nor the Sky offering himself up for eventual courtships. This Sky just doesn’t care who his flames reach or who’d be suicidal enough to take it as a challenge. This Sky simply doesn’t see the point to have his flames in a leash.

Squalo mercilessly reigns his Rain flames in lest they lash out blindly, lest they try and submit to the Sky flames, or—god forbid—try and court them.

The Sky is a he, and the utter fury in his eyes is like nothing else Squalo ever seen. His flames thrash and bite and purr, eager to see if they can drown the man—the boy really, and how strange to think they’re about the same age—before they get burn to ashes. The Sky turns his gaze on him, and Squalo’s bloodlust finds a Home at last, strong enough to never need from him any restraint. (Squalo could have been claimed before, truly. But he has no need for a Sky who can encompass him only when he limits himself.)

He walks forward to meet his Sky, the most sure he has ever been in his life, without having any idea on how it’ll play out.

Tyr lies dead at his feet after two long days of battle. Squalo looks down at his bloody sword and sees the embodiment of his ambitions. He looks at his bleeding, exhausted and painful body, and sees the proof of his resolve. Squalo looks at his lost left hand and sees the depth of his loyalty.

Squaring the accounts of the battle, washing away the blood spilled*—this is how The Requiem Rain is born.

(Squalo knows there’s a lot of swordmasters he has still to meet and defeat. Knows there’s a lot of swordsmen out there who can challenge him on the title he covets he has to find and eliminate. He doesn’t worry about them. He’s still young after all, there’s no need to rush his pleasure.)

Xanxus tells him of his plan, and it’s not a show of trust. It’s sure as hell not a call for help. At most it’s some kind of test, but either way Squalo doesn’t care. (Both of them are letting their hair grow, they’re past needing any show of trust.)

“We’ll need more people of our level for this.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Voi,” Squalo cries in indignation, “of course I can take on these Vongola scums on my own too! But you know better than me Nono isn’t to be underestimated. You can’t spare any strength on some underlings if you want to win.”

Xanxus throws his whiskey at him because he said “if”, but he doesn’t disagree.

In a near future and the years to come, when Squalo will have the urge to stab to death or cut the others useless Varia officers heads off, he’d stop and remember just who he has to thank for that. It won’t stop him from trying—if anything, it’ll make him try harder.

Someone sold them out, Squalo has no doubt about it. He looks forward to the fight to decide who’ll be the one to kill the traitor, but he knows Xanxus won’t let this particular kill in anyone else hands.

They successfully make their way through the mansion anyway, taking full advantage of Vongola’s hesitation and confusion when they realize they’re fighting their own.

Vongola Nono is a monster on his own right because of course he is. They land some blows, make for a decent challenge, but Squalo isn’t fooled. Vongola Nono isn’t even fighting with his all, doesn’t bother to show them this bare minimum of respect.

When both of them think he’s out cold, words are spoken he could never have imagined, and everything about Xanxus suddenly makes so much more sense. Did Vongola actually expected any other outcome? How delusional of them.

The ice caught Xanxus in his peak of fury, his face all harsh features, his eyes hateful and unforgiving, his hand outstretched in what was meant to be a killing blow. The ice is so incredibly cold against his palm it’s easy to forget it’s not Dying Will Flames; seeps through skin and bones and makes his flames recoil in such a way it can be nothing else but Dying Will Flames. Squalo can’t reach back to his Sky.

“You’re one pathetic man, old man.” But what to say of him then? About how useless he was in his Sky’s hour of need, how useless he is still now, to not be able to carve a new path for them towards their goal. Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it, Squalo doesn’t hold himself to such low standards.

“Stop the attack Squalo,” the old man says, sounding so much like the understanding and saddened grandfather he likes to pretend he is, Squalo thinks maybe he really forgot the cold-blooded, ruthless ruler he truly is. “Call back your men. You lost, there’s no need for anymore blood to spill.”

“Do you think this is over? Do you think this will stop him? That your ice froze even his ambitions, his Will?” Xanxus is still alive, as distant and barely there anymore his bond feels. This doesn’t have to be the end. Levi is Raging as they’re talking, and Bel’s bond took on a single-minded focus different from his childish glee from before. But this isn’t what Squalo is asking.

“It’s over,” the old man only says.

Squalo slams his fist against the ice, points his broken sword at him. “Voi, you foolish old man,” he roars, but his voice lowers in an even tone then. “This is only the beginning, can’t you even guess that?” Xanxus is still alive, and if he didn’t kill him now he won’t kill him later. It’s his mistake, maybe the last he’ll ever make. “Xanxus will be back, and when he does we’ll be there. We’ll be ready.” Squalo trusts the man to not be senile enough he doesn’t take his words as the threat they are.

Squalo learns that day defeat and failure aren’t the same thing, don’t sink their claws in the soul at the same depth. He learns how easy one is to overcome and forgive, and is too prideful and loyal to let the other be the same.

“The day will surely come when you’ll be thankful you made me your ally*,” Squalo had say to him. He thinks about those words a lot when dealing with the fallout of their failed Coup. Thinks about how they’re there to deal with it while Xanxus is restrained in a prison made of ice.

They’re both still alive, he says to himself when his own words haunt him. Others days will come both of them will be able to share and enjoy. He still can make good of his promise—he will.

Eight years later he is send on a hunt to retrieve the rings his Boss needs to make his ambition a reality. Squalo’s hair reaches his waist, a reminder of what he stands for and who he stands with for all the world to see. Xanxus’s hair doesn’t, and it’s a reminder his resolve and strength failed him once.

He won’t fail this time.

*: Direct quotes from Amano Akira.

Thank you for reading! If you’re interested in more here are the links on ao3 and ff.net.

#wip tws #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr fanfic #wip khr varia

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main-to-card-games-and-pain · 5 years

Text

IronDad Bingo Prompt 5 - Captivity

I finished the line guys I finished the line!!! Yes! Which one should I do next...? Oh my gosh I’m so proud of this, I had the worst writer’s block ever for this prompt. Or any prompt come to think of it. This may not be the best but I broke my dry spell and am ready to rumble once more! DO NOT TAG AS STARKER

Tony woke up to the worst pain he’d ever experienced.

It was exploding from the inside of his chest and no matter what he did it was agony. There was a tube in his nose going down into his throat which burned like Hell whenever he jostled it. It hurt even more when he tried to remove it.

The billionaire groaned as it slipped free, his eyes balled up in pain. He kind of missed the nose-tube pain; it was better than whatever the Hell was excruciatingly painful in his chest.

His limbs refused to answer his commands, brokenly jerking at whatever they could try to clutch. Tony rolled over achingly, eyes focussing on movement to his left.

Was he in a cave?

The movement he saw was a man, shaving.

He was cold.

And in pain.

He tried to move again but something wrenched him back, it was attached to his chest, and it hurt.

Everything hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Tony was scared and he was in pain and he didn’t know who this guy was and if that was a threat.

Tony rolled back over and- Oh my God. Holy shit. Was that a car battery? The billionaire’s breathing picked up erratically, his eyes widened. Desperate fingers clawed at the bindings around his chest, ripping them open to reveal a piece of metal embedded in his chest, attached to the car battery.

His breathing was non-existent now, he was well past the point of hysteria. The man looked back at him casually. Somewhere further concealed in the cave, a baby cried.

“What the Hell did you do to me,” Tony whispered. The baby was still crying, his eyes flickered towards the noise. “Why is there a kid here?”

“What I did?” The man had an accent. “What I did was to save your life. I removed all the shrapnel I could, but there’s a lot there, it’s headed into your atrial septum.” So, he was dying. The man paused, picked up a glass vial. “Here, want to see? I have a souvenir. Take a look.”

Tony glanced up at the offering, clanging with his death. The man tossed it at him, Tony caught it out of reflex more than anything else. The baby was still wailing.

“As for the little one, I assume he was here with some dearly departed parents before they were killed by our lovely hosts.”

“You should get it to stop crying, it’s giving me more of a headache than I already have.”

The man hummed, regarded Tony with a curious look for a moment, and went back to his speech. “I’ve seen many wounds like that in my village; we call them the walking dead, because it takes about a week for the barbs to reach the vital organs.”

“What is this?”

“That, is an electromagnet, hooked up to a car battery, and it is keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart. Hm?” His companion was far too chipper and calm about whatever situation they found themselves in, especially when delivering news like that.

Tony sat up, his eyes flickered to the camera in the corner.

“That’s right,” the man seemed amused, “smile.”

There was a pause, the baby’s cries still echoing around the cave. Tony didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he grabbed his… car battery… and made his way towards the sounds. “Where’s the kid?”

“On some blankets on that table there. I believe he is just under a year old.”

Tony didn’t have experience with babies, he didn’t do the kissing-baby thing. But when he saw him on that table, tears streaming down his cheeks and far too little arms flailing, something inside him snapped. No, melted was the better word.

“What’s his name,” he whispered.

“I call him Peter,” the man replied.

“Peter,” Tony repeated softly, letting the baby latch onto his finger gently. “Hi, little one… What’s your story?”

Once Peter had caught Tony’s finger he was intent on not letting go, quieting immediately and holding as tightly as he could. “And what’s yours?”

“Yinsen.”

Before Tony could muster the strength to pick the baby up footsteps and shouting sounded from behind the big metal door that probably separated their cell from the rest of this place. Yinsen rushed towards him, pulling him away from Peter and towards the door.

“Do as I do,” he commanded, putting his hands onto his head. “Come on, put your hands up.”

Tony barely had time to obey before they were bursting in, all wielding Stark Industries’ guns.

“Those are my guns,” he said, hints of panic seeping into his voice. “How did they get my guns?”

“Do you understand me?” Yinsen spoke in a hiss. “Do as I do.” Tony quieted, listening to the leader speak his piece before looking at Yinsen questioningly. “He says, “Welcome Tony Stark, the most famous mass-murderer in the history of America.” He is honoured.”

Tony had been afraid, and in pain, and confused before. Now, he was terrified. Yinsen continued, “He wants you to build the missile, the Jericho missile that you demonstrated.” The leader held out the photo, but Tony already knew what it looked like. “This one.”

He would not let more weapons fall into the hands of these terrorists.

“I refuse.”

There was more pain after that. Pain, and the feeling of water filling his lungs, the sound of his own screams under the water, and the desperation of a dying man, that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

When he was deposited back in his cell it was to the sound of the crying baby.

“Give him to me,” Tony breathed. It surprised him as much as it did Yinsen.

“I did not take you to be a family man, Stark.”

“I’m not, I just want to hold him, take my mind off the brutal torture and all.”

“Very well.” Yinsen transferred the child into his waiting arms. Once again, Peter quieted almost immediately, sucking gently on his thumb. Tony felt something swell in his chest at the sight, something that was mostly foreign. “He likes you.”

“How naive of him.”

But with Peter sleeping on his chest, and Yinsen turned the other way, Tony let himself realize that he was falling in love with his newfound little one.

Tony Stark was, as usual, right.

That little bundle of blankets quickly became his bundle of blankets. He couldn’t sleep unless Peter was right next to him, and vice versa. The arc reactor was created, and it didn’t hurt so much to put Pete against his chest.

When it came time to take a break from the work, they took turns giving Peter the bottles of milk provided. The baby was still far too small for Tony’s liking though.

He started planning his escape. It was considerably harder when he had Peter to think about. Yinsen thought the change was good for him, and they too became closer.

He told Tony about his village, his family, his desire to be with them again. Tony glanced at Peter and understood.

One day, while they were working, not on a missile but on a suit, their captors barged in unceremoniously. Tony and Yinsen dropped what they were doing and put their hands on their heads, watching warily as the predator stalked its prey.

Tony hated the man’s presence but he’d rather have the attention than Peter or Yinsen. But then he’d turned and forced Yinsen on his knees and was holding a red hot piece of metal and men were reaching for Peter and Tony had never felt such terror.

“Stop!” The word ripped out of his throat on its own accord, startling every occupant in the room. Tony took a few calming breaths as all the guns trained on him and collected his moment of peace. “I need him, he’s a good assistant. And you don’t want the kid, he’ll just annoy you.”

The leader may not have believed him, but he let them both go, and that’s all Tony could ask for.

His heart pounded against his throat, his blood slowly thawed.

He watched as the man cast his eyes on all three occupants of the room and smirked. Tony knew then that they were going to have to get away soon, or else this man would try and take them again.

And if he lost them he didn’t know what he would do.

Yinsen tucked the baby against his chest and ran like his life depended on it, because it did. Inside the tin can Tony desperately hoped would be their saviour, Tony Stark watched on with an overwhelming need to protect.

So he lived up to his name, Tony Stark, murderer, and did his fucking best to get them out of there.

He’s not quite prepared for what it costs.

He gets to the end of the tunnel, he can see the light leading to freedom, but his friend is trapped under a weight and bleeding and shouting, “Watch out!”

Tony narrowly dodged the projectile, retaliating with a small missile of his own and watching as the man went down with the flames. The sand bag was easily thrown away from Yinsen’s chest, but the man didn’t move.

“Stark,” he breathes, and he sounds much too weak for Tony’s liking.

“Come on,” the inventor urges, “we gotta go.” Yinsen stays down. “Move for me, c’mon, we got a plan, we’re gonna stick with it.” Tony feels panic raising up in his chest.

“This was always the plan, Stark.” No. No, no, no no, no. “Take him.” Yinsen’s eyes found a place behind his death bed, covered and protected from harm. Peter was wailing, Tony wondered why he hadn’t heard it before.

“Come on, you’re gonna go see your family,” Tony begged, “Get up.”

“My family is dead.” Something in the mechanic’s heart snapped. “I’m going to see them now, Stark.” Yinsen took a few deep breaths, Tony didn’t think he could breathe if he wanted to. “It’s okay, it’s alright, I want this.”

The tears found their way down Tony’s cheeks on their own accord.

“Thank you for saving me.” He didn’t know what else to say. “And thank you for giving me him.”

Yinsen’s mouth twitched up into the semblance of a grin. “You have something now, Stark, to live for… don’t waste your life.”

And he was gone.

Tony went numb. Suspended in something he supposed was grief he cradled the infant to his chest, tucked him into the specially protective pouch on the inside of his chest plate, and launched his way to freedom.

Guns fired at him but had no effect; here he was immortal, here, he was the God of Death. The bullets paused, the world waited for his next move.

“My turn.”

He burned them all to the ground.

And then he was flying, distantly, he remembered he needed to do something important. When he saw the sand approaching he remembered with desperate certainty. He flipped backwards, making sure his back took the impact and not the precious bundle against his chest. Peter still cried, and later Tony would discover sustained a cut along his forehead that would scar permanently.

But they were both alive, and Tony was so grateful.

He wrapped Peter in the canvas bag he had, fully aware that in doing so Tony was risking himself succumbing to heat stroke much faster. He rather it be him than Pete.

And he walked, and walked, and walked, and when he didn’t think his legs could carry him anymore he walked some more. Because every step brought him closer to safety, to a world where Peter would live and not die of starvation or heat exposure in this barren dessert.

His shoulders were agonized with burns, as was his face and arms. Peter hadn’t quieted for hours and Tony knew with guilt in his heart that he was in pain too.

He walked and walked and walked and walked.

And then a helicopter flew overtop him and Tony felt his first flutter of joy and hope in three months. He didn’t know if he had the strength to shout but he tried, waving his free arm frantically in hopes of getting their attention.

When they turned back and started to land Tony collapsed to his knees, shielding Peter from the sand while sobbing with joy.

There were no more words for Tony, not even when Rhodey reached him and pulled him into a hug. He looked up at his friend, saw his friend inquisitive look at his bundle, and slowly revealed his treasure.

“Tony, is that a-”

“Baby,” he mumbled incoherently. “Is’ a baby Rhodey, nee’ to get t’ safe…”

“Yeah, you’re both safe now, Tony. You’re both safe.”

Tag list: @just-the-daydreamer @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @ladyreyreigns @thetranslucentwallaby @friendly-neighborhood-ash @delphinium2 @the-persian-slipper @shoyzz-art

#irondad bingo #irondadbingo #irondad #Peter Parker and Tony Stark #baby peter #tony stark #canon divergence #torture #writing #fanfiction #iron dad fanfiction #fluff #angst #what is quality? not this lol #not st*rker

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squidpro-quo · 5 years

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A/N: Based on @tchewessah‘s amazing Bungo Stray Dogs’ Soul Eater au! I couldn’t get the idea of Dazai and Chuuya being the best and worst partners :P

couldn’t resist this inspiration

“How can you be this heavy despite being so short?” Dazai drawled as he weighed the knife in his hand with a frown. Its hilt was wrapped in filigreed leather covered in ornate swirls, the blade was smooth enough to stab through silk with the slightest stroke, and yet his wrist was already aching from just one round with a single witch. If this was the best he could do, then perhaps he should look into replacing it. There were more than a few alternatives, some even willing to help him with his most auspicious goal, and honestly, he wasn’t exactly a knife-wielding type of guy anway.

“Short!? This is a fourteen inch blade, that’s considered pretty long by anyone competent enough to use it right!” Chuuya’s voice rang inside his head, their souls brushing up against each other with a friction that made Dazai set his teeth.

The witch’s patience had come to an end by then, her giant compact eyes flickering red as she dove out of the sky with the long, thin end of her lance scything through the air. High-pitched whining announced her arrival, grating on Dazai’s nerves even more than his own partner and it was more the instinctual annoyance at the noise than any greater motivation that drove him to dodge out of the way.

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect much more. You were tiny then, so you’re tiny now.” He shrugged, dropped the knife on the ground and noted that it had landed with enough force to spear itself into the asphalt road. Why he’d been assigned someone so obviously difficult was beyond him, but to add on the attitude problems was too much. He’d been given a task, there was no point in wasting time on useless tools when he could find another way around it, just like always.

Turning his back on the upright knife, he spotted the witch hovering above and sharpening her stinger for another fly-over, webbed wings blurring into a ceaseless motion behind her as she unrolled her long tongue and blew a raspberry. As much as he’d been evading her jabs, she’d been taunting his own attempts for just as long. Now that he didn’t have to deal with his own difficulties, he could focus on making some for her.

A hand grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the window of a shopfront, glass cracking from where his head had impacted. A gaze so furious he might have qualed had he cared an ounce, fingers gripping his coat so tightly he was glad he hadn’t made use of the sleeves, and a corona of copper around his partner’s head that could have been the flames of his anger instead of simply his hair.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Chuuya hissed, eyes boring into Dazai’s uncovered one with an intensity reflected in his soul. “Get back here, you’re not done yet.”

“By the time I manage to stab you anywhere inside her,” Dazai pointed up to the witch, following her movements in the glass, “She’ll have granted me a mediocre and unsatisfying release.”

Chuuya scowled, yanking Dazai away from the damaged storefront instead of answering, and shoving his hands into his pockets as he studied the litter by their feet.

Straightening his jacket while he gingerly stretched his back in case any of his ribs were cracked, Dazai didn’t bother to smile over his small victory and simply looked up as the witch dove yet again in a swarm of black blocking out the gaps between the buildings.

Plans circled in his head, alternates and backups and last ditch chances presenting themselves as Dazai spun on his heel and calculated the amount of force he’d need to shatter industrial glass, factoring in that it was already partially cracked and with enough speed he could clear the first wave of attacks until he could trigger the—

A crushing hand found his for only a second before it morphed, souls shifting and skimming together in a sudden smashing reverberation. Even with his aura’s usual easy atunement, Dazai was surprised to find Chuuya’s soul had changed, resonating at a different frequency than he remembered from before.

What he found himself holding was different as well, gone was the short, sleek, knife he’d laughed at on first glance and instead he found his arm wrapped in steel plating woven together to form a gauntlet stretching up to his elbow. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the weight. He could’ve been carting a bodybag around for how much strain this would put on his already sore shoulder.

“You went from a mildly serviceable, if pitiful, reach to no reach at all.” Dazai shrugged, trying to lighten the load to no avail. “I guess your range as small as everything else about you.”

“Just watch, you puffed up mummy,” Chuuya growled, tightening around Dazai’s wrist.

Before he could retaliate, Chuuya’s soul began to morph yet again, from the usual bright aura into a seething static, a buzz sounding in the cross section of their souls that would have put the swarm above them to shame.

Dazai didn’t fight the resistance he felt across their tenuous bond, he’d had weapons with a more strenuous connection or larger gap to bridge and adjusted just fine but this felt different. The static was spreading, swallowing Chuuya’s soul until it almost seemed to be fizzing apart.

“Are you going to do anything or just stand there with two useless eyeballs!?”

Spurred into motion by the angry rebuke, Dazai clenched his fist and looked up at the approaching swarm, searching for the figure of the lone witch. Far to the left, almost hidden by the corner of the apartment building, she buzzed in small figure-eights while patiently awaiting their destruction.

“Why are you backing away? You’re supposed to be attacking!”

Dazai didn’t bother to say anything in reply even as the gauntlet grew heavier. Just a little bit closer, and it would be the perfect spot. Standing with his back against the cracked glass, he waited for the swarm to close in. Once even the streetlights were obscured by the writhing darkness and the high whine was loud enough to shatter an eardrum, he braced his foot against the window and kicked off.

BOOM

No sooner had he leaped, than a wall of concussive force slammed into his back and sent him rocketing upward, through the first wave and countless small, scraping claws, leaving behind a roiling plume of smoke rising from the store and a shards of glass following in his wake. Letting the spent trigger fall from his fingers, Dazai lost his coat with the speed of their ascent, his tie whipped across his shoulder as the shocked face of the witch loomed within sight, and much more importantly, within reach.

Perhaps it was the weightlessness that came with reaching the arc of their flight, or that the adrenalin rush from standing with his back to a ticking bomb wiped away any of his exhaustion but rearing back with Chuuya’s full weight was easier than he’d expected. The forceful static of Chuuya’s soul and his own smooth, malleable one found an instant of balance, raucous and harsh, but a balance nonetheless. His punch caught the witch in the chest, his fingers outlined in a raw red that flared in the wake of his motion, the power behind the blow enough to send her crashing to the roof in a crumpled and dissolving mess.

Dazai landed in a skid, gauntleted hand scraping the top of the building as he slowed down, leaving a groove across the worn concrete like the tail of a comet. The witch’s soul rose from the heap of where she’d lain, glowing against the roiling black fumes emanating from below. Only the static licking at his soul ruined the odd flush of satisfaction that rose in Dazai, something he’d never considered before after a fight, and it’s distorted form finally settled until he felt the weight lifting from his hand.

Chuuya stalked across the roof without a word of recognition and grabbing the hovering soul, swallowing it whole before leveling an angry glare back at Dazai.

“Range enough for you?” he asked, hand holding his hat down as the wind picked up.

Dazai shrugged, smiling at the look of outrage that flashed across Chuuya’s face. Why they’d been forced to pair up by Mori for a rather mundane job still irked him, but perhaps this partnership was slightly more serviceable than he’d first thought.

“With this unfortunate success, the boss will certainly think this was a good idea of his.” Snapping his fingers, Dazai gestured to Chuuya. “Maybe you’ll finally help me with my ultimate goal!”

“Those bandages must be too tight because they’re squeezing your brains out of your ears. I can’t be a death scythe, if I’m not a fucking scythe.” Chuuya scoffed, leaning out over the edge of the roof to survey the damage done below, hand braced on his knee to keep his balance.

“No, I don’t need a death scythe. Just death, period.”

Chuuya glanced back at him in brief bemusement before rolling his eyes. Dazai picked at the cloth covering his own right eye, wondering if perhaps that fleeting moment of clarity, of vitality, at the apex of their climb would come again. With their next job.

I’m open for requests!

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #bsd fic #tchewessah #My writing #Inspired By #i have an idea for chuuya's corruption and how that'll come out but I'm still rolling it around in my mind #thank you for letting me write something for this au!#bsd soul eater au

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sailor-cresselia · 5 years

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Zi-O 21; both raw AND subbed~!

Advance Warning: I have never seen Ryuki, and it’s probably going to show. A lot, if only because I have no connection to whoever the Guest Characters are, and what any issues they bring in could mean. I’ve seen Marcosatsu’s History Of Ryuki though, so that should help a little. (three links, because he wound up doing it in three parts)

Starting off with watching the Raw!

BlackWoz’s Storytime Vault doesn’t have much to offer, aside from a worrying angle at the end.

I’m impressed by Uhr’s control with reversing the damage he’s doing to that mirror. Of course, he’s paying almost zero attention to Schwartz in the process, but there’s a method to his being a little brat this time.

He’s trying to get the attention of some guy in Ryuki’s mirror world.

Sounds like his idea is “So, my new candidate? He’s from another world. Remember how that Tsukasa guy traveled? It’s kinda like that, but not.”

(What was going on in Ryuki?! Also, how many endings is this going to make for that season? Because I seem to remember hearing that there’s like, five? At least?)

I like the touch with Another Ryuga’s name and year – they’re backwards, like you’d see in a mirror.

Sougo’s DEFINITELY using Gun Mode a lot more recently. I like it’s finisher with Double, though – it’s basically a smaller scale version of the CycloneTrigger Memory Break. … What was that one called? Ah, there it is. Trigger Aerobuster.

Names are important. I’m doing my best to get them right.

But it’s basically that, with purple shots in the center of the wind bursts.

… of course, it gets reflected right back at them, because MIRRORS, but still. Points for fighting at a distance, especially with that dragon arm – that was doing some damage, it looked like.

Geiz’s Drive armor is back! (I’ve missed the shift cars, so it’s nice to at least see Max Flare, Funky Spike, and Midnight Shadow’s tires again.)

But again, mirrors.

Tsukuyomi: So, you lost him?

Sougo: Well, yes, but also we had to help the injured construction worker.

Geiz: And everything got sent back at us, so…

blah blah, ‘whats the deal with the time jackers’ blah…

“What IS this Day of Oma you mentioned, anyway?” Good question, bud.

“Well, in our history, it’s the day that Oma Zi-O took over the world.” Geiz, I get that you’re upset. But. Um. What did you just do to that chessboard?

As far as I know, you’re not able to cause shockwaves. Not just by symbolically slamming a chess piece down. ...I don’t know anything about chess, but I’m assuming that piece is the Black King. Wiping out all of his opposition in one strike… along with all of his allies.

Sougo retaliates with “And the one WhiteWoz is from, says that you stopped that from happening.” He uses the White Knight to knock down the Black King, leaving the Knight alone on the board.

And then we have the Time Jackers, trying to get someone else altogether in charge. Black Bishop takes out the White Knight. The Time Jackers are from the same timeline as Tsukuyomi and Geiz, after all.

That day is when the world’s future is decided… ooh, ominous.

… drat, have to skip the next bit of exposition, but while they’re outside talking about… victims? I think?

I hear that same sound that heralded Geiz’s Time Mazine arriving back in Episode one.

Okay, so the victims are all connected to the magazine/journal/website from Ryuki? Makes sense.

Oh man, Shinji’s already dead?! Welp, that’s it, arc over, time to go home. (dusts off hands)

Hm. He covered up all the reflective surfaces – which would include windows and vents. Because Mirror World.

Of course, that poses a problem when you use a gas heater.

Okay, so at this point, while I was watching, Over-Time posted their subs. So I just got the script, went back to the beginning, and started over.

Well, at least BlackWoz is going along with the nicknames for now. I guess he understands the need for the distinction.

Hm. Schwartz seems to think that Geiz is going to be trying for the throne on the Day of Oma. But, sir, have you met this kid? Yes, yes you have, we’ve seen you interact with him. There is nearly no way that Geiz would ever want to be in charge.

...I say nearly, because time travel and predestination and all of that jazz. WhiteWoz is screwing with the kids head.

HUH. Uhr’s logic isn’t even “it’s kinda like that Decade guy”, he was specifically told about the Mirror World by Tsukasa. (insert a certain 10-year-old meme here.)

And what’s even more interesting than that… is that Schwartz didn’t know about the Mirror World.

And we’ve already seen that Schwartz can go to other timelines, as per when he created the Another Shinobi Watch.

Hm, looks like we’re in for another variation of ‘not the Another Rider you think he is’, aren’t we? Another Ryuga has the last portion of his name covered by what appear to be burnmarks. Much like how Another OOO’s year was cracked, so it could appear to be 2016 while actually being 2010.

Oh dear GOD they’ve been fighting Another Ryuga for a WEEK. He just keeps showing up and disappearing. (Because mirrors, not that they know that.)

“Why do they keep getting harder to fight?” Well, Sougo, it’s probably largely because we’re about out of Phase Twos, and the Earlier Heisei Riders were pretty brutal, from what I’ve heard. Plus, you keep getting teleporters involved, so that doesn’t help in the slightest.

Thank you for finally asking what the Day of Oma is, though.

(Low INT, high-ish WIS.)

“Well, what future do the two of you want?” Asks the noodle with a pretty decent Charisma stat. And neither Geiz or Tsukuyomi actually have an answer for him.

(Ow, my heart.)

Okay, all the victims followed Ore Journal online, but it has since gone completely under, since it just couldn’t keep up with the times.

I was right on the money about Shinji, though, he clearly knows full well about the reflection teleportation, and now so do The Kids.

GEIZ I UNDERSTAND YOUR LOGIC. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I HAVE TO LIKE IT.

“Beat him in the time before the attack returns.” Because there’s a lag before the mirror shield shows up, so there’s a brief window of time. But an attack that would take it out that quickly would return just as powerful… directly at where it came from. Also known as the Rider who launched it.

And also also known as Geiz, if he gets his way.

Because a soldier who can’t defeat his enemies isn’t much of a soldier, now is he?

(Thanks a lot, eps 15 and 16. Thanks.)

Aaaand Uncle Tokiwa doesn’t actually know Woz’s name! All he could do for the Watch was clean it up… oooooh...

Sougo’s next powerup has an awful lot of that burnished gold on it. The same, or almost the same, tone as Oma Zi-O’s.

“Hello, my overlord~!” “Not. Now.”

Good boy, Sougo. And you even met this weeks tribute, and didn’t realize it!

I still don’t buy the “he doesn’t remember” thing, by the way, especially given the mirrored surfaces – how would he have known without having been Ryuki? Does he know about all the other victims? I don’t think you’ve actually talked to him yet. But I’ll let the memory ‘detail’ slide for now, since it looks like BlackWoz is actually being straightforward at the moment…

Aaand Sougo’s desperately trying to ignore him. Fair. Since that second Zi-O watch is tied to him becoming evil and all. Decent WIS stat, and also BlackWoz’s idea of ‘subtle’ is very much not so.

Meanwhile, with Geiz and Tsukuyomi… Yeah. He doesn’t plan to come out of this fight. Because what good is a soldier who can’t win?

And also, he, too, knows he is being stalked by his own personal Woz.

“What’s your end goal? If I come out on top, what’s your future like?”

“Just like this, a peace as if time has stopped.”

… Hi, yeah, not here for that phrasing at all, actually. Having just come out of HUGtto! Precure, wherein ‘stopping time so that despair can’t happen’ was kind of the villians whole thing, I’m trusting you even less than before.

Nothing can disturb the peace if nothing moves again, now can it?

But for Geiz and Tsukuyomi, literal veterans who have seen armies destroyed in the wave of an arm… they don’t have that frame of reference, now do they? They might just hear the “a time not unlike the one here” aspect.

“Hey, think I can use that notebook?”

“Nope, nuh-uh, OP reality warper powers are mine and mine alone.”

OOF. Right. Uhr contracted Mirror World Shinji, didn’t he? Which, of course, means that his existence is tied to Regular World Shinji’s existence. Can’t defeat the Another Rider? Take out his other link to living.

WhiteWoz and his “Obstacles are for killing” attitude does not sit well with Geiz.

“Hey, other me! You want revenge on that guy, right? The one who attacked you? Of course ya do! Why not!”

Meanwhile, Regular Shinji looks like he’s having thoughts along the lines of “I’m not going back to the belt! I’m out, man! I finished! I’ve finished like FIVE times already! Let me retire!”

Huh. The smudge over ‘Ryuga’ is gone. Neat. (aaand at which point I realized i’ve probably been spelling it wrong, and went back to fix all the places I used two ‘u’s on instinct.)

Clever, clever Uhr. “You can’t get a watch from a person who never existed, from a world that no longer ever was.”

...well, Schwartz could go to alternate timelines, so… Hey, Geiz, Tsukuyomi, Sougo, did any of you happen to get Tsukasa’s contact info?

Also, Tsukasa, did you have to clue the Time Jackers in on the ‘other worlds’ thing? I’m just saying, that might come back to bite you.

You are coming back, right? You don’t get to drop cryptic ‘I’m destroying this world first’ comments, and give tips to the assorted groups, and then just never come back.

It’s rude.

We need some sort of follow-through on this stuff, at least.

Geiz attempts his suicide attack… but Sougo knocks him out of the kick before he can gain momentum…

“I’m not letting you die, damnit! You still need to make sure I don’t go evil, and I’m definitely tempted by this watch right now...”

and then said watch doesn’t even try to activate.

Aaaand then Sougo gets wrestled into the Mirror World.

(Isn’t that place supposed to be super fatal if you don’t have an Advent Deck?)

Aaaah! The backwards writing, and the fact that some of it is glitching is bad enough. But the lack of sound? Nope, I’m not here for that at all. That’s never a good sign.

Although Kudos to O-T for getting the subtitles for some of those signs. Well done.

So, yeah, sorry Sougo, it’s not 3-Days-From-Now You this time. (But seriously, what happened to him?) This time it’s Evil You.

Not even 50-Years-From-Now Bad-Ending Evil You.

We’re talking a “Terran Empire Enterprise” type of Evil You. … well, at least he doesn’t have a goatee.

OH GOD AAAAGH GO BACK TO SILENCE PLEASE

Distorted belt effects are not okay! Agh! NononoNO!

Oh, and uh... Hey! Remember literally yesterday? When I said I’m loving the ‘parallel self’ juxtapositions that Zi-O’s been doing?

I should probably have remembered that the Ryuki tribute was next, and that I’ve seen the preview screenshots with Mirror Sougo being super creepy.

I may have changed my mind a bit on that juxtaposition love.

MISTAKES WERE MADE.

#kamen rider zi o #kamen rider ryuki #sailorcressy says #...i'm probably going to be making an Updated Faction List after 22 #aren't I?

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houseofzoey · 5 years

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This chapter was way too long and made absolutely no sense regarding the points that really mattered. I mean, it definitely progresses the plot, but it does not do so well. First, Rephaim. Why did we have to read through three pages of Rephaim thinking about his feelings for Stevie Rae and angsting about how she'll never love him? I can understand spending some time with those emotions - it's an important moment of realization and growth for his character - but not three consecutive pages. Stevie Rae's introspective scene where she realizes she has feelings for Rephaim lastedd maybe one full page. This is made all the more egregious by the fact that his prolonged heartache of the seeming impossbility of Stevie Rae returning his feelings is immediately and completely ignored the second he senses she is being intimate with Dallas. Like, instantly. Repahim does not spend a few more minutes lamenting his situation and warring with his instincts and the Imprint that drives him to seek her out. He just goes straight to the tunnels (and doesn't even use his Imprint to track Stevie Rae down at first, so it's not driven by that sort of instinct) and watches her and Dallas have sex for a few moments before yelling at them. Then we get to the confrontation. This is where everything really, really falls apart. First, again, we need to talk about Rephaim more. He goes from believing Stevie Rae will never love him to claiming her as his, acting like a scorned lover who's discovered his partner is cheating on him, and implicitly threatening Dallas with bodily harm. He gets so upset that he is literally becoming more animalistic by the minute. But this is fine! Sure, Stevie Rae is initially upset that he's shown up, but that's because he's completely blwon her cover and revealed just how much she's been lying to Dallas for the last week or so. That Rephaim is claiming her as his own and on the verge of violence doesn't really seem to bother her too much. If it does, she certainly never comments on it. Dallas is, understandably, confused, protective of Stevie Rae, and then livid when he discovers that she's actually been hiding and protecting Rephaim. Reminder: Dallas knows Rephaim is the Raven Mocker who killed Anastasia. He believes, with good reason, that Rephaim was trying to attack Stevie Rae when the white bull appeared. There is absolutely no reason for Dallas to see Rephaim as anything but a threat, and it is entirely sensible for him to regard Stevie Rae's trust in and protection of him as a betrayal of their school and community. Him being angry and hostile makes sense. Even still, his behaviour ends up wildly out-of-character. Yelling, a bit of swearing, threatening Rephaim - that all fits. Even questioning Stevie Rae's judgment and authority is fine. She is, after all, not a High Priestess in any kind of official sense. What doesn't fit is him suddenly becoming sexist, assuming she slept with Rephaim and calling her a whore, and trying to hit her and electrocute her. That absolutely does not fit with anything that has been established about her character so far. Dallas is a doormat around Stevie Rae. She can smack him, tell him off, and treat him like garbage for things he has no control over or has no reason to believe would upset her. He never retaliates. And even in situations where he and his friends have been seriously threatened, Dallas does not strike to kill. When Nicole, Kurtis, and Starr pulled guns, Dallas responded by using his affinity to arc a small bit of electricity into Kurtis' gun, making him drop it. Some of this behaviour can be excused as the influence of Darkness, but a lot of it appeared before that. When Dallas called Stevie Rae a whore, that was fully and completely him. That doesn't make any sense. But, also, even though it's a pretty awful way to treat someone, it's not exactly the mark of inexcusable. That's the type of thing where you walk away, calm down, and apologize later. In this series, however, that was the point where Dallas officially crossed the line into unforgivable territory. I know this based on Stevie Rae's reaction: hauling off and slapping him so hard he stumbled back a few steps. This is the same sort of indicator we were given when Erik became unforgivable for being too "possessive" of Zoey and Zoey responded by using the force of the elements to shove him. And, like, that's significant. Like, really, really significant. I know of said this already, but Dallas needed to be made out as a worse love interest than Rephaim. So Dallas questions Stevie Rae's authority, threatens and dehumanizes Rephaim, and hurls sexist cuss words at Stevie Rae. Somehow that makes him worse than Rehaim, who is a literal murderer. Once again, being a generically crappy boyfriend is presented as far worse than commiting actual felonies in this series. Stevie Rae isn't in the clear, either. She was already boderline abusive toward Dallas back in Tempted, then she uses excessive force in retalation against Dallas swearing at her in this scene, and then she is aghast when Dallas attempts to strike back. It's a huge double-standard that this series absolutely loves. There's also other, more minor stuff that Stevie Rae does in this chapter, such as once again deciding to let someone who clearly tried to kill her run off without consequences. tl;dr: This chapter is terrible, this love triangle is terrible, and no one involved is a good love interest.

#not a good love interest #just love the evil out of him #end chapter twenty-three #house of zoey #burned

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theinquisitivej · 5 years

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‘Avengers: Endgame’ – A Movie Review, and a Reflection on Endings

Endings are rarely the definitive final word.

A person’s story can come to an end, but the stories of the people around them and the world they live in carry on, even if that one person isn’t there anymore. That realisation conjures up a whole tangled mess of emotions, but it is the natural way of things. It’s not right to want everything to end with you. In life, we make the most of the time and energy we’re given, and if you make enough right decisions, get lucky, and dedicate enough of yourself, you’ll hopefully get to go with the sense that you did okay, and that those you leave behind are going to be alright. Endings in fiction are as infinitely variable as any other feature of artistic expression, but in narratives with expansive casts or fleshed out worlds, they often leave us with the feeling that we’d only have to stay a little longer and there would be more stories to explore. Just as the real world is bigger than any one lifetime, successfully-established fictional worlds feel much larger than any one set of characters and their narrative.

For the last eleven years, audiences have enjoyed a series of blockbusters featuring an impressively varied range of stylistic approaches. At their best, these films are deeply satisfying and affecting, delivering poignant moments about characters coming to terms with their own flaws and trying their best to do the right thing. But when considered together, these films have never entirely felt resolved, with each one going out on a lingering note of “just wait for what comes next”. The story was never over for the Marvel Cinematic Universe, because another film was never far away. And now that the grand conclusion has finally come and $2.5 billion worth of us have watched and re-watched it, things are just the same as ever, and yet we’re at a moment that we’ve never seen before and are unlikely to see again for a long time. We’ve reached an ending of the story that begun with Tony Stark and his box of scraps in that cave in 2008. The story is over. But there are more stories to come.

Yes, there will be spoilers ahead. But I say again: this film has crossed over the two and a half billion dollar mark. I’m pretty sure if you’re reading this, you’ll have contributed your drop or two to Marvel’s bucket. So let’s talk about the movie.

I appreciate the efforts of Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely as screenwriters, Joe and Anthony Russo as directors, and the input of every person involved in deciding the final shape of Endgame’s story to make its structure noticeably different to that of Infinity War. The previous Avengers film is a constant juggling act, relying on the viewer taking to Thanos as a central thread around which the rest of the film is hung. We’re either seeing the various steps Thanos is taking along his journey, hearing about what kind of man he is and what he intends to do, or seeing characters who are consistently on the back foot as they frantically scramble to strategically and mentally prepare for an opponent they’re not ready for. By this point in the series, we’ve been conditioned to expect to see things primarily from the point of view of the dozens of characters aligned with the Avengers, but Infinity War is messy and fractured when you look at it from the perspective of the heroes. And that’s the point – our heroes are fractured, and so there’s no unified effort against the villain as he single-mindedly pursues his goal with continuous success. The Avengers are a mess, and they lose. Thanos is the one who seizes control of the narrative, undoing the decisions and sacrifices made by the heroes as he dictates what his ambitions are and why they are so noble… and because viewers are susceptible to sympathising with the person who names themselves the hero and takes the reins of the narrative, far too many people bought Thanos’ rhetoric. For a year there, we really were seeing think-pieces that said “maybe the genocidal zealot who emotionally manipulates people is right”!

But Endgame’s structure deliberately contrasts against Infinity War’s. Whereas Infinity War is about heroes being separated and the catastrophe that follows in the wake of this disunity, Endgame presents its heroes as a group of grieving people who are unified through their shared regrets and resolve to overcome their despair together and work towards a singular objective to try and fix everything. The Avengers are disassembled in Infinity War and reassembled in Endgame. As a result, the structure is comparatively more uniform. You can clearly differentiate the film into three distinct thirds – the five-year time skip that shows life on a mournful Earth still coming to terms with half of life being eradicated, the Back to the Future Part II time-travel mission as characters revisit scenarios from previous films, and the big blowout battle where every surviving main superpowered character in the entire franchise is dumped into one battle for your viewing pleasure. Each third offers something different, meaning you cover all of the ground that you’d want to in a dramatic, energetic, and emotional close to a blockbuster saga with literally dozens of characters who are all key players. Each third is impressively balanced, and they all act as strong supporting columns for the film as a result.

However, because these thirds are as distinct as they are, it’s almost inevitable that you’ll come away saying “I preferred these two parts over that third part, which felt okay but a little unnecessary”. Personally, I think there are plenty of themes (grief and a desire to revisit the past, putting guilt and trauma to rest, and of course, the strength of unity) and character arcs (Nebula finally choosing to integrate herself into a group of people who value her and literally killing the old version of herself who wanted only to please her abusive father-figure being the stand-out one) which help gel each of the film’s three segments together without much resistance. But I have encountered multiple people who have expressed the sentiment that they really liked two thirds but they could take or leave another third – inevitably, which third is which always varies. I can imagine that, if you’re not getting a lot out of one of the segments, Endgame will certainly make you antsy for the film to return to what you felt it was pulling off more successfully. The three distinct thirds can result in a fragmented viewing experience for some audience members. On the other hand, I felt that the clearer, more focused structure not only made the film seem less jumbled than its predecessor, but also made it a suitable companion-piece to Infinity War and its Thanos-centric structure.

The emotional response I have to Endgame is not the same electric glee I had from seeing the first Avengers, though moments like Cap picking up the hammer, the cinematic equivalent of a double-page spread of every single MCU hero charging towards Thanos’ army in one image, and “she’s got help” all sparked that feeling off inside me with more intensity than I’ve felt for a long time. No, what I feel more than anything about the MCU right now is a paradoxical sense of melancholic yet nevertheless delighted satisfaction. A part of that comes from the strengths of that first third, which, despite my sincere claims that all three sections gel together successfully, is nevertheless my favourite segment of the film (with the possible exception of the epilogue, but we’ll get to that). In this review’s opening paragraphs, I talked about endings not being the definitive final word as life and the world must always carry on. My reflection on that was primarily positive, but in this opening hour, we see the sad alternative form that this concept can take. Thanos killed half the universe and was killed in retaliation – the conflict ends, as does the hope of repairing the damage done by this tragedy. But the universe doesn’t end even with half of its inhabitants being gone. As Steve succinctly says, the survivors have to keep moving forward, “otherwise Thanos should have killed all of us”. It’s an outlook that Steve encourages, even if he can’t fully believe it himself, because he thinks it’s the best way for people to regain control over their unthinkable circumstances. The setup for Endgame presents us with a universe that died a half-death – everything ended for half its population five years ago, while life for the other half of the population persists, and they are trying their best to make sense of that.

That struggle with grief, both on a colossal and a personal scale, is what unifies every single character, but the difference lies in how they respond to that grief. Black Widow throws herself into her work to try and keep the good that superheroes can do going, but her efforts feel as if they aren’t enough, being told by Okoye that the natural tectonic shifts she’s reporting on aren’t something you actively address with a strike squad and that you have to “handle it by not handling it”. Hawkeye was always the simple guy involved in the Avengers who was kept grounded by his family. Without them, he has nothing to keep him rooted, no home to return to, so he goes in the complete opposite direction and becomes a dedicated avenger in a literal sense, dolling out punishment fuelled by his frustration without any of the purpose and direction that he gained from his connections to friends and family. Hulk / Banner actually come out of this having made some progress, deciding to meditate on what they learned from their losses and literally come together in their grief to become one being, Professor Hulk. Tony and Pepper make the most of the luck they managed to find together, but are both keenly aware of all those who weren’t so lucky, wanting to get back what they lost but keep what they’ve found, which is remarkably human and understandable. Thor… hm. Okay, yes, Thor is a mixed bag. In all honesty, I loved Thor in this film and was empathetic towards his depression and anxiety attacks. I also love that Thor gets to stay as he is and still be shown that he is indeed worthy to wield Mjolnir and fight in the battle alongside all these other heroes without having to change who he is. But I do acknowledge the issues that numerous viewers have raised about some of the jokes made by the other characters being at the expense of Thor’s weight, and how they found it uncomfortable, and, in instances, meanspirited and harmful. I love the current version of Thor and feel Chris Hemsworth injected even more bubbly charm and infectious spirit to his character while blending it with the genuine pathos Thor was going through with remarkable talent. But the film’s tendency to use the character’s weight as an opportunity to make jokes about him being fat is not ideal. I’m glad to see Thor continue as he is into further movies (though it is possible that they’ll say he lost weight between Endgame and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3), but I sincerely hope we DON’T see the fat-jokes continue as they are. The lighting, music, and performances of everyone in the cast all contribute to this palpable sensation of immense loss, which communicates not only what’s at stake in this epic conclusion, but also how each character involved has been changed by what they’ve had to go through since Infinity War.

But that only touches on the melancholic side of things; why do I also feel delighted and satisfied as I take in these sombre themes? Well, to put it simply, this one sticks the landing by closing the right doors in the most appropriate way while keeping other doors open in a balanced approach that seems so right. Tony Stark sacrifices his life after declaring “I am Iron Man” one last time, putting everything of himself into doing the right thing when so long ago he enjoyed a life of zero-accountability and kept his work on weapons technology at a safe distance. The image of his first arc-reactor in its memento case reading “Proof that Tony Stark has a heart” floating on the water at his funeral destroyed me at both viewings, because not only have his actions proved this fact as well, but we see numerous people all around this site as they pay their respects, showing the hearts of so many characters we care about who were connected to his. And Steve Rogers, the soldier who could never sit down if he saw a situation pointed south, after standing up against a galactic tyrant and his army, first alone and then with the support of countless men and women rallying to him, finally lets himself rest. Not many people have talked about the new horizons Steve takes in in this film; when the surviving heroes take Rocket’s ship to the Garden Planet, the camera makes a point of focusing on an extreme close-up of Steve’s eye as they travel through hyperspace. Even after nearly a decade of familiarity with this new era, the man out of time, a kid from 1940s Brooklyn, is seeing things that he could’ve never imagined. He’s come so, so far. I can think of no better conclusion than for him to return back home.

But the film’s epilogue isn’t just concerned with closing the curtain on these heroes as they sit down to rest. Just as these stories end, we see hints of what stories are yet to come for other heroes. In the sequence where the camera pans over the countless faces attending Tony’s funeral, it’s fitting that the last hero we see (before Nick Fury steps into frame under the veranda, concealed in the shadows at the very end, much like his very first entrance as a post-credits tease at the end of Iron Man) is Carol Danvers. Having made her debut just months ago, she is the most recent addition to this universe, so her position at the back of the line reflects that. Her placement halfway up the steps she’s standing on suggests that she’s acting as an embodiment for the road to the future – she is literally on the next step for the series of films Marvel will make as they move forward. And she’s not alone, because other heroes will continue to thrive and flourish as their stories continue. Sam is handed the mantle of Captain America, and what’s achingly beautiful about this exchange is the attitude of the two men involved. Sam views Steve as his friend first and foremost, so he is sincere when he says he’s happy for him. But Sam also respects Steve so much as the man who deserves to be Captain America. Much like how Mjolnir can only be wielded by those who are worthy, Cap’s shield becomes a sacred relic that should only be worn by the right man for the job. And when Steve gently encourages Sam to try the shield on, knowing full well what it means to the world and to both of them, he does so as both Captain America finding the right man to fill his position, and as Sam’s friend Steve, telling him with assurance that he really is one of the best people he knows. When Sam confesses that he feels like the shield belongs to someone else, Steve responds with elegant purity “it doesn’t”. Everything at the core of Captain America, the bravery, the conviction to always stand back up and fight no matter how much it pains them to do so, and the responsibility to always look out for the little guy, are all qualities which never belonged to Steve and Steve alone; those virtues can belong to anyone, and Steve tells his friend that he recognises them in Sam. I cannot wait to see the good that Sam will do as he follows his promise to do his best.

Tom Holland’s Spider-Man has been developing a mentee / mentor relationship with Robert Downey Jr.’s Iron Man since Civil War, and here it culminates in a bittersweet arc that lays the groundwork for what I expect will be some fascinating and impactful characterisation in Far From Home in a few months’ time. Tony mourns for Peter most of all, viewing him as a surrogate son who has much of the same inventive genius and drive that he has, with the addition of some compassionate heart and level of responsibility that is far beyond his years. Peter has it in him to be better than Tony, and Tony knows this. So it’s understandable why the loss of that kind, youthful spirit and his limitless potential would hurt Tony so much. In Tony’s dying moments, we share Peter’s tears as we see how much this connection means to them both and realise what is being lost. But we know this is exactly what Tony fought for – the chance for the next generation to live and grow. Holland’s performance when we see Peter return to school hints at his sense of disconnection, as his expression creates the impression that he feels like a stranger in a place with which he once felt so familiar. With the support of his friends, especially Ned, he will find his way in the next step of his journey.

Endgame provides definitive endings for the journeys of characters we’ve been following for more films than we see most actors get to play Bond, but it also manages to cast a hopeful eye towards the future without compromising its position as a neat conclusion to everything up to this point. In fact, its simultaneous handling of reflective closure and moving forward with renewed purpose makes for a remarkably poignant milestone. Stories rarely strike such a balance between meaningful finality and the uplifting excitement of wanting more stories and knowing you’re going to get them. And that probably sounds shallow and frivolous because, at the end of the day, we’re talking about a successful studio delivering a hyped-up film that promises to be a finale but also serves the financially driven purpose of pitching you a dozen other films and TV series. But through the efforts of over a decade’s worth of dedicated storytellers and creative artists, this series has come to mean more than just another substantial drop in Disney’s bucket. It’s become a fictional world that a massive audience has fallen in love with in the same way that people did with Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Star Wars, The Chronicles of Narnia, Mass Effect, and a hundred other worlds. We’ve rooted for these characters and cried at some of their most emotional moments, and we’ve grown to care so much about the MCU that it represents a living, breathing world for us. And this kind of ending just makes that proximity to reality that much closer. Stories end and lives come to a close, but they often do so in the middle of other people’s lives and stories. After all, Yinsen’s sacrifice in the MCU’s first film, Iron Man is the end of his story, but his death acts as a foundational moment for the man that Tony would grow to be – his ending is a part of Iron Man’s beginning. In Endgame, heroes pass away, lay down arms, or choose to step down from a position they no longer feel a need to hold onto. At the same time, other heroes move onto the next step of their journey, accept new responsibilities, and accept the titles passed onto them from those who know they will do a fine job. It’s a beautiful encapsulation of the natural balance between life and death, between the end of the old and the beginning of something new. It’s the balance that Thanos strived for but never fully understood, as he wanted to cultivate life but in his obsessive crusade ended up sewing nothing but death. It is only right that the heroes are the ones to achieve that balance through their actions and connections with one another.

Final Score: Gold.

Avengers: Endgame is overflowing and self-indulgent, but it has every right to be and more than earned it. There are missteps, and there’s room for disappointment over the direction that certain characters are taken in, most notably the original version of Gamora ultimately staying dead and staying the victim of an abusive father-figure who seizes all agency away from her, or Thor arguably continuing to veer away from where he was at the end of Thor: Ragnarok and his new weight being an excuse to make cheap jokes that feel uncomfortable. But it is also a well-structured film that offers three distinct tones that are all equally engaging, and its delightful moments of humour and momentous action strikes a grand and immensely satisfying chord with its examination of grief and the natural interrelationship of the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. It is as significant a landmark for this fictional series as any invested viewer could hope for. It’s a hell of a thing to have come this far, and I can’t wait for whatever comes next.

#The Inquisitive J #film #movies #review #film reviews #movie reviews #critic #film critic #film criticism #endgame #avengers endgame #marvel #mcu #endgame review #endings #the inquisitive j reviews

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snowpoff · 5 years

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anyway it looks like worst comic is getting daily / bi weekly updates now and I’ll do my best to summarize the Happenings because I unfortunately have the need to see this trainwreck to its completion and I have the mental fortitude to do so Somehow

literally no one asked for this but light summary below

so far it’s just all these stupid interludes while frisk is rotting in prison, complete with clear attempts to pull at our heartstrings in regard to poor asriel and his manipulative partner, as well as the dreemurrs being complete and utter dumbasses in general but What’s New

I don’t understand how the team thinks a human can successfully manipulate beings that are thousands of years old and have likely been through the experience of humans save-scumming before lmao

anyway

patience arc, it’s just patience falling and dying in the hospital. chara nearly chokes patience to death for their soul, calling them messed up shit, and then gaster appears. he says some shit, takes them under his wing, and literally nothing is done with that. actually they become his assistant for all of 5 seconds, then the patient soul is lost in gaster’s accident. chara only cares about the soul for some reason

after that it’s bravery, where bravery encounters asriel + chara in the ruins and bravery kills asriel in self defense. chara kills bravery in retaliation, then resets. chara is intrigued that bravery remembers this. I still don’t understand how chara can reset but bravery can’t?? and what about patience? what the fuck. anyway

bravery attacks again and tries to go for chara, asriel blocks the hit and gets downed. bravery is all “I didn’t mean to go for him!!!!” and chara destroys bravery right then and there. they go on and on about how they can fix this and deal with asriel’s hyper-realistic blood and shit, then asriel admits that he thinks humans are shit. chara, instead of resetting, makes sure asriel remembers this whole thing so that he too can share their ideology.

here comes integrity

integrity dies to a spike trap. not new

despite wanting patience to fucking die so they could collect their soul for the barrier, and chara beating the ever loving snot out of bravery because bravery nearly murdered asriel in self-defense ( and having murdered asriel before a reset, so they actually killed bravery twice ), chara is now going all “uwu I’m such a killer............. I have flaws....... I’m so sowwy”

like they were genuinely freaking out???

this is bad writing folks!

so that’s the soul interludes so far. everything before that was covering canon events but with obvious bad interpretations. also that one time where chara traumatized asriel by pretending to commit suicide

#text.txt

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pomegranate-salad · 6 years

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Seeds of thoughts : Wicdiv #36

Hello everyone ! Sorry for the lack of SOT last month. What happened was… I didn’t know what to say about the issue that hadn’t already been said. Sorry. Happens to the best of us. Anyway, we’re back with an issue that’s practically begging to be analysed, so that’s good. And just a reminder, if you’d like to help me not be broke, you can make a small donation here.

Thoughts and spoilers under the cut, you know the drill.

THROUGH METICULOUS ANALYSIS OF HISTORY

As expected of our wonderful fandom, some of my fellow bloggers (hi, @twatd and @myfirstsearchengine) have already started doing god’s work and untangle the absolute deluge of information we get in this issue. Bless their souls. But for me as always, especially when it comes to formalist devices, I find myself more interested in how things feel than what they say. That doesn’t mean we should bypass the analysis of the construction to get directly to a resulting, all-encompassing feel of the issue (otherwise, what would be the point of these posts ?) but I think it’s always a good start, especially with information-rich issues like this, to wonder what may be the big picture that’s so painstakingly painted through this abundance of individual elements.

So, how do we emerge from this issue ? Of course, everyone’s feel will be different here, but I think one popular realization will be just how fucking long six millennia actually is. On first read, as I flipped through the first half of the issue with increasing speed, I kept reading dates so far away from anything I could conceptualize they meant nothing to me until we thankfully reached the Anno Domini part of the program and I regained footing in time. Add to that the fact that I would be unable to point on a map to a good dozen of the places mentioned and you get… a recipe for emotional detachment. Of course, one of the joys of this issue is to go back and pick out the multiple details hidden in each panel, to cheer every time Persephone retaliates, to unravel patterns, to marvel at the outfit design and background changes, all these elements that actually allow us to connect with what’s going on. But as always, the interface between a reader and an issue is its whole and not a sum of its parts. Our emotions express themselves faster than our thoughts, meaning when we go back to identifying those parts, our connexion to the issue is already formed. As it happens, this connexion is to a gallery of nameless, often headless figures that have nothing in common if not for the pattern they’re repeating, and not to the individuals that form this pattern. A state of mind that’s probably very similar to the one Ananke entertains during all those recurrences. A state of mind she HAS to keep in order to maintain her own pattern.

Is the message this repetition has to impart us just that, a form of numbness to these killings, the taste of an endless battle and the suspected pointlessness of it all ? I think there’s a bit more going on here. Let’s try to connect the first half of the book with the second one. A priori, they seem disconnected. But the fact that Mothering Invention’s device seems to be the juxtaposition of past and present storylines means the creators are trying to establish some sort of echo between the two. In issue #34, the creation of the head sacrifice is paired with its discovery by the main characters in present time. Issue #35 is a study of two Minervas, and the circle of plotting and murder they’re trapped in. Issue #36 is the study of two monsters.

Is the wheel page in the middle of the issue describing Ananke or Baal ? The ambiguity is definitely not accidental. And if the construction of the two halves seem to be complete opposite, that probably not a coincidence either. The most obvious mirroring are the red pages, an entire page for a death, compared to the first half which crams six or more deaths per page. But really, that’s just the beginning of the parallels. The first half is made of a regular grids of small panels in which you can barely distinguish faces, while panel disposition in the second half is as irregular as they come, but focus on large, detailed panels, with Baal’s figure in particular blown out and dominating each page. The first half is all variety of colours and tones, while the second one is painted in an overpowering red. In the vast majority of panels, Ananke is depicted from the side, entirely focused on her task, while Baal is always facing the reader, sometimes almost as if he was addressing us directly instead of Persephone. But the most textual opposition is of course how much justification and explanation there is on Baal’s part, while Ananke, past the first page, doesn’t say a word. In his first apparition, Baal is even doing the Hamlet routine of holding a skull before starting his monologue. These two characters seem like they couldn’t be more different, yet the comic links them through this middle wheel page. Baal is all justification and self-aggrandizing, Ananke seems content with her selfish motivation. Baal gives an entire page to the weight of taking each life, while Ananke rarely expresses anything. Which is better ? It doesn’t matter, I think is the takeaway here : they’re both killers. And if you peel off the surface, they’re both exactly as selfish, cruel and inexcusable.

This doesn’t say great things about Baal. But I don’t think it says great things about Ananke either. Baal is arguably being manipulated into killing – does anyone buy the reality of the Great Darkness at this point ? – and is not nearly as jaded as Ananke is after six millennia. Is the only thing separating them time and experience ? If we come back to this first half, many people have noticed that Ananke seems to be consolidating some techniques and get more efficient overtime. But is that really true ? I’ve pulled the numbers : in the first third of her career, Ananke screws up about 13% of the time ; in the second third, 18% ; and in the last third, 9%. Those are remarkably similar odds. Can we even say she’s getting better at this ? Even if that’s true, the present recurrence seems to demonstrate that she’s never safe from a major setback. Nothing separates her from junior murderer Baal. She would have Minerva – and so, herself – believe that it will always be okay. That she’ll always win, in the end, even when she fails. But that’s simply not true. When she’ll fail for good, she’ll be done, just like Baal. And then these millennia of deaths, hers and Persephone’s, will mean nothing.

It’s remarkable that both Ananke and the comic would have us looking for more than there is in this litany of murders ; dumping truckloads of apparent information on us and inviting us to raid them for parts. And there is a part of me that definitely wants to do that. Because information and particularity gives meaning, it hints at more explanations, as a way to make sense of it all. But deep down I know that there will never be enough meaning in those panels for me to be satisfied.

Through this issue, it’s as if the comic is pulling all the stops on itself : it doesn’t matter how much it goes back in time and gives us fragments of this “big mystery” it’s set over the course of the previous arcs. Because it can give us everything, every recurrence there ever was, and all those murders will never mean more than what they are : murders. It doesn’t matter if it’s your first, your tenth or your sixty-fifth. It doesn’t matter if it takes you a whole empty page or get crammed into one-sixth of one. It’s still murder and you are still a murderer. And when you fuck up, everyone will cheer. And if you know it, that doesn’t make you nobler or more experienced, it just makes you an even bigger asshole.

I said one thing about this issue was how much it gives us ; yet, at the same time, it’s the comic’s admission that it gives us nothing, or at the very least not what we’d really want, because it doesn’t exist. What we see is all there is. The only thing separating Baal from Ananke is that they are fooling themselves in a different way. And again, there’s a part of me that’d really want to fool myself with them. With almost ten issues of Wicdiv remaining, I feel bad for giving it an early conclusion, but here it is : whatever is “really” going on, whatever the bottom line is, it doesn’t matter and never has. All there ever was is a desperately, cruelly simple tale of scared people. It doesn’t make them excusable. But it certainly makes them human.

WHAT I THOUGHT OF THE ISSUE

As I said, this issue stands out by how rich and poor in content it simultaneously is. As is often true of high concept issues, in terms of analysis, it immediately gives you something to discuss, but it doesn’t necessarily give you much more than what you first saw. What’s good about this issue is also what limits it, and makes it a nice, but also kind of one-note experience. As such, it compares unfavourably to other highly formalist issues like issues #14, #23 and especially #27, all of which were more evenly structured and solid in concept. I almost wish this issue had taken its premise further, and given us a cover-to-cover wall of Persephones. The parallel with the Baal scene is thematically rich, but it does give the feeling that the main storyline is stumping a little bit, and that the main reason we’re getting all those flashbacks is to artificially lengthen the comic.

That said, I’m not particularly disappointed by this issue either. It always takes a Wicdiv arc a bit of time to find its footing, and with the high concept flashback out of the way, the rest of the arc should set about its cruising speed. Plus, you can absolutely feel the amount of work that went into those pages, and while the result should be able to stand on its own, I really don’t feel like badgering on what was clearly hell on earth to build. Yes, it’s a borderline masturbatory nerdfest that saw the point of diminishing returns and blew it at full speed while laughing maniacally, but I think we can allow at least one of those in the Wicdiv run. It’s the kind of issue that I don’t see myself forming a strong attachment to, but I’m still glad it exists. And for what I’ve seen, aside from isolated opinions, that seems to be the general wisdom.

So let’s turn to the one part of the issue that DID attract the wrath of the Tumblrdom : Laura’s pregnancy. Boy, did you kick the hornet’s nest with this one, guys. I find it funny that as the fandom’s resident grump, the first big outcry we get about the Wicdiv run is one in which I find myself standing firmly with the creators. And since it seems I’m kind of alone on this one, allow me to make the case that as a story development, Laura’s pregnancy is… OKAY.

Let me first be clear : I’m not saying I’m happy with this development. Until we get the full picture of how it’s been handled, I’ll really have no opinion on the matter. What I do believe is that at this point, there is no reason to condemn Laura’s pregnancy as an inherently wrong move for the comic. I absolutely get why there was such a knee-jerk reaction from the fandom : it’s so, so very rare for a pregnancy storyline to be well done, to say nothing of a teen pregnancy storyline. For every one of us, the very mention of peeing on a stick is enough to bring back to mind dozens of female characters ruined by such a creative decision. So I get why people are being cautious ; I am too. But on the other hand, I find it really premature to set ourselves for outrage and disappointment.

From what I can tell, a lot of “oh HELL NO” reactions are rooted in the belief that this twist diminishes Laura’s characterization and strips her of agency. But personally, I see this development as completely in line with her character as previously established, and I don’t think she’s less of a subject for it.

For a start, we have to consider how much has been going in Laura’s life aside from her pregnancy. We don’t know how long she’s known about it, but reasonably it should have been around the end of January. She did a LOT of shit in-between, and none of it played as a direct consequence of her being pregnant. The way she describes her state is almost tangential, a Colombo-esque “oh, and one more thing”. Rereading her actions in light of her pregnancy doesn’t mean we should interpret it all as revolving around it ; if we do that, we are the ones stripping her of agency.

@immoralitea made another interesting argument : that the pregnancy was cheap cope-out to Laura’s suicidal behaviour by giving her a reason to live, thus derailing her entire battle with depression that’s been established as key to her character ever since the first act. That’s a compelling point, but I read Laura’s pregnancy completely differently : as another profoundly self-destructive behaviour. And I don’t know if that’s controversial to say, but in my opinion many storylines would benefit from addressing head-on how much self-destructive tendencies are a component of teen pregnancy. Pregnancy will put your body through the grinder, alter the course of your life, and alienate you from many people. And that’s if you’re lucky. If you aren’t, it’s also going to saddle you with an abusive partner or make you dependent on exterior resources for many more years. The last thing to get you through a depression is pregnancy. Of course all of this would be moot if the author didn’t realize it, but I think he does : nothing in Laura’s behaviour indicates she’s willing to change it for the sake of her potential child. On the contrary, she’s endangering it and herself by engaging in more self-destructive behaviour. That’s also why I think the “some of you will hate me for it too” line that also got some readers upset shouldn’t be read as the author’s opinion that Laura is to be shamed for her pregnancy ; for me, it reads as Laura’s opinion about a behaviour she sees for what it is : another way to destroy and hate herself. And just like she said before, she wants people to hate her ; it validates her suicidal behaviour. She’s doing everything she can so we will hate her, including getting pregnant.

Another clue in that direction is the way she discloses her state to Baal : when she says she “wants to live” it isn’t because she’s pregnant, but because every person battling with depression is torn between compulsions of life and death. And I may be mistaken, but I don’t think she wished to reveal her pregnancy to Baal at all ; I think she’s simply appealing to his “man of the house” self-image in order to be spared. From beginning to end, this is about her. Hell, she still has over two months to decide if she wants the baby at all.

Now I’m not going to lie, I’m not a fan of the over-symbolism of the goddess of death and rebirth being both suicidal and pregnant. And yes, if you ask me, I’d much rather have Laura get an abortion, because I don’t see how carrying her pregnancy to terms would benefit her in any way. But if Laura’s previous characterization taught us something, it’s that characters in Wicdiv rarely do what we want them to do and what’s objectively better for them. The gods have made the wrong decisions on drugs, cheating, dating, killing, trusting, overworking, and everything else under the sun, and we went with it, even if we weren’t happy about it. As I see it, pregnancy shouldn’t be over the line just because so many hacks have poisoned the well.

Again, maybe this storyline will develop for the worst and all I’ve said here will read as ridiculous wishful thinking in hindsight. But as of now, this plot development is simply this : a plot development, one that’s believable, in character, potentially interesting, and I think we should give it a chance. And if I end up being wrong… I promise I’ll write the mother of all takedowns.

#wicdiv #seeds of thought #oh look i'm early

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alloftimeandspacetosee · 3 years

Text

The Krampus

So this one’s long, folks! And is also another request or smth from my co-writer, who... either painted the comic page mock up of this before I wrote a thing, or after. I think it was before, and I wrote this in retaliation. That seems likely.

Anyway, co-writer wanted to put the Krampus into pokemon, I guess? it was part of the “hey, what if not only pokemon” thing she did for a while

The day was clear when they arrived in Snowpoint, but that wasn’t odd in and of itself; it had gone Ciris’ Day and while the snow was still thick on the ground, such things were allowed. The dock was busy, but again; not strange.

No, there was something… off, and Jay couldn’t quite place it. Which was disconcerting.

Soise dropped the anchor – more a formality, for the enjoyment of the kids than anything else – as two of her crew (John and Steve, she thought, but honestly she always did get them mixed up) did the actual work of tossing the ropes to Brith and Jayden, who had flown ahead to make sure there was a berth waiting for them.

The sails were rolled and stowed safely below decks, and so they coasted gently to a halt between the weight of the anchor and the strain of the ropes.

“Permission to land, Captain?” Arlette must have run the length of the ship to reach the top of the stairs, but she was barely out of breath and seemed to have done it in the blink of an eye.

Aurora landed on the railing moments later, having swung in across the ship on a series of ropes.

Jay studied the both of them, and then glanced at the harbour. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t place it.

Probably just a nagging sensation that nothing untoward had happened recently, so like as not she was due for something. Karma being a little shit and all.

“Aye,” she said briefly. “Soise, you and Aria are on babysitting.”

“Aye, Cap’n!” Soise called, from where she was pushing out the plank with… that was Clark.

“Captain,” Arlette whined, pouting.

“Sorry.” Jay grinned, somewhat crookedly. “You’re part of the lead exploratory expedition. That better?”

The twins conferred, then nodded together. “Thanks!”

They raced back down the stairs to where Soise and Aria were already waiting, and the four of them were away down the plank and into the town, pausing only briefly to talk to Jayden, interrupting him where he stood talking with passing dockworkers.

“Blue.” Brith met Jay at the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s the news?” Jay nodded at the harbour as she entered the main cabin.

“Someone’s gone missing in the forest.”

“A tourist?”

“Jayden’s just finding out.”

Jay nodded, checking her onshore bag was ready with what she needed. Pokéballs, basic exorcism kit, a book, her phone, keys, wallet.

Sesser flitted across from her perch to Jay’s shoulder, tucking in against her neck, inside the collar of her heavy coat.

Jay smiled fondly as she felt the bird get comfortable, and tapped the table as she looked around for Vulp.

The vulpix pulled herself free from Glace – who picked herself up from the pile of cushions, too – and padded across to Jay’s side.

Jayden met them at the door to the cabin, still in his thick jacket and gloves, goggles hanging around his neck. “It’s Caitlin.”

Jay stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “Who is…?”

“Arlette and Aurora’s friend. She’s gone missing in the forest.”

“She’s… she’s the same age as them?” Jay narrowed her eyes.

“Yes.”

Jay spun on her heel and yanked open a drawer, sorting through it. “Ok, we’re joining the search effort. Make sure the kids don’t find out.”

Jayden nodded. “Who will be coordinating?”

“Alyss, probably. She’ll be at the temple, but if you take to the skies – thank fuck they’re clear, right? – and watch everyone from up there, you can… make sure no one gets lost. More lost.”

“And you?” Jayden watched as she pulled hunting daggers from a drawer, bringing them up to admire them. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking the woods aren’t safe and it’s good to be protected.” Jay dropped the daggers into her bag and shut it again.

“I’ll let Alyss know we’re on the case,” Jayden replied, kissing Jay’s forehead before he stepped backwards out of the door before her.

Jay smiled as she tugged at the flight goggles about his neck. “Be careful. Take Lap and Gar’aq, too.”

“You – don’t do anything… too stupid. Or dangerous.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Jay pulled her heavy snow boots from their locked compartment and sat on the floor to change her sea boots for them.

Jayden kept her gaze for a moment longer. Then he nodded and whistled for Sayri, stepping up to the bridge to give her more room.

Jay cleared her throat, and the whole of her hired crew was at her attention. She grinned. “Well done for making Snowpoint. You’ve all done good, and if this is where you leave us, then – well, it’s been a pleasure.” She half-saluted them. “Let the harbourmaster know, and I’ll write the relevant references for you before we leave. If you’re sticking with us longer, then – let the harbourmaster know anyway, he’s got your pay. The town is yours for a week. See the sights, don’t get too drunk, don’t get frostbite. Don’t go skinny dipping, whatever Hawthorn promises.”

Scattered laughter, probably from those who had been here before and knew Hawthorn. She saw Brith out of the corner of her eye, hiding a slight grin.

“We have… business to attend to. If you feel like getting involved, head up to the temple and ask for Alyss, and she’ll set you to work. I’d advise getting your land legs back first, before trying to help with anything. Any questions?”

Dick held up a hand, that characteristic smirk on his face. “You’re a real strange Captain, you know that?”

“I revel in it.” Jay nodded in agreement. “Any relevant questions?”

Tim laughed. “No, Cap. Good luck with your business.”

“Appreciated.” Jay looped her snow goggles about her neck and pulled her coat tighter. “Dismissed. Good luck in all your endeavours, etcetera, etcetera.”

As the crew broke up, Jay strode past them and to the plank down onto the dock, Vulp and Glace not far from her feet.

“Who are we taking?” Brith asked, following.

“You take Yen and Glace,” Jay replied, tying her hair back into a loose plait and tucking it down the back of her coat. “That… should cover everything. I’ll take Arc and Vulp and Sesser.”

“We’re splitting up.” Brith did not sound impressed. As much as she ever sounded anything.

“Yeah. Covering more ground.” Jay nodded, whistling for her pack to join them. “If you want to start at the lake and work out from there. Uxie might be more helpful to you.”

“As opposed to you, who they have a vested interest in.”

“Had. Past tense. I’ve played my part.” Jay shook her head.

“Jay.” Brith clamped a paw on Jay’s shoulder.

“Brith.” Jay spun to face her.

Arc and Yen came racing down the plank to join them. Vulp scrambled up onto Arc’s back and sat between her ears.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Brith said eventually.

Jay grinned crookedly and swung up onto Arc’s back. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“Don’t stay out too late!” Brith yelled after her.

Jay raised a hand in acknowledgement as Arc padded down the pier.

Yen let out a chilling howl and raced past them. Glace and Brith bounded past them next, and the three of them cleared a path through the dock.

Jay grinned and leant close to Arc’s back, flipping her hood up. “Let’s find us a missing kid.”

Arc let out a bark and surged forward, into the path that hadn’t quite closed up behind Yen, Brith and Glace.

She left their path as they reached the treeline, and with a gentle pat at Arc’s neck, Jay guided them away from the lake and north into the forest.

Beneath the trees, the snow was still thick, though cleared away from the wooden paths. The sound of the town – though they could still see it, through only two lines of trees on one side – was oddly muted, as if they’d entered another world.

Which, Jay supposed, they sort of had. Although the paths were here, and they were cleared, people rarely used them. Rangers, people on path clearing duty, the aurorus keepers… and her.

No one else had any call to be using the paths that went north. Not past the temple, at any rate.

Still, she saw signs that other people had passed by; vibrant red ribbons, tied to the trees. Classic searching technique, to let anyone coming after know that a party had gone this way. If Caitlin found her way back to a path, she could follow the ribbons in either direction and find people looking for her.

At the splitting of the path behind the lake – one went back around its other side, one turned towards the temple, and the last headed on north towards where the aurorus made their summer den and further on to the empoleon sanctuary (and beyond, again, but the path didn’t lead that far) – Jay nudged Arc to the north one without any hesitation. There would be enough people combing the lower reaches.

“Sesser, flit up – yes, I know it’s cold – flit up and see if there’s anything… coming.”

The swablu complained but left the warmth of Jay’s shoulder and sped between the branches and into the clear sky.

The snow was hard under Arc’s paws; they didn’t ever manage to clear away the bottom layer, and it had hardened to ice after the long winter. Arc let out a huff of steamy air, and Jay felt her core temperature rise by several degrees.

“Careful,” Jay warned, looking back to see Arc’s latest footprints turned to water.

There was a trumpeting call from up ahead, one that cut through the whole of the quiet forest.

And it had been quiet. No birds – that was normal, for birds rarely came this far north and left the harbour – but also no sneasel. No snover.

Jay tightened her hands in Arc’s fur, and the arcanine put on even more speed. Jay felt the wind cold against her cheeks, and Vulp scrambled down from Arc’s head to sit in the shelter of Jay’s lap.

Laughter. Laughter and howls and another trumpeting call.

Jay frowned, sitting up.

They reached the first of the aurorus dens, where the amaura were kept. It was a hollow between the trees, a natural clearing that stretched a long way.

The amaura weren’t alone; Jay saw a streak of black, and then fire pluming in the middle of the tight herd, fire that shaped itself into pokémon and ships and-

“Soise?”

Arc stopped at the edge of the clearing and Jay pushed her hood down.

“Mam!” Aurora scrambled up onto the back of an amaura and waved at her. “Aria is showing us fancy fire, you should come see!”

Jay sighed and cleared her throat.

Soise slipped out from amongst the amaura, grinning somewhat guiltily.

“It was my idea!” Åaron burst out, bulling past Soise. “I thought – Caitlin might hear us and come back – she always liked the amaura, maybe she was near them!”

Jay swung off Arc’s back and stepped towards them. “Is Arlette there as well?”

“’M here, ma.” She stood between two of the amaura, a gloved hand on one of them. “Something bad’s happening, isn’t it?”

Jay frowned. “What makes you say that?”

Sesser came diving back to her shoulder, trilling wildly.

The wind – there had always been a wind, but it had been soft amongst the trees – picked up, tugging strands loose from Jay’s hasty plait.

Jay frowned as Sesser huddled against her neck, and put a hand up to cup the shivering bird.

“I can hear it. Or see it.”

Jay frowned and shook her head as the spectral sound of chains clanking reached her faintly. “It’s just ice bound trees. You shouldn’t be out this far, all the adults are looking for Caitlin.” She pinned Soise with a sharp glare.

“It’s not her fault!” Aurora said quickly. “She had to come along. Couldn’t keep an eye on both of us else.”

Aria stood up beside Soise, slipping her paw into the taller zoroark’s.

“I was planning on keeping them here and out of trouble,” Soise said, nodding. “Keep ‘em distracted ‘til we heard she’d been found.”

Aurora hit Soise. “You said we’d help look for her!”

“We are helping. None of you are lost, and-” Soise rubbed her arm.

Jay held up a hand to cut them off. There was… snow on the air, which shouldn’t have been possible. Articuno had left to travel. The harbour was open and the sky was clear.

But to the north, storm clouds were massing.

“Soise, take them back to town.” Jay shifted the bag on her back.

“But-!” Arlette protested.

“Now.” Before that storm front hit them.

It had sprung up out of nowhere, it wasn’t natural… Arlette was right. Bad things were going to happen.

The amaura bunched together, lowing uneasily as they started towards the south end of the clearing.

Soise and Aria pulled the three kids with them, although Arlette resisted.

“Mam-”

Jay pulled one of the hunting daggers from her bag. “It’ll be fine, Arlette.”

“I know – but what’s coming – he’s trapped, too.”

“What?” Jay twitched her head to stare at Arlette.

Arlette gulped and stood straighter. “He’s trapped. I can see it.”

Jay squinted into her daughter’s eyes and saw the glassy metallic gleam to them, the one that meant she wasn’t all here. She nodded slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind. But you – have to stay safe. Please, go with Soise and Aria.”

Vulp darted across the snow to stand at Jay’s side, her hackles raising as she faced the north and whatever was coming.

The clanking of chains was only getting louder, and Jay didn’t think it was only in her head.

The rising wind pulled her hair free of its plait, and was accompanied by snow and hard ice. She pulled her snow goggles up from around her neck and on over her eyes – partly to keep her hair out of them, and partly so that she could see through the darkening day and the snow that threatened to obscure everything.

“Arc, cover them.”

The arcanine huffed and padded past her to stand as a shield between the amaura herd and Jay, and whatever was coming from the north.

“Get out of here!” Jay called back.

Sesser cheeped in her ear, huddling back against her neck; at her feet, Vulp hadn’t stopped growling.

She wouldn’t look back to see if they’d followed her order; actually couldn’t, because whatever was coming… it stirred something. Memories.

Chains upon chains upon chains and ice and cold and stabbing pain and-

Jay shook her head, focusing on the here and now.

There was a dark shape coming towards her, a strange lurching gait that told her it wasn’t an aurorus, it wasn’t Articuno on a surprise visit (her storms had never felt so ominous) and it wasn’t… wasn’t anything else Jay knew.

But it felt so, so familiar. The stirrings of a memory, almost.

Jay set her stand, readied her hunting dagger in her left hand. In the palm of her right, she summoned weak fire to dance above her glove.

The trees were cracking, bending out of the way.

Sesser cheeped against her neck, shrill and still almost lost in the wind.

A figure cloaked in blackness loomed out of the trees and into the clearing, and stopped short at the sight of Jay standing in the snow.

Its head was – according to the odd bulkiness of the darkness it wore like a cloak – oddly misshapen and bulky to the sides. A tail swung out beside it, coiling up and rimmed in spiked ice at the tip.

It let out a warning growl and hunched forward, still towering far above her. It was grey-brown with fur, and there were chains wrapped about its paws.

Jay tilted her head to see where they ran to, but she couldn’t track them. They trailed off into the distance, merged into snow and trees and… seemed almost to not be attached to anything concretely physical that she could see.

She’d heard stories, they all had. This beast was a warning to the children of Snowpoint, to keep them sweet and behaving.

It loomed over her, even crouched as it was.

Vulp let out a bark and a burst of flames, and it didn’t flinch back.

“I’ve heard of you. Child thief,” Jay said. “Soul stealer.”

The wind whipped about them, and the cloak it wore like a shroud seemed to shred about its head and fade to reveal a massive head, furred and... Jay couldn't tell what it was like, exactly, but it was a mix of too many ideas and mismanaged beastly features to be clear. The misshapenness of its head was horns, curved ram's horns that pointed level with its eyes. Or eye. It only seemed to have one; the other was sealed shut, with what seemed like a fresh wound.

“Krampus,” Jay said, naming it.

It rose to its full height before her, holding one of the chains in its right paw. The chain rattled as it tugged it tight.

“I’m Jay.” She tilted her head only slightly to meet its eye. “The NightGale, Arceus’ trainer, Chosen by Articuno, Rayquaza’s Own. You may have heard of me.”

The Krampus seemed to consider her after that.

The wind whistled about them, whipping Jay's hair – forcibly loosened from the plait she'd pushed it back into – across her face and around her head, tossed with the snow.

It wasn't fresh snow, she realised. It was old snow, torn up from the ground.

Nothing about this beast was new.

The wind didn’t seem to touch it – or its cloak – at all. It loomed above her as an impenetrable mass. Perhaps judging the possible outcomes.

It was supposed to just be a story. It was supposed not to be real.

But then, she’d thought demons weren’t real. There was room for everything in this world, apparently.

It stepped forward with a growl, and Jay pulled her dagger up to bear, making sure the Krampus knew she had it. It was small, compared to the cloaked bulk of the Krampus, but – lethal, in her hands.

Fire wreathed her right arm – weak fire, striped with shadow, but fire all the same – and she lifted her head. "These are my children. You will not harm them. And you will give back what you've taken."

It punched its paws into the ground before her and roared, and its breath fogged Jay’s goggles.

Sesser cheeped shrill in Jay’s ear, pulling back so far she was almost falling down the back of Jay’s coat. Vulp was back up against her ankles, but still growling fierce, despite that Jay could feel her trembling even through her thick snow boots.

Jay waited for it to finish. “Are you done?”

Its jaw clicked shut with an audible snap. It was very close, now, and Jay wrinkled her nose at the smell of its breath. Its eye was demonic red, but dull. And there was… was that tears beading about its eye, already freezing to a spiky rim of ice?

It opened its mouth again, and Jay saw spiked chains running against its gums like a bit, cutting tight and pulled back around the curve of its horns.

“You’re trapped,” Jay murmured. Like Arlette had said.

Its eyes streaked with tendrils of black, and the Krampus growled and shook its head from side to side, closing its eye tight as if it were in pain.

Its near horn caught her and Jay went tumbling into the snow.

“Mam!”

“Get them out of here!” Jay roared, spitting out snow.

The Krampus lunged past her, forepaws hitting the ground with massive thuds that seemed to shake the clearing.

Jay stabbed her dagger through the link of a chain as it rushed by her, and into the ground below.

The chain snapped tight and the Krampus lurched over onto its side.

Jay got to her feet and glared over the Krampus to where Soise stood before the huddle of amaura and the kids. “I told you to go!”

“But-” Arlette started.

The Krampus clawed its way back mostly upright, still on all fours and tugging at the chain that Jay had pinned to the ground by the dagger she had one foot on. It growled again, turning to face her.

Its concealing cloak hadn’t so much as shifted to reveal anything, but its tail whipped high in the air behind it.

Jay threw her bag to the side, nudging Sesser from her shoulder.

Vulp stepped up beside her and let out a series of yaps.

Jay crouched down to lift the chain in her gloved hand. Even through the glove, it was cold and not quite there, like it was keeping the Krampus chained to something… not in this world.

Beyond it, she saw – finally! – Soise and Aria pull the three kids back out of the clearing and into the forest. The amaura had already fled, the threat of this beast too much for them.

Jay couldn’t entirely blame them, but it didn’t make for a great feeling.

The Krampus snarled at her.

Jay left the dagger where it was in the chain and stepped away, circling it. “Give me back Caitlin and you won’t hurt more.”

It was hiding something under its cloak, she was sure. Maybe Caitlin. Maybe the lock of the chains.

“Vulp,” she murmured, as the vulpix caught up with her. “See if you can’t… burn it away.”

Vulp leapt forward and caught her teeth on the cloak, and fire raced between her jaws and along the blackness of it.

It didn’t seem to catch – maybe because it was ice, or not so much a shroud as it was just shadow, just a clinging shred of darkness rather than actual, physical material.

Jay’s hands were empty. The fire had died out and she hadn’t noticed.

The Krampus turned to face her and Vulp, still clinging to its cloak, was swung up and about in the snow torn air.

It seemed… not quite hesitant to attack – Jay jumped backwards as it snapped at her – but it wasn’t trying as hard as it could.

Which was-

Jay tripped over its tail as the Krampus swept it against her legs, knocking her to the ground.

Then it was over her and its jaws were open, and blood mixed with saliva was dripping into the snow about her.

Jay stared the Krampus in the jaws and grinned. Power flooded through her, not quite of her own volition. Someone else was helping her, someone who didn’t… normally help her.

She reached hands that were coated in silver gauntlets, dark ice blue feathers about the wrists, and grabbed at the chain that ran through the Krampus’ mouth.

She could feel the power that ran through it, feel the – not quite there-ness of it. It wasn’t of this world.

And she broke it.

Ice flooded from her left arm and fire from her right, and where they met and blended along the chain it became brittle enough for Jay to twist and break between her hands.

The Krampus reeled back from her, clawing at its mouth.

Jay pushed herself to her feet and stood tall, ice sword shimmering in her left hand. Not quite the knight that Dialga and Palkia had always tried to make her, their pawn on the battlefield. This was Arceus’ Defender, the one Articuno had chosen as her champion. She was unadorned but for the gauntlets and a slight golden crest of feathers and spines about her head, almost a halo. Her snow goggles shone with an unearthly light, and feathers marked the edges of their rims and the lines of her face. The sword she held wasn’t the sabre that she chose, nor the sword that Dialga would form for her. This was Arceus’ two-hander, a great sword, reminiscent of the one from the legends, the one that his first Defender created the Coronet range with.

Jay remembered it now, the Krampus. She remembered the snow, and the sneasel, and then the warmth of that cloak and the fur and the chains–

The crystalline ice baubles that hung almost like weighted decorations along the chains were souls, of the other children that had gone missing over the years. The long, long years.

Jay threw the broken chain into the snow at her feet, and watched as it oozed away like sludge. The baubles still lay, scattered and unbroken.

She had almost been one of them, but for Articuno’s interference on that long-ago day.

The Krampus clawed at its mouth and let out a far more convincing whimper this time.

Jay reached the next chain and raised her sword.

The Krampus puilled the chain taut, not even attempting to look like it was resisting the breaking of them.

Jay glanced at it, then swung the sword down two handed, and fire raced along from her right hand to the ice blade and then to the chain.

The chain shattered and oozed away, and when the Krampus stood, it was no longer so pulled down by them and the bulk under the shroud was lesser.

Vulp came limping back to Jay’s side, tails flattened to the ground and ears drooping.

“Who has you tied down, dear Krampus?” The voice was Jay’s, but the words weren’t. “Who has turned you from your purpose?”

Her right hand, of its own accord, stretched out to stroke the Krampus’ matted jaw.

The Krampus closed its one undamaged eye and leant into the touch.

It didn’t feel like being controlled by Dialga and Palkia. They were rough, overriding everything without a care for what she thought or felt or wanted. This was a gentle question, a suggestion of kindness. Someone who knew what they had to do. He was kindness and understanding and gently, oh so gently, nudging to the right way.

This was the difference between the AllFather, who cared for all his children, and his oldest two, who felt that they needed to make no allowances and explanations for those beneath them.

The shroud folded away like ash on the wind. There was one last chain that wound about the body of the Krampus, and it was thicker than the last two, and longer; it was almost like armour, although it constricted the beast’s movement. On its chest was a half-formed crystal bauble, not quite as thick or patterned as the others that lay scattered about the clearing.

In it, Jay could see a curled-up child, dressed in little more than leggings, a dress, boots, and a cardigan. Caitlin.

The Krampus pulled its neck to the side, and Jay saw the chain tight across its neck.

“I can – anywhere else.” She pointed her sword to where the chain wrapped its torso. “Surely, I don’t…”

The Krampus shook its head and forced its wounded eye slightly open to gaze at her.

<All will be well, little one> Arceus’ voice was soft and warm and almost golden in her mind. <Strike, and free him>

Jay nodded and raised her sword above her head, holding it in both hands once again.

The Krampus turned its head to stretch out the chain, to give her more access to it.

Jay licked her lips and steadied her hands on the sword.

The Krampus closed its eye.

The wind whipped fierce and the snow whirled, blocking out all else. Only the baubles gleamed through the darkness, like stars to light the way.

Jay brought the sword down, and her fire and ice flared along her arms to meet on the sword’s blade just as it hit the chain.

It shattered into pieces and the baubles went flying across the clearing, bouncing amongst the others.

The wind stopped, and the snow froze in the air about them.

The chain became black ooze like the others had and clung to the Krampus’ bristled fur.

The Krampus curled a hand up to catch the largest one, the one that held Caitlin, so that it didn’t hit the ground with as much force as the others did. It blinked and shook its head, and pulled back to crouch on its haunches, still cradling the orb.

Jay lowered the sword to the side, holding it just in one hand now.

The Krampus looked up to meet her eyes, and its gaze – while still dull red – was no longer quite as… threatening. “Thank you.” Its voice was a low growl, musty and disused.

“Oh my child,” Arceus said, through Jay. “You have been used badly, and I am sorry.”

“I was weak, and I could not fight them.”

“He is tricksome. And you fought back, in the end.” Jay’s hand caressed the Krampus’ torn snout.

“When your champion came.” The Krampus considered Jay. “This one is good.” With every word it spoke, its voice became less hoarse, though no less a rumbling growl.

Arceus’ pleasure and pride thrummed through Jay. Not Jay’s pride but Arceus’. “She has done well in all that has been asked of her.”

Jay smiled, and that wasn’t a movement from Arceus. He was proud of her, in a way that… no one else ever had been. She felt it in her, like the pride that she felt for her children or her pokémon, but this time directed at her. No other legendary, certainly, had ever cared for her in quite the same way.

Vulp purred and rubbed up against her leg.

His leaving left her cold and empty, but only of his presence. Like the leaving of a dear friend or family member. It was not a physical cold, but she felt it all the same. A hollow, in her chest, that would fill in with time. The trappings of his honour – the great sword, the gauntlets, the feather markings of her goggles and about her face – disappeared with him.

Jay tugged at her nondescript gloves and stared at the Krampus. “What happens now?”

The Krampus carefully broke the crystal bauble and cradled Caitlin gently against his chest. “She will need to warm up a little.”

“But she’ll be alright?”

The Krampus nodded. “Better than the others.”

Jay glanced at the crystalline baubles. “Are they…” She didn’t want to say it, in case that made it true. As stupid as the thought was.

“It is too late.” The Krampus dipped his head. “You cannot help them.”

“But you…?” Jay raised an eyebrow, pulling her goggles up onto her forehead to keep her hair back. “You can?” What sort of help would it be, at this point?

The Krampus got slowly to his feet. “My original task – the one I was Called for – was to help the ones such as these.” His tail swept all the crystal baubles to his side, a movement that he shouldn’t have been able to catch all of them with.

Jay scanned the clearing for any that he might have missed – like the ones on his other side, for example – but there were no other glows but those at the Krampus’ side.

“This one is yours.”

Jay took Caitlin as the Krampus offered her, and awkwardly pulled off her jacket one-handed to wrap the child in.

The Krampus gathered all the baubles to his chest and stood.

Jay stepped back from his height, to give him some more room to do… whatever it was that the Krampus did.

The Krampus’ shroud swept about him again, although it didn’t cover his head, and he closed his eyes. His form gleamed – as softly as the baubles within his cloak – and then changed, becoming softer. Friendlier, somehow; fewer scars, less prominent teeth. Face less like an inbred houndour. Smaller, the horns taking less of a curve and a rounder point.

He seemed of a size with Jay now, feet like hooves. The cloak wasn’t as much a shroud, though no less ragged.

In her arms, Caitlin stirred.

The Krampus brushed a furry, three-fingered hand against Caitlin’s cheek. “I am sorry, little one.” He looked up to meet Jay’s gaze. “Another child of Snowpoint who has been in my grasp and survived.”

Jay gave him a small smile.

“If you ever need my help,” the Krampus said. “Just call.”

“I’ll bare that in mind,” she replied.

The Krampus smiled in reply, and turned to the clearing.

The wind whipped up again, though gentler than before, and the Krampus started to run with it, through the trees as they seemed to fade away before it.

As Jay watched – the flying snow making it hard to truly see – the Krampus disappeared from view and the trees were firm and solid in their place. The wind softened again, and Caitlin stirred in her arms once more, blinking.

“You’re… Roarer’s mam,” she murmured.

“That’s right.” Jay smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold.” Caitlin frowned. “And – and my head…” she touched her forehead with Jay’s coat sleeve, which overlapped her arms quite significantly. “What happened?”

“You… got lost.” Jay glanced at Vulp. “And now we’re taking you home.”

Vulp leapt for a tree and scrambled up into its branches, high enough that when she spat fire into the sky she could blur it into a beacon and set it above the treetops.

“Oh. Sorry.” Caitlin yawned. “Did I – cause a bother?”

“Not at all.”

There was a roar, and then a shriek.

“What’s that?”

“Our ride home, that’s all.”

Lap landed in the clearing, following by Sayri, with Jayden on her back.

“You found her.” Jayden stepped down from Sayri’s back.

“Yes. Can you take her on Sayri?”

Jayden beckoned Caitlin over to him, and she went, still wearing Jay’s coat. Although Jay knew the kids, Jayden was the one they all preferred. The one they were all comfortable with.

Vulp leapt down onto Jay’s shoulders, draping about her neck.

“Thank you.”

“Are you alright?” Jayden studied her over Caitlin’s head.

Jay nodded. “Take her back to the temple. I’ll round up my pack.”

“And our children, I assume.” Jayden flickered a smile.

“How did you…”

Jayden laughed. “They’re yours. Of course I knew.”

Jay grinned. “They probably haven’t gone too far.”

Caitlin sneezed, catching their attention.

Jay gestured at her. “You’d better go.”

Jayden gathered Caitlin onto Sayri’s back and knelt behind her, holding her close as the braviary took off.

She wasn’t alone in the clearing for long; Brith stepped out first, Yen and Glace at her side. Then Arc, with the twins on her back, and Aria and Soise not far behind.

“At least you got Áaron back with sensible adults,” Jay said, stroking Sesser as the swablu flitted back to her shoulder from Brith’s.

Soise grinned. “You beat it back, then?”

“Not… precisely.” Jay studied the twins. “Caitlin’s headed back to town with your dad.”

Arlette nodded. “And did you help him? Is he free?”

“He is.” Jay smiled. “Thank you for the warning.”

“What happened, exactly?” Brith narrowed her eyes, glancing between them.

Lap grunted from behind Jay, coming forward to nudge her shoulder.

“I’ll tell you about it when we get somewhere warm?” Jay suggested, rubbing at her arms for emphasis.

“Race you back to town,” Soise offered, grinning.

“Aye, and if you’d gone when I said, you’d’ve won already,” Jay replied as she swung up onto Lap’s back.

“Where’d be the fun in that?”

“She doesn’t need that much of a handicap.” Brith smirked.

“Rude.”

The twins giggled.

“Go on,” Jay said, gesturing them. “Back to the temple.”

Arc and Yen took off first, then Soise and Aria.

Brith waited by the trees for a moment longer. “Uxie did speak.”

“I thought they might.”

“They said something interesting.” Brith considered Jay.

“For your ears only, I assume.”

“No. At least – for the moment, yes. But not always.”

“When the time comes, then.”

Brith dipped her head. “When the time comes.”

“Would you like a lift?” Jay shifted slightly on Lap’s back. “There is room.”

Brith grinned. “I think I’ll beat Soise by foot.”

“Have at it.”

Jay watched Brith race from the clearing. For a moment, all was quiet. “Take us up, Lap,” she said softly.

The dragonite lifted them into the air.

Jay leant over her side to look down into the forest, as if she might see the path of the Krampus.

There was nothing but what looked to be a fresh layer of snow streaked across trees, and even as she watched, that was melting to drip through to the ground, leaving only the green.

But the forest felt different. No longer so forbidding.

“We’re going to have to rewrite some kid’s tales,” she murmured, as Lap turned to the South and for Snowpoint.

She had her priorities.

#pokemon #sinnoh #snowpoint #oc #Jay nightgale #1st gen #mainverse #writing

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esselley · 7 years

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Kinktober #7: Crossdressing | Worship

This takes place in my Wasteland series, a little while after the first kiss scene in arc 2. In this verse, Hinata has a mysterious past, and is extremely touch-starved. This has been slowly changing since Kageyama rescued him ^^

I’ve been dying to write this idea since @slashbringingtrasher put it in my head -- thanks, Libby :P

Kageyama always made it a point to be honest with himself, because he'd learned long ago that damn near no one else in the Wasteland would be.

But this meant he was faced with a little problem, now.

He chanced a sidelong glance at Shouyou again, before quickly looking away, but he needn't even have been sneaky about it. Shouyou was far too distracted, starry-eyed, as he picked at his newest set of clothes in curiosity and amazement. His preoccupation gave Kageyama the chance to soul search.

Had he really put Shouyou in a dress in order to ensure his newest mission went smoothly, or were his motives somewhat less business-oriented than that?

Honesty is important, one part of himself murmured.

Why not both? said another. He sighed.

"If you keep messing with it," he said outloud to Shouyou, "you're going to give us away."

"I won't when I actually have to... you know," Shouyou said, waving a hand dismissively, "but I'm just looking right now! Why don't people wear these more often?"

"They're impractical," Kageyama said. "Like your Vault clothes."

Shouyou hummed contemplatively. "That's true," he said. "I like this more than those, though." Then he put his arms out to the side and spun, and the hem of the yellow dress fanned out around his knees in a billowing cloud, buttery as the sun shining in the pale blue sky overhead.

It surprised Kageyama, how comfortable he was in it. It was very different to all the clothes Shouyou had worn before it, especially the shroud Kageyama had found him in—it bared a lot more skin than he would ever have been allowed to in the Vault, surely, with the thin shoulder straps, the hem cut just above the knee.

"I like all the sun I can feel," Shouyou said decisively, grinning at Kageyama. "And the way you keep looking at me."

Kageyama swallowed. "I'm checking to make sure you'll fool anyone who sees you." This was definitely a lie.

Shouyou believed it, because Shouyou believed pretty much everything Kageyama told him. "I know," he said cheerfully. "I still like it."

Kageyama grimaced. "Come over here."

Shouyou skipped over dutifully, dress swirling around him as cheerfully as his demeanor. When he reached Kageyama, he beamed up at him—he was ecstatic to be helping out so integrally on a job like this, Kageyama knew. It wasn't without danger, but after the deathclaw incident, Kageyama no longer felt quite as inclined to shield Shouyou from the Wasteland. Two guns were always better than one, anyway. And the only way Shouyou would learn to protect himself was by fighting.

Kageyama plopped the finishing touch of the outfit down onto Shouyou's head—a large, wide-brimmed hat that would conceal his face from a distance. Shouyou tilted the brim up to grin at Kageyama, delighted by all the new and different clothing.

Kageyama bent lower and brushed his lips against Shouyou's, quick and fleeting. After the deathclaw incident, this was something he felt inclined to do.

Shouyou let out a noise of surprise, fingers clutching tight at the hat brim. He rose up on his toes, and Kageyama allowed himself a little more, briefly—letting his hands skirt down over Shouyou's sides, over the soft material of the dress, where it clung to Shouyou's waist and hips. He tugged Shouyou in just a little closer, hands resting at the small of his back, and Shouyou pressed to him, even softer and sweeter than his little yellow dress.

"For good luck," Kageyama murmured.

"More later?" Shouyou breathed. His lashes were fluttering, eyes barely open.

Kageyama liked that he was already thinking about later. He was fearless.

"Catch me some bandits, first."

"Thank you very much!" Shouyou chirped. Kageyama shook his head in vague amusement as Shouyou waved goodbye one last time at the leader of the settlement they had taken the bandit clean-up job for.

The man and his lackeys waved back at Shouyou like kindly grandparents seeing him off for the day—all the while holding onto the ropes of the captured bandits he and Shouyou had delivered to their doorstep.

The plan had worked. Shouyou had been the perfect bait in his yellow sundress, impossible to miss. The bandits hadn't even raised their weapons before they'd chased him into the path of the flash grenades Kageyama had rigged. By the time their vision had cleared, it was to see the small figure in the dress had found a very convenient double barrel shotgun behind a rock. Any attempts at retaliation were thwarted by a well-hidden sniper, somewhere high up in the hills, talented enough to shoot their pistols out of their hands. The look on Shouyou's face when they were forced to surrender to him was priceless.

"That settlement was nice!" Shouyou said, scurrying along at Kageyama's side as they left, their payment in hand.

Kageyama snorted. There was a reason the bounty specified payment in full only if the bandits were brought back alive. That lot wasn't in for a good time, he was sure, but the way Shouyou acted, he might as well be leaving them behind for cake and ice cream.

Kageyama supposed the settlement folk couldn't be all bad, though—they'd made no comments on Shouyou's attire, although that could have been chalked up to the fact that one of the bandits' feet seemed to have fallen victim to a round from the same shotgun Shouyou was holding, and Kageyama looked likely to actually kill anyone who looked at Shouyou the wrong way.

They'd paid well, too, and so he and Shouyou set off along the cracked, tree-lined road, for home.

They hadn't gotten far, however, when Shouyou gave a loud, startled gasp from behind him. Kageyama swung around, gun already up, but there was nothing else near them. Shouyou was simply standing there, frozen, staring down at his arms.

"What is it?" Kageyama asked sharply. "What happened?"

"There's something on me!" Shouyou squeaked.

Kageyama swore inwardly—was it toxic? How much RadAway did they have left? But when he reached Shouyou, he stopped, and squinted.

"There's nothing on you," he said.

Shouyou looked up at him with a scowl. "Are you blind? Look!" He shoved his arm up, at Kageyama's face. "What are these? My skin's all funny!"

Kageyama stared at his pale arm, and then looked closer. His mouth dropped open. "You've got—"

"Is it bad?" Shouyou asked frantically.

"No, idiot," Kageyama said. "You have freckles."

"Freckles?!" Shouyou wailed. "How did I catch that?!"

Kageyama holstered his gun away. Then he started laughing.

"Kageyama!" Shouyou yelped.

"You…" Kageyama said, covering his face with his hand. What a fucking adorable idiot, he can't believe this. "You've never noticed? Or seen them before?"

"What do you mean?" Shouyou asked. "It's the first time I've had them!"

Kageyama began to put two and two together. The Vault where Shouyou had grown up would have had no natural sunlight. And all his clothes Kageyama had bought or scavenged afterwards had had longer sleeves, to protect him from the natural elements of the Wasteland.

"They're on my legs, too!" Shouyou screeched, and Kageyama started to laugh again.

"Stop yelling, there's no need," he said, chuckling. " 'How did I catch them', for fuck's sake…"

Shouyou glared at him silently before craning his neck anxiously to try and look at the backs of his shoulders. He was getting a bit pink, too, which probably meant they should try and get out of the sun.

"Come here," Kageyama said, grabbing his wrist to pull him unceremoniously over to the shade of the trees. He sat, pulling out his water skin to drink from it.

"Freckles…" Shouyou said, staring at his arms again, "aren't bad."

"They're not," Kageyama confirmed. "You've always had them, if they're showing up now. You just never noticed before."

"I've always had them?" Shouyou asked, sounding amazed. He poked a finger to his arm. "He-hello, there."

Ridiculous, Kageyama thought, watching him. He reached up again and grabbed Shouyou around the waist, pulling him all the way down until he was seated in Kageyama's lap. His dress flared out around him, before settling softly over Kageyama's legs, brushing the leaves below them.

"Hello to you, too!" Shouyou said. He appeared perfectly cheerful again, after the initial freckles panic.

"Shhh." Shouyou was still wearing his large hat, and now Kageyama pushed it off his head, cupping Shouyou's round cheeks in his palms as he leaned forward to peer intently into his face.

There they were. He'd never noticed them before—they must be bolder on Shouyou's limbs, but now that he knew what he was looking for, he saw them. There was the faintest smattering of freckles all across the bridge of Shouyou's nose and cheeks, and even on his forehead. They were whisper light.

Shouyou blinked his huge, clear amber eyes up at him. "Are you lying about them not being bad?"

"No," Kageyama said. He cradled Shouyou's face and pressed a barely there kiss to the bridge of his nose, to match the barely there freckles. When he pulled back, Shouyou had wrinkled his nose, but not in displeasure. He still seemed more confused than anything else, so Kageyama kissed him again, on his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then across his cheeks, light and soft.

"What are you doing?" Shouyou asked, finally giving way to giggles.

"You don't like it?" Kageyama asked.

"I do," Shouyou said, "I'm just wondering. Why are you trying to touch them with your mouth?"

"Because they're there," Kageyama replied. This was an adequate answer to why he'd ever attempt to kiss Shouyou in the first place.

Because he was there. There was no other reason needed, really.

But now he was there with freckles, and it was… admittedly… making Kageyama's stomach feel pointedly strange. He couldn't believe he'd never noticed them—they were extremely faint, but his life from day to day also depended upon being fairly observant. Though, in conjunction with that, he hadn't allowed himself to get as close to Shouyou as he was now, before. That had all changed very recently.

"Where are they?" Shouyou asked softly. "The ones on my face, I mean."

Kageyama shifted to rest his back more comfortably against the tree trunk, and Shouyou eagerly huddled closer in his lap. Kageyama wasn't used to being stared at, the way Shouyou liked to look at him. Most people didn't like to make direct eye contact with him as it was; even if they didn't know him on sight, everything about him was designed to be a warning to those who knew the Wasteland, from his clothes, to his glare, to his guns. Shouyou was learning the Wasteland—but he wasn't learning to be wary of Kageyama. He looked up at him in anticipation, waiting to hear Kageyama's answer, and Kageyama obliged.

"They go across here," he said, drawing the tip of his finger from one side of Shouyou's face, across his cheeks, his nose (Shouyou went cross-eyed following it), and back over the other side. "And up here. And on your forehead." He traced his finger up Shouyou's nose, brushed his thumb under his bangs.

"There's a lot of them?" Shouyou asked.

"Yeah," Kageyama said, and then, feeling slightly overwhelmed, he kissed Shouyou again.

"You did," Shouyou mumbled against his lips, "promise me more, later. If I caught the bandits. And I did."

"Mmm," Kageyama acknowledged, nipping Shouyou's bottom lip between his teeth, his breath catching when Shouyou gasped, hands clutching at his shirt.

The tricky part of this was how slowly he had to move, so he wouldn't overwhelm Shouyou. They hadn't gone beyond simply kissing yet, and even that often proved too much—Shouyou could easily orgasm from just that, but if it happened too fast or without warning, it still frightened him. And Kageyama hated that, even if Shouyou was often the one pushing too quickly, asking for more and more, fiercely wanting.

Predictably, he whined when Kageyama pulled back from him, just to rest their foreheads together.

"Not stopping," Kageyama told him, "don't complain." Shouyou huffed, but quieted, as Kageyama brushed the backs of his fingers down his neck, and then his hands over his shoulders, where his skin was bare, save for the straps of the dress.

God, that dress.

There was no use in denying it, no—he wouldn't start lying to himself now, not over this. The plan was a reasonable one, but it only really cemented itself in his head when he passed by one of the little rarities stores in Smog City and spotted that damn yellow dress, tucked away in the corner on an old wooden mannequin.

Shouyou was surprisingly quiet—unprotesting, even though Kageyama had (no doubt unjustly, in his eyes) stopped kissing him. But he didn't seem to mind what was happening now, either; he turned his head to watch, as Kageyama trailed his fingers over all his bare skin.

The freckles on his arms really were much more prominent. They smattered over Shouyou's shoulders in a shower of little reddish-brown spots, and Kageyama rubbed his fingers against them, and then bent his head to kiss Shouyou's soft skin. He was so soft, much more so than anyone else Kageyama had ever touched—though admittedly, there was no one he'd ever wanted to touch quite like this. He shifted and sighed, happy, when Kageyama gently tugged the strap of the dress lower, brushing his lips against the newly revealed skin. He hadn't ever touched Shouyou's bare shoulders before now.

"Ah—mmm," Shouyou sighed, little unconscious noises. Kageyama wasn't sure he was aware he made them. "Feels good… I like it…" Next came a sharp inhale, when Kageyama grazed his teeth against the same spot, lightly, as he ran his hand down the length of Shouyou's arm to catch his hand, thread their fingers together.

"Little bit sunburned," he muttered, almost more to himself than Shouyou. He really was pink, all across his shoulders and arms. He hadn't noticed, yet, but he'd probably feel it later. And it was Kageyama's fault. He raised Shouyou's hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, almost an apology.

"Kageyama," Shouyou said, curious despite the way he was panting slightly, breathless already, "do you like my freckles?"

Kageyama pulled back to raise an eyebrow at him. He wasn't just going to admit it outright. Shouyou's eyes widened innocently.

"I'm only asking, because…" He bit his lip and then felt down around himself, gathering the hem of the dress in his fist and raising it higher, higher… higher. Pulling far up his thighs. "I noticed more here."

Ridiculous, Kageyama thought again, because it really was unbelievable, how quickly Shouyou learned to get what he wanted from him. Kageyama could stare down the barrel of a gun and say no, and along came this little Vault punk…

He rested his hands on top of Shouyou's knees—his freckles stood out clearly over his legs, too, he'd worn shorts before putting on the dress, so he'd gotten sun everywhere. And that, Kageyama thought, was something he couldn't feel sorry for, because if there was anyone who deserved to feel that warmth, it was Shouyou. He ran his hands slowly up the whole of Shouyou's thighs, and Shouyou started shivering.

"Alright?" Kageyama asked. He'd never touched Shouyou all over like this, especially here, where he was bound to be hypersensitive. But Shouyou wanted it, and Kageyama wanted him.

"Y-yeah," Shouyou said. "I'm okay."

"You can say if—"

"I don't want you to stop."

Kageyama only nodded, having learned better than to tease him in these moments. Slowly…

He stroked Shouyou's thighs before sliding his hands to his hips, drawing him closer for another of those soft kisses, careful not to get too heated, yet—even when Shouyou gasped, drew the breath from his lungs like he wanted to share it, gripped Kageyama's face in his hands like he was afraid to let go. He was whimpering already, as Kageyama rubbed his thumbs just slightly under the lines of his underwear. Then he shifted, and rocked himself against Kageyama's thigh, pressing hard.

The response was immediate—Shouyou bucked in his arms, crying out, and Kageyama halted all his movements as Shouyou panted, breathing ragged.

"Hey," Kageyama said, "you're okay."

"I—I k-know—" Shouyou whispered, gulping breaths of air. "It's j-just—I feel—"

"I like your freckles," Kageyama said suddenly, and Shouyou fell silent. "If it was too much, what I was doing, we can stop."

"You… you do like them?" Shouyou asked. He seemed calmer.

"I wanted to touch them," Kageyama said. He wanted to kiss them. He wanted to take off the dress and put his lips to every single one. He wanted Shouyou to know that he was okay, that nothing would happen to him, even if he lay stripped naked in the leaves and surrendered to pleasure, in the midst of such a dangerous world. Kageyama wouldn't allow it.

But Shouyou was definitely not ready for that, and Kageyama wasn't going to push him. For now, they would just start small, and slow.

He waited for Shouyou to kiss him this time, hands steady on his face. Kageyama moved to pull his hands out from under the dress, but Shouyou shook his head.

"Leave them there," he whispered, and Kageyama obliged, a wash of heat filling him up, low and simmering.

He stayed brushing Shouyou's thighs with the tips of his fingers, and Shouyou kissed him—messily and desperately, rocking his hips forward and back on Kageyama's leg, moaning quietly into his mouth. He was going to come like that, Kageyama knew, just from barely grinding himself against Kageyama. Or maybe it was just the kissing.

It still wasn't enough to get Kageyama close but… it affected him more each time. Shouyou's determination, mostly, and thinking about how Shouyou always wanted more, how one day Kageyama might be able to have his mouth on every part of him, might be able to be inside him—he leaned into the kiss, unable to help himself, and slipped his tongue inside Shouyou's mouth—

Shouyou gasped, clutching at him, hips shuddering. "K-Kageyama—ah, ah—"

Kageyama pulled Shouyou against him, holding him tight as he finished. Shouyou shook in his arms, but when the shivering subsided and Kageyama tilted his head back to check on him, it was to see a smile on his face.

"Too fast?" Kageyama asked.

"I was ready for it," Shouyou said proudly, words slurring slightly.

"No falling asleep," Kageyama told him. "You need to clean up and then we head back."

Shouyou groaned but did as told, rousing himself reluctantly. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Kageyama.

"Should I change back into my other clothes?"

Kageyama considered saying no, but then glanced at the sky overhead. Sun still shining bright.

"Yeah," he said, "you're already starting to burn a bit."

Shouyou's expression morphed into one of horror. "Burn?!"

Belatedly, Kageyama remembered he didn't know what a sunburn was. He could be nice and explain… or…

"Uh huh," he said. "You'll probably cook pretty nicely, too."

Kageyama fought to keep a straight face as Shouyou yelped and began rummaging through his bag frantically. It was only when he nearly ripped the dress in his rush to take it off that Kageyama was forced to relent.

After all, he had to be honest with himself. He really loved that dress.

Arc 1 of the Wasteland series is on AO3, and Arc 2 is on Tumblr (with plans to post on AO3 when I get nearer to starting Arc 3)!

More Kinktober? They’re all dressed up and ready to go!

#kagehina #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kinktober2017 #kinktober #kagehina fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu!!#esselle writes #tumblr fic #wasteland series #essie's hq fic

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