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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Text

Words: 5000+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: You were husband & wife in name only.

AO3

The moon was bright & crisp in the sky over Rimuru. Even without your candle light, you would probably be able to see clearly into your mirror as you brushed out your hair, preparing for bed. It had been a challenging day.

Keeping Shion and Shuna from destroying their Lord with their love was a full-time job sometimes. Being the buffer between them was sometimes more than your poor human body could take; a fact Rimuru-sama was often concerned about. You usually brushed it off with a ‘better me than you’ remark as his peril would be far more of a detriment to others than you, but appreciated his concern. Besides, neither ogre-ess would intentionally hurt you. Worst you’d ever come away with before was a good goose egg from Shion swinging around Hercules’s willy-nilly and caught you in the back of the head. It was an accident, and she could have easily crushed your head like a melon, but Shion still cried for almost 3 days after every time she saw you in apology.

You chuckle a little at the memory. How wonderfully problematic your life had become in this past year. You wouldn’t call it ‘blissful’. It had it’s challenges like most. But your life taken an interest, wonderful turn that had led you to this life you wouldn’t trade anything for. You were safe. You were loved. You were a respected person when just some months ago you were nobody and nothing. How quickly the world turns.

A knock at your door halted the comb in your tresses and you look up surprised by the sound. “Who is it?” You ask. Curious who would be at your door so late at night.

“It’s me.” Your eyes blink in surprise as you hear the familiar deep timber of Benimaru behind the frame. “May I come in?”

You stammer out a reply of ‘one moment’ as you adjust yourself to make your appearance more presentable and told him to come in. It was embarrassing to have him see you in your night clothes. But if he was coming here so late at night, it must be important. Your husband never came to your chambers this late at night.

The title of ‘husband’ was in name only. You and Benimaru were not romantically involved, nor had you chosen each other completely of your own free will. He had saved you, along with Rimuru-sama and the rest of the Kijin, when they defeated the great bandit army that had been sweeping the east. Once just thugs of human and monsters alike, they had grown into a real threat in the land taking anything they please. Money. Goods. Women. When they came to your small village, they had burned it down and had taken you with them when they left. You were their prisoner and slave for nearly two months before Rimuru-sama and his band had come along.

You still remember seeing them for the first time. Bright and regal. A peasant before being a slave, you had never seen such fine strange clothes before. Nor the impending presence of the man in front of you when he’d come upon you.

“I claim this woman as my own.” They were the first words he’d ever said to you. Then he picked you up over his shoulder and carried you away with his band while the smoldering embers of the great bandit army died out in the distance.

At first, you thought it was all going to be the same. One capture was no different than the last; though you were a little concerned about an ogre being your master than a human. But how much worse could it be? The last human captor you had had been a true monster. Being owned by a real one could not be that different. Or at least that was what you thought at first.

The ogres and Rimuru-sama had been impossibly kind. They tended to your wounds from your long capture. Gave you a place to sleep. Clothes. Fed you, although there was some debate on which ogre-ess’s cooking would ‘best suit you’, and treated you as an equal. You were incredibly moved by their generosity. They were even willing to take you home. And when you told them “I have no home” they seemed genuinely hurt by that.

You of course explained to them what happened, and realized now that you really had no place to go. You thought you would die in the bandit camp. So the thought had never crossed your mind where you would go should your imprisonment be over. You were lost and alone in the world. No money. No home. No family. Even if you left, who was to say you wouldn’t be taken up by another group who found your helplessness easy pickings? Or worse, going to that life on your own because you had no other choices…..

“You’re staying here.” Benimaru had announced, much to the surprise of everyone. “You’re my woman now, remember? I defeated those fools and claimed you as my prize. This is your home now. You’re staying here.”

There was a loud commotion from the group as they all thought he had been joking but, apparently, he wasn’t. While the energetic group argued, you looked at Benimaru critically and realized what he was doing. He knew that if you didn’t belong to someone, you could easily be taken by another. If not the remanences of the great bandit army, but someone else; as you feared. Being his woman, letting him lay claim, offered you protection you couldn’t afford on your own. “Ok,” you’d told him. Your soft voice somehow ringing out over the crowd.

Rimuru-sama had of course forbade his general from ‘keeping’ a woman. He said if he wanted to do this, he would have to do the honorable thing and marry you. It had been surprising how quickly he agreed. Then asked if you would be alright with it and you’d said yes. You had been married the next day, and were then husband & wife, and that was the end of it.

Your married life was that of about the same as anyone else in the close group. You weren’t intimate. You didn’t share secrets or stories. You didn’t even sleep in the same quarters of the estate. Aside from a few group outings, communal meals, and when he popped in on Shuna when you were around, you honestly rarely saw your ‘husband’.

Which was why it was so surprising he was here now, at this late hour.

“What is it Benimaru-sama? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’d been sitting on the floor before he sat down too. His expression was placid, so it was hard to tell if something was going on.

“The envoy from Blumund is leaving tomorrow.” His eyes fixed on the hardwood under your knees.

“Yes, I know. He told me. He’s a little hard to miss.” You reply with a soft chuckle.

The envoy in question was a nice man. Tall, lean. A little bit older than you, but still a jovial person. Rimuru-sama had set you with the important task of keeping him company and being his escort during his stay. His immediate council in the Kijin were nice, but they sometimes lack the social grace or understanding of human culture. He didn’t want to offend the man and trusted you could keep him company during his stay.

“He’s rather taken with you.” Benimaru then stated. Taking you a bit by surprise. “He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.”

Your bit of surprise turned into full blown shock. “W…What are you talking about??”

“He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.” He repeated. As if somehow that made you understand completely. “He said he thinks you’re very beautiful, and charming, and that it would be a better fit for you to live among humans, rather than here in Rimuru with none of them. He talked to Rimuru-sama about this.”

“And Rimuru-sama told you about this?”

“I was there.” Benimaru stated after he shook his head. “He asked for us to severe our bond so you could go with him. So you could marry him.”

Your eyes probably bug out of your head now. Were you being proposed to by proxy by your own husband?!?

“How could he ask such a thing?!”

“Like I said, he’s taken with you.”

“That’s not the point! How am I supposed to marry someone else when I’m already married?!”

“He knows our marriage isn’t consummated.” His eyes finally look up to catch yours.

You feel your whole body turn red. Now you have to look away to stare at the floor. It was true. Your marriage wasn’t consummated. It had been something done to offer you protection and stability. It had never been about love. So you have never laid with your husband as he wished to respect your virtue. “How crude.” You mutter. Embarrassed, more than anything, as you were sure people knew about your unclaimed marriage, but no one would dare bring it up until now.

“Do you want to go with him?”

You look up again and offer a soft noise of surprise at the question. “Do you want to go with him?” He repeated. “As you said, he’s a good man. He has fortune, and power. You’d be a respected woman among your people. You’d be among your people.” Maybe you imagined it, but you thought you saw Benimaru wince at that. “You don’t have to stay here anymore. You don’t have to stay with me. You’re established enough now to make your own choices. You can be free.”

Free? The word played over in your head for a moment. The sheer concept completely foreign to you at the moment.

You’d never been free. First you belonged to your family. Then the bandits. Then Benimaru. Though you had freedom on occasion, you had never been truly free. And now that you had it, you found the idea ironically suffocating. You could choose to leave. Leave Rimuru City and start a new life as a woman of prominence in Blumund. But what if you didn’t want to leave?

“D…Do you want me to leave?” The kijin looked up at you again with a confused expression at your soft words. “If you want me to leave I will. But…I don’t want to leave all of you. I love being here, and being with Shion, and Shura, Rimuru-sama and….you. My ‘people’ have never been kind to me, so I really don’t want to go back to them. I want to stay here. We don’t have to be married anymore, if that’s the problem. We can still break our bond, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to – “That’s not what I want!”

Your eyes flicker up. Startled by the red Kijin’s roar and the burning fire resting in his eyes. “I don’t want to break our bond! I don’t want you to go with him! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to tear that man’s head off at the table when he said that?! I wanted to gouge his eyes out for saying you were beautiful! I wanted to rip out his heart out for ever letting you rest in it! You’re my woman, and my wife, and he thinks he can just say those things to me and live! He should kiss Rimuru-sama’s feet before he leaves because he’s the only reason that wretch is still breathing!”

Silence passed between you for a moment as you were completely stunted into speechlessness by Benimaru’s words. You had never expected such a passionate response out of the man. Until now, you were sure his only feelings toward you were ambivalence and mild friendship. The way he just ‘my wife’ to you, however, let you know that he had thought of this more than just a marriage of convenience. Your body flushed hot again as your heart beat hammered in your chest. “Benimaru….sama?”

“Don’t go with him.” The kijin repeated. Calmer this time as his expression seemed to morph into sadness at the thought of you leaving. “I can’t stand the idea of you leaving with him. When we first met, and I took you as my woman & wife, I will admit that I did it out of pity for you. You lost everything, and had nothing. I know what that’s like and wished to spare you. I thought that, after a few months, you would have a good enough reputation as the former wife of the Ogre Prince, Commander of the Jura forces, that we could break our bond honorably and you could make your own path in the world without fear. But, as time went on, I became more and more attached to you. Your kindness in spite of everything you endured. Your determination. Your desire to work hard to make things better for everyone here. I grew to fall in love with you and I couldn’t let you go. I know it was selfish, and that I’m being selfish now, but please don’t go.”

Your heart was still hammering so hard in your chest that you were scared you might faint. You felt like you could swoon at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

He looked down and started to fidget. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same.” His confession less confident this time. “You weren’t really given much of a choice in our marriage. I was afraid that you thought of me as just another man who had taken you. If you didn’t feel the same I could live with it, but knowing was – “That’s not true!”

It was Benimaru’s turn for his eyes to flicker up and be stunned by your confession. Apparently you had more in common than you thought. “I’ve never thought of you that way! If anything, I’ve only ever seen you as my rescuer. You saved me from a horrible existence as a slave. You gave this life that is so wonderful. With friends, and people I can’t live without anymore. I can’t begin to repay you. Or tell you how I feel….”

All these feelings and emotions were rushing to the surface now the more you spoke. You had always been fond of Benimaru. Your strong, brave protector. You just assumed that he wanted nothing to do with you. The distance he put between you making it very clear. So you had pushed your feelings toward the back of your heart. Forgetting them until now, where they crashed to the front like a dam had burst.

“[Y/N]….” You look up into the red head’s eyes when he said your name. Whispered it, really, like it was some secret plea. His hand then reached out slowly to cup your cheek. Those battle calloused hands incredibly gentle against your skin. You really might swoon at the juxtaposition.

Those burning red orbs look at you in earnest before they flicker down to your lips. A silent request. One you eagerly receive.

The only time you had kissed your husband before this was at your wedding. To seal your bond. That, however, had been just a simple peck on the lips to meet the contract. This was a real kiss. Your lips pressing together in committed passion. Intense, but both of you still too shy it seemed to go past pressing your lips soundly together.

“[Y/N],” Benimaru said again as you press your foreheads together after your kiss. You don’t ever think you’ve heard your name sound so sweet. “Become my woman and my wife. Truly. You didn’t get a choice when we first met, but I ask you this now to make your own decision. Will you be mine?”

Your heart swelled unbearably tight in your chest before you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I want to be your woman and your wife. Truly.”

You can feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you again. More deeply this time. His tongue snaked into your mouth against yours. The way he was kissing you making your legs feel weak to the point that you were happy you were sitting down. However, if they had buckled, your strong husband could easily pick you up in his arms. A shiver racing down your spine at the lewd thought that had just passed through you.

“Aah…I knew it. This is why I stayed away from you.” Benimaru said, finally letting you go. Your lips were kiss swollen now, and you were having a hard time understanding what he was talk about. “Every time I was near you, I wanted to claim you.” He explained. His expression looking deliriously happy as he examined his handiwork on your lips. “It was so hard to even be in the same room as you with your scent always hounding me every moment I was near. I had to stay away so I wouldn’t do anything horrible to you. But then that was its own torture as well. Near, apart. Both were an agony I couldn’t face somedays. Now that I have you though, I’ll never let you away from my side. You’ve summoned the beast in me. I hope you’re prepared.”

A loud squeak left your lips as the sneaky ogre flipped you. Instantly going from sitting on your ankles to flat on your back. Your world righted again and was filled with Benimaru as he leaned on top of you. His expression soft but heated, making you blush, before he kissed you again. His weight on top of you now making you moan wanton into the kiss this time.

Your world was filled with passionate kisses. They steal your breath away and make you squirm under your husband. You then feel his hands on your side. Touching you. Caressing your curves. You feel them fumbling around for your kimono tie, unwilling to let your lips go for even a moment to get to it properly, and place your hand on his chest.

“Benimaru, wait.”

The kijin stopped instantly and sat back off you. His eyes questing into your own to see what was wrong.

“I just….I thought I should…I mean we never…I’m not…” You stumble over the words to say to him. To explain that you weren’t the maiden he might have hoped for. The words cling in your throat as images of your former life flash across your mind. You feel unworthy. Dirty. Then his hand reached out to you brush your cheek again. Causing one of the tears that were welling up in your eyes to fall against it.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said with assurity and a softness that could only be described as love. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you as you are now. Not who you could be. My only regret is that I couldn’t kill those bastards 100 times more over for ever having hurt you.”

You scoff out a chuckle at the violent decree said so sweetly. You hand came up to clasp his own. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappointment.” He replied, almost instantly. Then kissed your hand as he brought it to his lips once he removed it from your cheek. “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to do this now. I can be satisfied with you declaring you want to be my woman and my wife. Well….contented.”

You chuckle again, more light hearted this time, and leaned in to initiate your kiss this time. “I meant what I said. I want to be your woman and your wife truly. I don’t want to stop.”

A sigh of relief left Benimaru. The prince willing to stop if you wanted but clearly so glad you didn’t. You giggle and let him take you in his arms.

The momentary pause in your kissing afforded Benimaru the chance to undo your kimono tie. Loosening it and letting it fall, but not pushing the thin material of your actual robe off your body yet. You reach out for him as well to undo the clasp of his overcoat. The heavy material immediately falling of his shoulders, in contrast, once the hold was released. He seemed fascinated with your work as your hands untie his under coat as well.

“Your touch is like fire.”

“Is that a joke?” You ask when Benimaru growled those words at you. Your apex quivering at the sound, but still curious if he was making a joke.

He chuckled. Another shiver at your core. “No. But I guess I can see how it would be. I mean it though. Everywhere you touch me sets a fire in me.” His hand came up to take yours and slip it under his loose top now. Guiding it over the hard planes of his chest over to his heart. “I can’t get enough of it.”

You kiss again and continue stripping. There wasn’t much to let go of for you, as just before now you were preparing for bed, so you were quickly naked in front of him. He talked about your touch being fire, but his was burning you up inside. His hands were hot. They left a lingering heat in your body everywhere he touched, to the point that you wonder if he had activated his magic. You were helpless against his soft touches. Your body aching already before he even properly touched.

Then, when he did, your body became a livewire.

Your limbs immediately went taunt when his fingers touched your core. “Please try to relax.” He whispered to you in your hair. His own long, hard body nestled beside you. Holding you close.

You try to do as he said and relax. It wasn’t difficult after the initial shock as the pleasure made it easy to succumb to him. Those hands so skilled at fighting working your body with similar expertise. “Mmmm…Benimaru….”

“Ah…say that again.” His deep voice was in your ear again. This time sounding elated, before his tongue reached out to lick the shell of it. “Say my name again. Please.”

“Benimaru…” You repeat his name over and over again. His precious name he held so dear. The name Rimuru-sama had given to him. It fell from your lips like a prayer chant as his fingers brought you closer and closer to climax. When you did, it fell from your lips again in a shout. “Benimaru!”

He continued to touch you until your walls stopped clamping around his digits. Finally setting them free. Your spent body laid against him, and you open your eyes tiredly just in time to see him cleaning your juices from his fingers. “Ah…my love tastes so sweet. I could get addicted to your flavor.”

If you body wasn’t already flushed from orgasm, you would have blushed completely. Benimaru seemed pretty proud of himself, however, before he leaned in to kiss you. You don’t think you taste sweet at all. But the taste of yourself on his lips was something you could get addicted to too. When had you become so perverted?

He let you go for a moment and shuffled around to pull out of his pants. You watched him, in the soft light. His handsome body bare to you. Not a mark on him thanks to his skill and healing. Your eyes travel down and find the proof of his love for you staring back proudly at your face. You gulp at his size. That was going to be inside you.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s a bit bigger than a human’s, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“I-It’s alright.” You reply back at his concern. He had mistaken your gulp for a concern about his size. How shameful he would probably find you if he found out that it wasn’t from concern, but excitement, that had caused you to gulp. Again, when had you become so perverted? “I trust you. And I want to be with you.”

“[Y/N]….” He spoke your name softly again before he leaned in to kiss you. Guiding you back down on your back. You feel his weight press on top of you. Your legs spread wide around his pelvis to let him mount you. You can feel the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance and shiver a little at the lower kiss. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Benimaru urged as he started to press into you.

You let out a wordless cry at the initial invasion into your most private place. You can feel your entrance stretch to accommodate him. The sensation a duality of pleasure and pain. And it was only the first few inches. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he was fully inside you. The kijin raining kisses down over your face and neck and everywhere else his lips could get to as you held on to him. His back tight under your fingers as he was very clearly straining to wait for you. “I’m alright, Benimaru. Please. Continue.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder before his hips pull back away from yours, then forward back into you. You both moan at the initial slow thrust. The feeling indescribable and compounding with each shallow thrust. “[Y/N]….”

“Mmmm…Benimaru….” You moan back when he said your name. “You can…go faster….” Not that you weren’t enjoying this slow entanglement, one could only describe as love making, you could tell that he was holding back and it was hard for him. “I..I want you. Please….Make me your woman.”

“I did warn you.” His voice sounded hard now, in comparison to the soft words he’d whispered to you earlier, and you think you hear the sound of nails scratching against the floor mat by your head.

His hips pull back again, this time practically pulling out of you, before they slam back in. You let out a loud cry. One readily identified as one not of pain. Then all you can do is hold on. Your arms wrap tight around Benimaru’s neck as he pounded into you. Before, where you had tried to roll your hips up to meet his thrusts when they had been soft & gentle, all you can do now is lay under him and take it. And become a babbling mess it seemed.

“Ah~! B-Benimaruuu! S-So good! Don’t stop!”

“I have no intention of stopping.” His words were stern. The cool seriousness of his intention to keep claiming you made your walls quake around him. “You’re my woman now. This body is mine. I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. You’ve possessed me to the point of madness with this love. I can never let you go.” His tongue laved at the sweat collecting on the skin of your neck. Following it up to the back of your ear before his teeth bit into the soft flesh there. You let out a yelp, and call his name again, before you were cumming. Your nails biting him back into his shoulder.

“Ah! [Y/N]! Too tight. It’s too tight. I’m gonna-!” His hard thrusts come to a staggering halt as he spilled his seed inside you. Holding there before his hips roll softly against you as his cock continued to twitch its release.

He collapsed on top of you once it was finished. Your bliss worn body not seeming to care about the extra weight as you held him against your bosom and both tried to catch your breath. Rested, but not to say recovered, the ogre lifted himself up off your body and pulled out. You wince as he did. Those hard thrusts catching up to you, and suddenly feeling at a loss without him inside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You look over to Benimaru, who had apparently seen you flinch, and was looking concerned. “No. Just a little sore.” He looked a little ashamed at that and muttered an apology to you. “Don’t,” you tell him. Reaching on to touch his chest. “It’s not as if I was really complaining.”

You both blush, despite everything you’d just done, still apparently shy about intimacy, before he slid over to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? About everything?”

You nod. Both of you laying on your side to face each other. His fingers caressing your cheek before moving down to the love mark he’d nipped into your skin. “Yes. I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.” You weren’t foolish enough to think that you were going to be instantly happy as husband and wife now. You were basically starting fresh. Starting anew. Though you knew a lot about each other, you had to relearn things and uncover new things as only a spouse would know. It would take time. But you were happy enough for now to at least try to start this new chapter with Benimaru. “You’re not going to kill the envoy before he leaves tomorrow, are you?”

The man let out a boisterous laugh and wrapped his arms tight around you in a hug. “No. I would never disrespect Rimuru-sama like that. As long as he leaves, I’m satisfied. But if he touches you between now and then, I make no promise on the guarantee he will leave with all his limbs.”

“Benimaru….”

The envoy, it seemed, was clever enough to take the hint in not touching you. The murderous aura & killing intent of the red kijin seemingly always just behind you making that clear. You decline his invitation to join him in Blumund. Telling him that the only time you would come to the city to visit him was with your husband. He again took the hint and left without comment. Rimuru-sama gave Benimaru a stern talking to about scaring their allies and ambassadors to their country, but you could also see that he wasn’t very serious about it. He seemed pleased enough that things had worked out, that you were staying, and his beloved friends were happy.

Ever the wonderfully problematic life in Rimuru City.

#;pen & paper (fanfiction)#benimaru #benimaru x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken #that time i got reincarnated as a slime #tensei shitara slime datta ken #tensei shitara slime datta ken x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken imagine #random fandom #imagine #benimaru tssk #benimaru (Tensei shitara Slime Datta Ken)#scenarios #[the fact that there isn't more work about my beautiful red headed baby is criminal]

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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 21

Hannibal and y/n go after Chase and uncover a much larger operation than they could have imagined.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

Trigger warnings: racism, mention of sex trafficking, religiously-motivated sexism/paternalism, American evangelism

Faced with the reality that you could die or worse, you wanted to go out with a bang. You wanted to take Borrasca down with you.

Hannibal checked the phone while you took stock of the weapons. Between the shotgun you just bought and the handgun in your car, you had enough firepower to have a chance at making it out alive.

You loaded the guns into your car. That way, if you were stopped, the licensing and registration would be consistent. Your car, your guns. Then there was the cover story. Newlyweds, on a hunting trip through the mountains.

"He's on Cactoctin Mountain." Hannibal announced, carefully scrolling through the information on Will's mangled phone.

You shut the door and put the key in the ignition. "Great, that's about an hour and a half, we should be there by sunrise."

“It’s the same mountain as Camp David.” He added. “Now, is that symbolic or--?”

“Or is he just too stupid to realize it’s a bad idea to headquarter a sex trafficking operation on the same mountain as the presidential retreat?” You finished.

Hannibal gave you a smile, as if to thank you for filling in with what he was too polite to say. “I’m inclined towards the latter.”

“Oh yeah.” You nodded. “Absolutely the latter.”

“Regardless,” He said, examining Will’s array of apps. “We have time to browse the contents of Will’s phone for any relevant information.”

“Good idea.” You agreed, pulling on to the street. “Check his notes and his camera.”

“It looks like he was recording the questioning when he and Jack Crawford approached Pastor Armitage.” He observed.

“That’s great.” You exclaimed. “Play it. Maybe it’ll give us something to go off of.”

The audio was grainy, but at max volume, you could make out two distinct voices. One belonged to Jack, meaning the other had to be Pastor Armitage.

“Calvin Armitage, my name is Jack Crawford and this is Will Graham. Can we have a few minutes of your time?”

A short silence followed, during which Jack presumably showed his badge.

“Of course. We here at Holy Eternal Shepherd support our officers of the law.” Armitage said. “If you’re here about the blue lives matter potluck-”

“I’m sorry, let me be more clear.” Jack interrupted. “We’re from the FBI. Sources have indicated that Chase Mulvaney was employed at this church and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

After an incriminating silence and the sound of a closing door, Armitage spoke again. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?”

“No, thank you.” Said a cordial, but annoyed, Jack. “Mr. Armitage, what do you know about the Ministry of Truth?”

“Wait, hold up.” You interrupted. Hannibal paused the playback. “Is that an Orwellian reference?”

“That would not surprise me.” He conceded. “We already know he doesn’t understand satire.”

“The Ministry of Truth is a nonprofit that keeps the lights on around here.” Armitage answered.

“You have a very strange definition of the term ‘non-profit’.” Will added. “According to their most recent tax records, they funneled over ninety million dollars into this place.”

“We are very blessed.” Armitage said, dismissively. “It’s because of the Ministry of Truth that we don’t rely on our congregation for funds. We want to allow our family the luxurious spiritual experience they deserve at no cost.”

“But you still accept donations, do you not?” Jack probed.

“Well, there are extra expenses when you serve so many people.” Armitage rationalized. “The donations are really just investments into our community. Mission trips, vacation bible school, youth groups and the like.”

“Camp Big Brother one of those?” Will asked.

You and Hannibal shared a look of disappointment but complete non-surprise.

Armitage clicked his tongue. “Well, it’s a wonderful program for young Christian women and girls. About two hours from here, secluded, a perfect place to get away from the city to relax and focus on god’s true design for womanhood.”

“That sounds lovely.” Jack said without any real sincerity. “And they employ predominantly female teachers?”

“Err.. no.” Armitage answered. “Hence the name ‘big brother’. It’s a male-led program. Jesus says that men are to act as spiritual guides for the fairer sex.”

“I see.” said Jack. You could hear the contempt in his voice.

Armitage grew defensive. “Are you here to judge us for our religious practices? Because last I checked, the Free Exercise clause says-”

“I’m familiar with the constitution, thank you.” Jack stopped him.

His defensiveness turned accusatory. “Then why has the FBI sent agents to judge our expressions of faith?”

“Because Camp Big Brother doesn’t exist.” Jack countered.

A third long, incriminating pause followed. “Come again?”

“There are no records whatsoever of a church mission under the name Camp Big Brother existing anywhere in the country.” Jack explained. “The property does not exist outside of the walls of this church.”

“I thought you came to talk about Chase Mulvaney, Agent Crawford.” Armitage’s voice rose. “Whom, for the record, does not represent our faith. A real Christian-”

Jack cut him off. “I’d rather you not change the subject, pastor.”

“You are a guest in my church-!”

“Just tell us where Camp Big Brother is.” Jack’s voice hardened. “Tell us what Mulvaney is doing to those missing girls.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Sir, if you continue to deflect,” Jack warned. “I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice or worse.”

The click of a revolver filled the air. Both Jack and Will withdrew their guns in response. Another long pause.

“Hello, police?” Armitage said, faking fear. “A large black man posing as a federal agent is harassing me. He has a gun.”

“This is ridiculous.” Jack said, though not without a twinge of nervousness. “Put the--”

The recording abruptly ended in the middle of the sentence. You realized you’d been sitting at the same stop sign with your turn signal on for who-knows-how-long. You made the turn, then pulled off to the side of the road and put the car in park. You searched your entire vocabulary for words that weren’t just ‘fuck’.

“Fuck.” You said, failing entirely.

“I’m not surprised that this is bigger than Chase.” Hannibal replied, always one to approach fear with logic. “But that means it’s bigger than us.”

“You’re right.” You nodded, reaching for your phone. “Which is why we need a fail-safe.”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Yep.” You said, fingers flying across the phone. “Could you send me the address?”

Within seconds, you received the address and just as soon sent it off. A few minutes’ silence passed before getting a message back. “There we go.”

Hannibal glanced at your phone. “What’s the plan?”

“I asked Charissa to call me before she leaves for work at noon.” You said, putting your phone on the dashboard. “If I don’t pick up, she’ll send the address to Jack.”

“That’s a true friend.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “Seeing that she didn’t even ask you why.”

You put the car into drive. “I’m sure she already knows.”

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal x you x will #hannibal x reader x will #hannigram #poly hannigram #will graham #will graham x you #will graham x reader #the sommelier #jack crawford #tw racsim #tw christianity #tw sex abuse

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bonecorn · 3 years

Note

I love your anatomy/references posts & I love skulls and skeletons & I would love to know how you convince people to give you their animal heads to clean. Also any bone cleaning tips for suburban areas?? When I was living on a farm it was easy to leave stuff out and let the bugs take care of it but my parents said hard no to dead things bleaching on the porch

Oh this is very easy!

Find a friend or acquaintance with land and leave your stuff there. Bug cleaning and tub maceration don't need a lot of hands-on attendance so you can check in however often you like.

There's also "hot water maceration" where you simmer (dont boil!) fresh heads in hot water and remove the cooked meat by hand. Make sure you scramble the brains first and then cook away inside or with a camping stove on the porch. And "bleaching" which is done with hydrogen peroxide can be done inside since the skulls are already clean by then anyway.

I don't actually convince people to give me their pets. For livestock, I ask because most people aren't emotionally attached to their livestock.

For pets, I wait to be offered the remains. More on that under the cut.

TLDR: Know the pet owner, wait to be offered bodies rather than asking. Make sure they are always in control. Ask for livestock no problem. Don't let scavengers eat euthanized meat.

holy crap lol

I don't ask for pet bodies. The trick is to be very open and excited about what you do so that people who know you know about bones and know that you are respectful of animal remains. Then, when a beloved pet dies, they might think about you.

Open up the conversation on death before it's relevant

You can also plant the seed ahead of time during a conversation about bones while the pet in question is alive and healthy. "Sometimes I do pets if their owner is ok with it, though most want to bury. Have you ever thought about that for Baxter?" It's in SUPER poor taste to do this while an animal is dying, when you'll need to be way more tactful.

Know your friend well enough to guess their feelings on it

It SUPER depends on the person and how they view bodies and death. My ex's dog passed away and he was always queasy about corpses. I comforted him and cried with him while his beloved 15 year old dog declined and passed. I didn't ask or even mention it because I knew him enough to know that he would say no, and that asking would be painful and upsetting for him to think about. Same with my dear friend and her 20 year old cat. She had a beautiful pet graveyard with headstones and everything. You just know not to ask some people because traditionally laying bodies to rest is important to them.

Other pet owners are chill about it, ESPECIALLY if they come from a livestock background. Livestock people are used to sending their animals to be recycled into glue and wax when they die, because it's generally not feasible to bury or cremate a horse. If someone does plan to take that on, you know they are absolutely dedicated to traditional burial and won't give you anything.

Make it their choice to offer, rather than it being your request

Anyway. If you know the person, and you know they might be ok with giving up their pet's body due to how they view bodies and death, then you work on making them think about you. First, you comfort and do everything you can to help the person through their grief. If you weren't already planning on doing that, then you have no business asking for their pet. Do not comfort someone in order to get something out of them. That's disgusting. Just straight up ask them for their pet and know that they will view you as tactless and rude, but its better than manipulating them.

What I do is not manipulation, it's reminding people what you do and then letting them make their own decisions. When your friend is feeling a little better and is not crying, you can ask about logistics. I ask "What do you plan to do for burial/with the body?" and that usually makes them think about me and what I do with bodies. If they already have a meaningful spot picked out to bury or scatter/keep ashes, then that means the body is important to them and I shouldn't ask further.

At this point, they should realize what you could use the body for and think about how they feel about that. This is when my sister (who has a livestock background) offered her dog to me. We talked about how she thought of bodies, and she thought that the soul is the only thing that matters and once her dog passes there's nothing important left. I did not say anything to convince her, these were all her own thoughts.

It's very VERY important to respect and love the pet owner because they're extremely vulnerable and emotionally raw. That's why I don't straight up ask, because when you're losing a pet, you don't want to feel like someone is trying to gain something from you.

If your friend says they don't know or haven't decided what to do for the body, you can gently say "Let me know if you want me to help bury it, to take it with me, or to just be there for you." This is a close-ended statement and not a question. A question means that your friend has to come up with an answer right there and then, while an offer is actionable. This puts the power and autonomy in your friend's hands, so that when they make a decision it comes fully from their wants and needs and is not about you and what you want.

Be there for them even if you get nothing out of it

If they don't offer at this point, they're not going to. Now hold up your end of the bargain and continue to comfort and help through the grieving process. Again, if you aren't already invested in this person enough to want to soothe and comfort and be there for the human person in the equation, then you have no business asking for their pet. When a pet dies, your first concern should be to the person. If it's not, then you aren't close enough to ask for goodies.

Helping someone grieve is not payment for their pet's body. If you realize they aren't going to give you something in return for your comfort and so you abandon them, you're a terrible person using their grief to manipulate them for your own gain. Comfort is not payment. Closeness in grief is a metric by which you measure "Do I have any business to ask?"

The pet owner runs the show, not you

Throughout this process, stress that the owner can change their mind at any time. You don't want the owner to think "I hate this but I can't back out now because I promised..." Even when they animal is all wrapped up an in your vehicle and ready to go, quietly tell the owner that they can still choose what happens and if they have second thoughts, that's ok and you won't be mad.

My sister let me be there for putting her dog down and it was all about her and her love for her dog. She carried him out and laid him in my trunk and we stood in the rain and talked and hugged. She then told me she was happy that he could bring happiness to someone in life and now still in death, but that she didn't want to know anything. I agreed not to tell her or post anything about processing her dog, so for her it would be like burial. The same thing happened with my other friend's horse. She spent some time with him and then as soon as he passed she drove away and let me do what I wanted. She didn't want to hear Any of it. Again, I didn't ask or even offer, she came up with the idea of giving me the body all on her own even before I knew he was dying.

Horse people are much closer to pet owners than livestock owners, but they are used to sending their friend's bodies off to a different kind of processing (at Tallow factories, livestock remains are ground up, cut apart, cooked, and spun around to extract various substances that become soap, glue, candles, etc) so they know not to think about what happens after death. It still depends on how well you know the owner and know how they think about death, but if you offer to handle logistics like dealing with the tallow guy, they can actually save money by letting you have it.

You're actually doing livestock a favor

Livestock people are generally chill and have a much more utility/asset view of their animals. If the animal doesn't even have a name they probably don't care what happens when it's dead. In fact, most farmers will jump at the chance to give you their animal for free because calling the tallow company to haul it away costs them money. This is also why in areas with lots of livestock, you sometimes find bodies dumped in ditches or left on the side of the road, because the farmer didn't want to pay to get rid of it so they made it everyone else's problem. Even pet animals like dogs and cats are more Utility than pure companions on a farm, so you might have a better chance of getting remains from a farmer than a neighbor.

One more thing about pets and livestock.

When I find a dead deer, I flay it open and let the vultures eat it. For domestic animals, they are often put to sleep via chemical/drug.

THIS IS POISONOUS TO SCAVENGERS.

DO NOT LET SCAVENGERS EAT EUTHANIZED ANIMALS

Seriously. If you like nature, you need to protect it. Deflesh it yourself, throw all the meat/blood/offal away or bury it 6 feet down. Idk what it does to the environment so I always freeze it and then throw it away on garbage day.

Rot bacteria and beetle larvae dermestids don't mind. In fact, dermestid droppings and pupa shells can be analyzed for toxins by forensic scientists to determine cause of death. Neat! Just make sure that if you process outdoors, the remains are EXTREMELY SECURE and cannot be opened by vultures, coyotes, or wild pigs.

Remember the living, human person

I know I look very clinical by picking apart human emotions, but I respond, feel, love, and grieve just like everyone else. I didn't plan how to get any of the animals in the above stories, I just acted on instinct and these are the ones where that paid off well.

Most of the time if I go "huh. I feel that may not go over well" I can then take that feeling apart and figure out why. So hopefully explaining how my feelings work it can help you listen to your most useful and most compassionate ones.

The living person is always more important than a dead pet. Sometimes you can get the dead pet without distressing your friend, sometimes you shouldn't even try.

Respecting the dead

A final note on working with pets vs wild animals. This is someone's family member, so don't play puppet with it like you might with a skunk skin. Don't take pictures of any part of the process until they are rendered to bones. Pictures of dead pet species are even more distressing to the general public than wild animals, and sick freaks might take your photos and send them to people for kicks or attention. Better to just not have photos than for that to happen.

What processing a pet feels like

Working on a pet is always going to be different for you, the vulture, than a wild animal. Everything you see is touched by human hands. My sister's dog was... beautiful. You don't really realize how moved you're going to be by seeing the perfect amount of healthy fat covering, or beautiful muscles that speak of exercise and attention. She rescued this starving pup and turned him into the healthiest animal I have ever seen. She's a vet assistant and the care and love she put into this dog had me sitting there crying while I held his paws; with their perfectly maintained clipped and sanded nails. I'd only met the dog once for a few minutes when he was alive, but his body was a canvas and every inch was painted with layers and layers of love. It made me so, so sad that his neurological issues couldn't be helped because his body was proof of someone who would stop at nothing to cure what could be cured, and that the last months of his life were happier than he ever imagined.

On the flip side, pets whose bodies show signs of neglect and abuse are going to hit you harder than any deer could. The dog I found discarded in a garbage bag on the side of the road had rotten teeth and nails so long they curled over themselves into hoops. An overgrown and suffering deer is just the sign of nature taking its course. An overgrown and suffering dog is the sign of human cruelty, of shirked responsibility.

Most pets you get will between these two dogs. No owner is perfect. Most old dogs have lost teeth to rot, sick cats too weak to scratch properly may have overgrown nails.

Death as beauty

A pet's body usually a beautiful story full of ups and downs; of owners doing things wrong and then doing things right. A vulture or an artist can read a body like rings on a tree and feel the heart beat in their chest that tells them how strong and full of love this life had been. You need to be ready for this part. Every detail is a message from your fellow human and even though we are all animals and we decompose into the same dirt, we're meant to connect to each other here and now.

Keep your emotions open when working with remains.

Listen to what they have to teach you.

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curioussubjects · 3 years

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You seem to have a way of understanding dean on a better level than a lot of us. What do you think of what jensen said about dean wasting his life away at the back of a pool bar if Sam was the one who had died? I'm having a hard time processing what he said and I'm still upset that jensen sees dean as still heavily codependent. Idk I'm uncomfortable that it came from jensen as opposed to anyone else. He let me down...

Ok, so this is a complicated question with a complicated answer. First, I want to say that I completely understand why people are upset. My immediate reaction was the same, tbh. But here’s the thing: Jensen was right, but he said it wrong. I realize the Jensen is right is, afaik, and on my dash at least, the main opinion going around, but the reason is more nuanced than the conventional wisdom. Sure, yeah, we know how Dean reacts to loss, and we’ve seen that kind of despair take him nowhere good (hello Advanced Thanatology), but that’s not why Dean had to be the one to die.

If you’ve been around my blog (and other polol folks, too) you might have noticed I’m on the Dean was always supposed to die camp. Not only that, but the dying in this case doesn’t mean the end but ascension. That is, it’s a death solely of the body in which the soul goes on to live it’s truest life free from the suffering of material existence, of suffering. Something that is achieved by actualization of the self. Death, in the philosophy informing the mytharc for Dabb’s run and s15 most loudly, is transformation. A refining of the self, say. In this ‘heaven” is meant to be what’s True, and Real, and Free (”what would you rather have, peace or freedom?” [both]).

Cool beans, but why does this matter. Well, I’m gonna quote my much less eloquent screaming from discord:

jensen IS right, but he SAID IT WRONG because the story never manifested itself [in 20]. so he described a hopeless dean wasting away which is so not what dean's death meant to portend. nothing wasting. nothing about hopelessness. he would cross and move on to LIVE HIS ACTUAL LIFE with his family, with his beloved, and he would welcome sam and sam's family (who would be dean's family, too) on that bridge and dean would still have a mission and i just aaaaaaaargh. BECAUSE HE WASNT MEANT TO DRIVE AROUND [pointlessly in heaven] EITHER

What I mean here is that Dean surviving and Sam being the one to die would only underscore how Not of Earth Dean was anymore. He didn’t belong there anymore. Everyone he loves, all he could ever need, or want, or dream, was somewhere else. Sam, on the other hand, did in fact have specific things to accomplish on earth still before being ready to ascend. Sam had Eileen and the MoL and the new hunter gen. As Jensen said, Sam had a bigger picture he was invested in, while Dean has always been about his family. Dean had said he was ready to retire if he knew the world was safe. Dean surviving instead of Sam would leave him wholly alone (yes, I know, Jody, Donna, and Claire, but for all Dean cares for them, they aren’t Sam and Cas. Mary, Bobby, Charlie).

If we think of death as a door and not an end, and assuming a finale that isn’t completely botched: Dean surviving alone would make his worst case scenario real in that he doesn’t have his family, he doesn’t have the people he loves to share things with. There would be only the job and dying bloody and alone. Meanwhile Sam would be in heaven never having come into his own as a leader. He wouldn’t have Eileen. The flipside, that is, the finale we didn’t get, would have Dean being around all his favorite people except Sam. BUT he would know Sam was following a path on his own right, he’d have a goal, he’d have a family. And then they’d reunite and never part.

The reason I’m saying this is because if one of the has to die, it has to be Dean because everything falls into place with the exception of the momentary separation between him and Sam. A separation that needs to happen because Dean needs to let go of the burden to “protect Sam” and Sam needs to walk on his own legs without his big brother/parent. It’s a growing up and letting go story before reunion. Where both Sam and Dean would be in environments conductive to them thriving. It’s the final blow to that toxic codependency.

Again, from my discord screaming:

ugh what a perfect microcosm of the finale: the essence of what jensen said is right, but the form of it, the way it was presented was all wrong. and i cant even fault him that badly because idk how much he does know, if he has only a pitch, how much he knew of the intended ending. we just don't know. we don't know what is ignorance and what is misunderstanding, or what is just good old misreading.

The proposal of the finale only works if properly delivered, I think something like that happened today, too. I don’t know to what extent it’s Jensen misspeaking (because it’s a finicky topic that is rather hard to explain) or being ignorant of the full scope of the mytharc (knowing he doesn’t actually watch the show).

At the end of the day, what Jensen says or doesn’t say doesn’t change the textual meanings of Supernatural. I know we want validation, and that we want our fave to agree with us, but the bottom line is that there’s only so much Jensen can say. And ultimately it doesn’t affect the story one bit.

Did...all this kinda answer your question? I know it got way long, but there’s a lot here skdjhfalksdjfhalsd Y’all can send more asks if you need clarification on any of this mess.

#supernatural #dean winchester #questions and answers #also anoooon omg thank you for validating my dean studies ❤#oh and also: let's not forget j2m have been historically infamous for having really bad spn takes #they are precious beans but they are also turnips #i have more thoughts about why this hit so hard today for a lot of us but it's late kjhfaskljfasd #if anyone wants to know remind me and i'll talk about it late

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themadlostgirl · 3 years

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Keeping Warm

*It is soft Felix simping hours*

Prompt: Reader gets cold easily and steals Felix’s cloak to keep warm not knowing it was his. Felix has some feelings about this.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

~~~

I am not good with cold. I’m just not. It’s been that way ever since I was little. When I am cold I shut down and for some reason I always seem to be cold. I don’t know what caused it but I needed to be in the heat at all times. I figured that when I flew to Neverland I wouldn’t have to worry about the cold anymore. It is a tropical jungle after all.

The days are long and the sun is sweltering. I bask in the heat and humidity with a reverence reserved for deities. I was warm and I was happy. The Lost Boys often joked that I was just like a lizard basking on a hot rock. Almost no one actually called me by name anymore after they made that connection. I was always lizard or viper. I learned to live with it.

With that said it looked as if Neverland was my dream come true and it was...until night came. The second the sun was no longer in the sky the island got cold. I expected it to drop a few degrees during the night but the difference was so stark that I spent most nights shivering in my tent with my thin cloak huddled tight around me.

One night I had been so cold that I huddled myself near the bonfire and fell asleep there. It was at that moment I decided to suck up my pride and ask the boys for some help.

“Hey guys,” I approached a group of boys I was sorta close to, “Are there any blankets around?”

“What do you need a blanket for?” One of the asked.

“Well, I get really cold at night and I was wondering if I could maybe get a blanket or at the very least a thicker cloak.” I muttered, meekly.

“How on earth are you cold?” The boys started laughing. “This island is a thousand degrees all the damn time. You really are cold blooded, lizard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I crossed my arms, “I’m a wuss because I get cold easily. Can you stop making fun of me?”

“Awe, did we hurt your feelings?” One of the boys pinched my cheek, “Little lizard girl can’t stand a little cold?”

“You guys are such jerks!” I shoved them off. “Forget I said anything. I’ll find something on my own.” I huffed and marched off. The boys were wrong about me being cold blooded because I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. Now if only I could bottle this red hot anger and use that to warm my tent at night.

I went up to other Lost Boys asking around for a spare blanket but they all gave me the same bark of laughter and refusal to help me. I had enough and went out to the beach to find my sunbathing rock. It was a large smooth flat rock that stretched into the sea a bit. It was a nice place to keep warm and get some peace and quiet.

When I got there I saw that I wasn’t the only looking for some quiet.

“Hey Felix,” I sat down next to him, “What brings you here today?”

“Stone skipping,” He gestured to the pile of stones by his feet. “Come to warm yourself, viper?”

“What else do I do?” I sighed. I liked Felix. He was easy to talk to and unlike a lot of the other boys when he called me lizard or viper I didn’t think he did it out of malice. It was just a name like Toodles or Slightly. I thought briefly about asking him about acquiring a blanket but decided not to. I had enough of the boys laughing in my face and I really didn’t want to add Felix to that list.

The minutes passed by as I laid down to soak in the sun. Another thing that I liked about Felix was that I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence around him. We could simply exist next to each other. It was rather comforting that we could have these moments when I lived on an island full of boys that couldn’t stand still for more than five seconds.

“Scoot over,” Felix nudged me with his foot.

“Run out of rocks already?” I made room next to me so Felix could lay down as well.

“Yeah,” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Weren’t a lot to be found today.”

“Happens,” I shrugged. I pulled an orange out of my pocket and started peeling it. “Orange slice?”

He opened his mouth and I rolled my eyes before dropping a slice in. “You know,” I said, “One of these days I’m going to do something like drop a rock or a little hermit crab in your mouth.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” I bit into a slice. Felix opened an eye to glare at me. I held out another slice as a peace offering. He took it with his hand this time. “Smart choice.”

“Remind me why I put up with you?”

“Because I’m fun and also quiet and I always end up giving you half of my snack when we’re together. Speaking of, my canteen is empty.”

“Here,” he handed me his.

“Thank you.” I took a generous swig. We passed the rest of our time laying in the sun not saying much until Felix had to leave.

The sun started to set and it was with a heavy heart that I braced myself for the cold and meandered back to camp. The boys I had spoken to earlier sniggered as I passed. I got to my tent and sighed when I realized what exactly those idiots had been giggling about. My cloak was gone. The one thing I use to keep myself warm at night and it was gone. Assholes.

Fine. If they want to take my stuff then I’ll take theirs too. I maneuvered stealthily around the camp looking for an unattended cloak. I eventually found one in a distant tent near the edge of camp and grabbed it. Let’s see how funny they think it is that their stuff gets stolen.

I bundled up the cloak and made a straight line for my own tent. I unfurled the cloak and was surprised by how much thicker this one was than the one I had. Probably thicker than what any of the boys wore. It also smelled kinda nice. I don’t know why but I caught a whiff of it and it put me at ease almost immediately. I wrapped myself in the cloak and reveled in the extra warmth it provided before promptly falling asleep.

~~~

Someone was gonna die!

Felix was turning in for the night and had noticed that his cloak had been missing. One of these idiots stole his cloak and when he found out who he was gonna murder them. No one steals from him. Not even as a joke.

It was the whole reason he set up his tent away from the main bustle of the camp. So stuff like this wouldn’t happen. But now it had and heads were gonna roll.

He noticed a group of boys together laughing it up by the fire. He saw one of them holding a bundle of fabric and charged.

“Hey!” Felix grabbed the kid by the neck. “You got some explaining to do you little shit!”

“Felix, calm down buddy.” One of the boys tried saying. “You’re choking him.”

“That’s the point.” He growled. “Cloak. Give. Now!”

The boy shoved the cloak into Felix’s free hand. Felix released him and the kid stumbled back gasping.

“Why do you have to be such a kill joy?” The boys complained. “Did the lizard send you to do her dirty work?”

“What?” Felix asked. “What are you talking about?”

“We stole her cloak cause she was complaining about being cold again. I really don’t see how she can be cold when it is always hot on this island.”

“Oh so this isn’t mine.” Felix really looked at the cloak in his hands. It was very thin and threadbared from years of use. It was a wonder that it was still together at all. He balled the cloak up and stuffed it under his arm. “So which one of you assholes stole my cloak then? It was in my tent this morning and now it’s gone.”

“We didn’t take anything from you.” The boys said. “We swear we didn’t go anywhere near your tent.”

Felix prowled closer, fire in his eyes. “You had better not have. You know how I feel when people touch my stuff. So if I find out you are lying I will shove a spear up your ass and roast you over the fire.”

Felix trudged away leaving the terrified Lost Boys behind. Now he just needed to get this cloak back to you. As thin as it was it was the only thing you had to keep the chill off so some coverage was better than none. Maybe he could approach Pan about getting you a real blanket or at the very least a thicker cloak. He knew how easily you got cold.

Felix sighed. He really was stuck on you. Out of everyone on the island you were the only one that he liked spending time with. Unlike everyone else you were able to sit still and enjoy the moment of silence the world offered. Spending time with you was like finding the eye of a hurricane. All the noise and chaos continued while he stayed safe.

He came upon your tent and peered inside. You were already fast asleep. Looking closer he realized that you already had a cloak covering you. How was that if the boys had taken yours earlier?

Wait. That was his cloak. Why would you steal his cloak? He plan was to wake you up and make the swap but upon seeing you laying there without shivering he couldn’t bring himself to take his cloak away from you. It was much thicker and warmer than your old one was and you clearly needed the layer.

It didn’t help matters that he got a strange fluttering in his chest when he saw you curled up in his clothes. Why was that happening? Why did you look so...cute? Cute was not a word that Felix used, ever. But it was the only appropriate word he could find as he gazed at you.

With a sigh Felix left your tent. He threatened the Lost Boys to not take anything of yours again lest they answer directly to him. The boys nodded in terror, not wanting to incur the wrath of Pan’s second in command. He threw your old shitty cloak into the bonfire. You wouldn’t be needing it anymore now that you had his to keep you warm. Felix let himself a small grin as he watched the cloak turn into a pile of ash. Besides, he thought, his cloak looked way better on you anyway.

---

(Part 2)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #request

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monotropauniflora · 2 years

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I think one of the weirdest takes I've seen on here lately wrt media consumption is that;

'If you would prefer to see a particular character who's done awful things die, rather than have some sort of redemption arc, this means that you yourself are awful on some level. Because you either don't understand that people can change and grow into better people, or you do know and you don't care, because you're a "moral purist" who wants anyone whose ever committed a wrong to suffer for all eternity.'

This is of course in reference to Fictional Characters. Little imaginary chess pieces that a story teller moves around in order to tell their story. Fake people who don't have internal lives or thoughts and dreams, and who cannot become "better" or "worse" unless their writer wishes them too.

I think people need to understand whether or not a character learns the error or their ways and strives to do do better, whether they suffer for their crimes or simply wonder off scott free; none of it's based on whether they "deserve" it or whether the author supports restorative justice in real life or whether they actually dig the death penalty for some reason. It's based on what works narratively, what fits the themes of the story.

Sometimes there's no place in the story for a "redemption arc", sometimes the bad guy dies because he has to die in order for the protagonists to move on. And you're not a bad person because you would prefer to see that story play out sometimes, instead of wishing for the narrative to make room for a redemption at every turn.

No one watches Halloween and thinks to themselves, "Wow, I hope Michael Myers realizes the hurt that he's caused, stops killing, and works to make up for it. Perhaps he can volunteer as a cook at a soup kitchen, and give back to the community." No, everyone watching thinks "I hope Laurie kills this guy." Because that's what would make sense narratively

(What's most baffling about this take is I see it most often from the 'fiction isn't reality camp' which is uh, hello cognitive dissonance?)

#long post #media analysis #what's most baffling about this take is I see it most often from the 'fiction isn't reality' camp which is uh. hello cognitive dissonance?#edited 11/3 to add that tag to the body of the text since I guess I wasn't clear enough before

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ignitification · 3 years

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It’s me the Shigaraki survivalist again lol

It’s cool you don’t agree I guess I just want to get my thoughts out

You said it’s unrealistic for Deku to save Shigaraki and them to work together—but the way I see it is that’s exactly what the story has been building up to. In a world where nothing is really “unrealistic” I really truly think it’s very in the realm of where the story is going. Shigaraki does look tired, because he has never been given a break. The thing is, BNHA isn’t a tragedy! (I think Hawks’s arc will be a tragedy but that’s a whole different discussion)

I just cannot see how Deku will be crowned “the greatest hero who ever lived” meanwhile the one person who needed him most is lying there dead. It just doesn’t feel convincing, especially in a shonen story. As far as the story is concerned, Shigaraki is still a child and never had a chance to grow up (it’s a coming of age story for Deku and Shigaraki). And you can’t celebrate being the greatest hero who ever lived while a “child” is dead. And I 100% expect Shigaraki and Touya to be very difficult to save (kinda like Kota from the training camp arc, but Deku saved him didn’t he?)—they’re gonna decline the help at first obviously. They have no reason to trust heroes, which is why I think Deku and Shoto are going to have to prove that they mean it—and they will, because they do.

I just feel like Shigaraki dying completely cancels out Deku’s main goal of “saving everybody”—which has been his thing since the beginning. Shigaraki was, in the eyes of the narrative, All Might’s responsibility to save, and he failed. Not only is Deku going to have to clean up the OFA/AFO mess, he’s gonna have to clean up the mess that All Might could have prevented (I’m not blaming All Might completely but as far as the story is concerned, and All Might is concerned—he definitely bares some responsibility for Tenko’s fate).

It’s as you said we don’t know what Horikoshi is going to do, but a girl can hope lol

I just don’t feel like the story is going to end with the message of “not everybody can be saved”. I just feel that there is so much more hope in this story than people give it credit for! Shonen typically reeks of hope and optimism, and even now BNHA still has that hopeful, optimistic energy, not grimdark realism. I think Horikoshi will pull this off and it’s gonna be awesome. And if you are right and Shigaraki does die, I honestly will consider it a huge waste of a character who could have and should have been saved, just like Touya, who I also think is 100% going to make it out alive.

Hey, Shigaraki Survivalist!

Glad you’re putting you opinion out here.

Getting onto matters, I would like to maybe clarify my statement: I do not think it is unrealistic for Shigaraki and Deku to work together (I think rather that it would be absolutely fair, and maybe cathartic) and I do agree that is what is likely to happen, sooner or later.

As for BNHA not being a tragedy, I think that it already is. Look at how Touya, Shigaraki and the same Izuku grew up: discriminated against, bullied, neglected and abused. If this is not a tragedy, I do not know what is. But if by that you meant that the general mood of the story is supposed to be one of instilling hope and instead letting people know that there is always a way one, and that there is still some possibility of saving if there is a will. I fully agree on that. The themes in BNHA are the real tragedy, but you are absolutely right when you say that the message is ‘People make mistakes. But that’s not the end. They can change and correct those mistakes, apologise, amend. Things can change.’ and not ‘Not everyone can be saved’ (even if, here, I would like to argue that Twice’s death message is exactly that but I don’t want to digress).

Also, not going to lie, I really like the positivity I feel from your message. It puts a smile on my face thinking that there is someone out there fully believing that salvation will come because there is someone who wants it to come. It’s a good thing. It’s a thing I, for one, do not have so thank you for doing that, this really brightened my evening.

Now, onto a more heavy part of the post. I wanted to talk about All Might, and how he did fail, even if not entirely by himself, to save Shigaraki. First of all, I would like to notice the particular panel which tells us that ‘You can save only those you can reach’.

This panel is telling in more ways than one. All Might specifically addresses Izuku in saying this, while not literally meaning it (or at least not expecting Izuku to understand it so literally). All Might ( and I talked about it here) is a character which sets up the bar high for Hero standards (and is seen as an idol so far gone, that no one could ever possibly reach him) - and that is exactly why Izuku bears this 'lesson' stoically and tries to save everyone ever more than before. Because if All Might could do it, Izuku feels like he should be able as well (while not considering the disproportion in between them, and I mean in experience and just relatively emotionally).

I mean Izuku feels a high burden with OfA, and to deal with AfO, and sometimes he can get very much extreme - but exactly for that, as you said, he would never feel as if he succeeded if he does not manage to save Shigaraki. Because if All Might is capable of brushing this aside, justifying himself by saying that he couldn't have done anything to prevent it and that it is impossible after all to save everyone, Izuku is not. Izuku feel so deeply that he cries for others, he rages for others, he longs for others with a great smile on his face because that is what it's expected of him.

And he likes to fulfil those expectation, whether that kills him, injuries him or anything else (as we saw him being all bandaged up in 299 and with no sign to recover any soon).

However, this what I mean when I say that Tomura looks tired:

He fails to understand how him not being saved is not actually a fault of someone (heroes/society, you name it - even if he does realise much later), but his first instinct as a kid is to blame himself and to tell that this, is is his punishment. He deserved it. And he does deserve to a degree what has happened to him since, because he is guilty of something he will never be able to forgive himself for and that is why he is they he is now.

I do think, that Touya, even being more self-destructive than Shigaraki, is an easier subject to save. I am not saying this because I think Dabi’s trauma or problems are easier to solve, but because Shouto understood him (to some extent) and with the sentence ‘I am him? referring to Touya and his intentions he is unwillingly showing us that Touya’s path to redemption (summed with Endeavour’s arc) are all pointing at Touya being saved, no matter how bad the situation gets. He, still scarred and lonely, does have a family out there caring for him. Or at least wanting to get to the bottom of things and not leave him to burn to death, alone. Again.

Shigaraki, on the other hand, does not have such a thing. Kurogiri has been captured, AfO is using him and the only guy who thought of Tomura as a human being, other than a bad villain, is Deku. I do not want say that this is not enough, but with all the burden that Izuku is already carrying at the moment, can he also bear on himself the weight of saving Shigaraki? I really hope he does, but as anyway as it will be, I think that Deku will try. He will try to get that hand reaching out to Tomura and even if skeptical about it, I hope Shigaraki takes the chance and takes it. He does deserve a break. He deserves a blanket, a cup of steaming tea and a hot long nap in a warm bed. A hug is optional.

One of the themes I never touched upon is also, the found family of the League and Hawks. I really am waiting for more insight into the League’s members feeling for Twice, and maybe holding a funeral. I am also waiting for them to discuss Hawks.

On which, my last point for this post: Hawks’ story, serves as a parallel to Dabi’s. We see how the abuse can bring to two extremes: one becoming a villain and focusing on hate, and the other focusing on idolising and becoming a hero (and in the meantime trying to forget everything else). I want Hawks to face consequences for his actions, and I want him to understand that he, too, is a victim and that atoning for his father’s crimes is not the way to go. He also needs to break free of the past and let go. I really hope that instead of clinging into past ideals and Endeavour, he realises that there is something highly wrong with the society he is fundamental part of and that he break free. If he doesn’t, as has been already put out there by some amazing posts I read, it will after all end in tragedy. Once a friend told me how Hawks was a tragic hero, and I might disagree but I do think that the name is fitting. But it’s not like that will change things. Only we can - and I hope everyone realises that.

p.s. Look at this panel, during the last moments of fight between Shigaraki and Deku.

And after that the realization of Izuku, that Shigaraki, who he does want to save is not only suffering internally, but as well externally, because of AfO and whatever is going on. Exhausted beyong recognition.

Look at Shigaraki's form. He looks like he is right about to collapse. There is a hand stretched out, in help, in resignation, in sadness, in pain. But his other hand is almost clenching, hard, noy wanting to let go. Tomura is after all trying to fight the entity within him, while also trying not to lose himself and look out for everything that might come in its way outside.

And finally, there is someone who looks through the hand on his hand, through the cracks of his identity, through every wall Tomura has put in between himself and others in order to protect them, and himself, from the absolute monster he thinks he is.

And it's, at the same time both ironic and daunting how these same words are also the works Deku speaks to Kacchan while saving him from the Sludge Villains. There is a direct parallel between Katsuki, who had hated Deku while being afraid of being inferior to him and that did not want his helo because he would feel too weak, and Shigaraki, who has no will of getting himself saved by anyone, but especially by the kid that denied him the objective of gaining OfA and defeating everything and the same kid who seems to feel something other than disgust for him. Both Katsuki and Shigaraki are opposites to Izuku.

So, if Izuku saved Kacchan, who in return saved Deku after accepting the fact that he and Izuku, are, after all, hero AND friends who care about each other, it would be nice to see where this is going to go with Tomura. And see if, maybe, just maybe, it is possible for Shigaraki to stop being Shigaraki and be Shimura Tenko instead.

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

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Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

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cuddlecave · 2 years

Note

is xiphoid

i had an idea come to me,,, a sort of htt/yd inspired idea...

it's after the rescs. at least a few good *years* after. the alien apocalypse has been going on for a while, now. gord wasn't at BM at the actual event, but he did work for them (not anymore, tho...company is decidedly defunct). so it kinda works like this: the BM facility has the most active and open portals, and is the equivalent of the 'nest' in the movie, the neehee is the 'queen', the xn-creatures are the dragons, and of course, benr and gord are tthlss and hccp, respectively. some major differences are that the xn creatures are themselves, just animals, not super trainable or anything, but under the neehee they're aggressive and not they're more just...animals. benr, tho, is ofc fully sapient.

so gord is living with some others in a camp, among whom are the science tem. they know where the rescs happened/where BM used to be, but it's just a big zone to avoid or You'll Fucking Die. they do not know about the neehee.

benr, sapient, has been trying their best to fight neehee's influence, but it's not been going super well. they've been made to attack settlements and camps, enough that they have a bit of a rep. they've attacked gords a couple times, but there's something the neehee doesn't like about it, so they've never gotten very close.

gords base, the reason it's done so well, is bc it's got a machine that's broadcasting a combination of signals that fuck up and then *remove* neehee's influence. not that they know that, they just found a fucked up radio that no creature would go near, so they made a bigger version. and gord, well, he doesn't like that this thing has now attacked this base, and just in case it came back, has been trying to put together a sort of radio-gun that can fire the signals in concentrated bursts that travel farther than the main machine. problem is, he hasn't had much luck with it, and everyone has seen it fail on smaller creatures multiple times.

enter benr, attacking again. they, like usual, stay out of the few-miles wide bubble around the base and just try long distance attacks from the air. but this time, gord has the gun. and this time, it works.

benr gets hit and tho it's not physical, the disorientation causes them to crash, as luck would have it, just within the edge of the safe zone radio field. for the first time in years, they're free from the claws lodged in their mind. (this differs from the movie; benr doesn't stay bc injury, they stay bc they don't want to get got again!) but now, their mind free, they seem to be trapped another way: the safe zone is only a few square miles, and there's a base w humans in the middle of it; humans that definitely would try to kill them given the chance. what's an alien to do?

gord tries to convince the others that he hit something, but fails. it was dark and no one saw it but him. he goes out anyway, on the off chance that maybe that thing crashed badly enough he'll be able to finish it off.

he does, after a bit, find benr. or, rather, the completely uninjured benr finds *him*, wandering about, and decides to show themself--maybe, with just one human by itself, they'll be able to communicate that they aren't here to attack? benr doesn't understand human language, but surely it can't be that hard...

don't wanna get too much more into this in detail, yet,,, this honestly feels like something I could like write a multichapter fic of...vore would defo be involved, just not quite sure how, yet. open to ideas!! tho be warned i may use them if I like them lol,,

but yeah they go defeat the neehee in the end, they fall in love as they get to know each other, body horror and shapeshifting fluff will be had...this actually went off track, didn't realize I had so many thoughts on this until I was writing it out :P

you have my attention

#security snacking #maybe the vore could happen during ben's attempts at communication?

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missanthropicprinciple · 3 years

Text

A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies.

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far:

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios.

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.)

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose.

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study.

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC.

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm.

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.”

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot.

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.”

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else.

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.”

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream.

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about.

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts.

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278).

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature.

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself.

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start.

Works Cited (WIP)

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

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thevioletcaptain · 3 years

Photo

Coals Aglow

11.4k | Explicit | DeanCas

A years-delayed 13.21 coda, in which Cas uses his grace in ways that it is probably not supposed to be used, and gentle-doms Dean into asking for what he wants.

{i}

It’s been several hours since the rebels split off into groups—half retiring to their sleeping quarters while the others walked with purpose to keep sentry around the camp’s perimeter—and Castiel has made a point to visit every one, speaking with each of them until he understands as much of this place as he possibly can. Just in case.

Castiel supposes that he could have just asked Jack, but despite Sam’s unexpected return he’s been quiet all evening. Almost withdrawn. It makes sense, considering how Sam came to be here and who he’d been forced to bring with him, but it still makes Castiel uneasy. Even after all these years, after his slip-slide into feeling, the emotional discomfort is something he’s not quite accustomed to.

Close to one in the morning, he spots Dean sitting on a log by the remains of a fire at the center of camp, picking idly at the bag of Skittles he’d packed for the trip and referred to as “trail mix” to irritate his brother. Sam is nowhere to be seen now. Dean appears to be doing little more than quietly passing the time.

After what happened this afternoon, Sam’s absence from Dean’s side is noteworthy enough to make Castiel apprehensive about joining him, but he pushes past his reservations and powers ahead. He’d rather sit with Dean in silence than go anywhere else, and though Dean has never said so, he knows that he’s not alone in his preference for spending what little downtime they have together.

Up close, he can see that the fire has burned down to little more than coals and ash. Dean prods at the sole remaining log with a stick, disrupting sparks and dark plumes of smoke that curl up into the night.

As Castiel sits beside him, the log shifts, pressing down into the loamy earth. Dean glances over to look at him. The weak light of the embers casts him in its deep orange glow, reflecting in his eyes, bright as the long-gone sunset. Something in Castiel’s chest settles at the sight.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks, offering the bag of Skittles. Castiel can only shrug as he takes a few and pops them into his mouth.

Almost as soon as he starts chewing, they dissolve into their component parts—citric acid splitting into carbon and hydrogen and oxygen; sucrose molecules breaking down into fructose and glucose. With effort, he focuses on all of them at once and captures a glimpse of the intended taste, just for a moment, before an unfathomable number of branched chain starch molecules unravel on his tongue, overwhelming the bright flavor he’d briefly enjoyed.

He’s been working on this. Testing things, training himself to taste the sum and not the parts. It’s a work in progress, but it’s one that he’s resolved to see through until it’s an automatic process.

“Relatively,” he says, and swallows the candy before he has to taste it any longer. “How are you?”

“Relatively,” Dean parrots, folding the bag up and poking it into his jacket pocket. “What a day, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“With Mom and Jack. Sleeping. Don’t think he wanted to be alone while he’s in the camp.”

Dean doesn’t gesture toward the place they designated to hold Lucifer overnight, but Castiel looks toward it anyway. He imagines he can feel his brother’s cold, prickling energy down to the tips of his fingers. Like frostbite. He frowns and turns back to Dean; tries to soak in his warmth instead.

“You should get some rest, too,” he says.

“Yeah, probably. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch.”

“Even by our standards,” Castiel agrees.

Dean huffs, his mouth ticking up to the right, and scuffs his heel in the dirt. Castiel watches as he picks idly at the log they sit upon; the twitch in his cheek as he hisses and inspects his index finger before raising it to his mouth. The shape of his lips as he tries to suck a splinter loose from where it's buried itself beneath his fingernail.

“Damnit,” Dean mutters, pulling his hand back to look at it with a frown.

��Here.”

Reaching out, Castiel catches Dean’s wrist in one hand and his fingers in the other, expending a shimmering wisp of grace to work the splinter free. He’s not sure what compels him to make such a show of it — he could have healed the minuscule injury from where he’s sitting without touching Dean at all — but he can’t help himself.

At some point, years ago, his duty to help Dean and his desire to be close to him got all tangled up. He can no longer recall when he’d started healing him through unnecessary touch, but it’s the singular selfish thing that he does, and he’s not planning on stopping unless Dean tells him to.

The splinter falls silently to the dirt at their feet. Castiel curls the tip of his index finger against the tiny puncture in Dean’s skin, directing his grace as it knits back together.

Beside him, Dean lets out an unsteady breath, and a pulse of love stretches out from his soul to brush against Castiel’s true form. If he’s being truly honest with himself, this is another major reason why Castiel allows himself to touch him in moments like this; he knows that Dean enjoys it as much as he does.

Despite all his half-hearted blustering about personal space, Dean is a tactile person, and the moments when Castiel heals him are the moments when his heart is the most open. When he lets himself feel the way he feels without holding back, just for a breath or two. It’s enough. It’s always been enough.

But now—the feeling draws out longer than usual, shifting to something closer to hunger, to desire, and Dean’s fingers flex a little in Castiel’s hand. When Castiel starts to pull away they turn to gently grip him back. And this…

This is new.

Not the feeling—that has been there for years, poorly concealed and just below the surface—but the action that echoes it. Dean has never done something like this, and Castiel has never been brave enough to try it himself. He’s still not, he realizes as he looks down at their hands tangled together and tries to strategize a safe response.

He’s got no ideas, so he doesn’t move. Couldn’t move if he tried.

“Y’know,” Dean says, interrupting his thoughts with his voice pitched low, and Castiel glances back up to see that his pupils are blown wide. Apprehensive. Tense. Aroused, Castiel’s mind supplies, and he pushes the thought away just in time for Dean to make him wonder if he’d been too hasty in rejecting it. “I don’t think I can stand to be alone tonight, either.”

There’s a clear, deliberate weight to Dean’s words, and although Castiel recognizes it for what it is almost immediately, he hasn’t got the slightest clue how he’s expected to address it. How could he? They’ve kept such a delicate balance for so long that even this one sentence feels monumental. It’s as though Dean has casually dropped an anchor onto a scale that would have been thrown off kilter by a feather, and now he’s just sitting here, acting as though he hasn’t just thrown out the entire rule book of their relationship.

Castiel is afraid to respond at all. He wishes he wasn’t, but fear compounded by habit is hard to shake.

“I could watch over you,” he offers eventually, hating himself for taking the easy way out even as he says it, and waiting for the inevitable refusal. Dean exhales as he slowly pulls his hand away and shifts his gaze back to the glowing embers.

“Aren’t you tired, Cas?”

“I’m running a little low on grace, but—”

“No, I mean—aren’t you tired of… of this.” He waves between them with an open hand, the movement far too casual to be anything but calculated, and glances back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “We could die tomorrow.”

“You could say that about every day, for us.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean huffs. “Look, can we just—”

Pushing to his feet, Dean takes a few steps away before turning back to look at Castiel, his hands tense at his sides, clenching into fists and releasing, over and over as though he needs the movement to keep from… something. Castiel isn’t sure what. But his eyes are pleading. Begging Castiel to meet him halfway.

Castiel wants to. He’s just trying to figure out how.

“Can we skip this part?” Dean asks.

“What do you—”

“The—” Dean briefly lifts his hands, then lets them fall helplessly back to his sides. “The… I don’t know, man. The freakin’ confessions. The discussion. The… the whole what now thing. All that bullshit.” He looks up at Castiel. “Can we just skip it?”

Castiel blinks, slow.

“You mean—”

“I mean I’ve had enough, Cas. I’m tired, and I don’t— I don’t see the point in ignoring this anymore. I haven’t really seen the point in a while. Didn’t want to rock the boat, I guess, but now…”

“But now you’re tired.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re rocking the boat.”

Dean doesn’t respond to the question directly; just looks at Castiel with a determination in his eyes that leaves no room for misunderstanding, and says, “I’m going to bed. You should come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Doesn’t even pause to see if his assumption that Castiel understands his meaning is correct.

Castiel is surprised at his confidence. Not because he’s wrong to have it, but because even though this thing that’s been growing between them for near on a decade has been more difficult to deny with every passing year, even though Castiel has been able to feel Dean’s longing for him as sharply as he’s been able to feel his own, Dean has still never acknowledged it in any concrete way.

For his own part, Castiel has given him more openings than his pride would like him to admit, but Dean’s played things so close to his chest the entire time that Castiel has always assumed he didn’t want to deal with it at all.

He just didn’t think they’d ever get here.

There’s always been something in the way. An apocalypse, a near death, an actual death. Something. When he came back from the Empty, miraculously alive again against all odds, he’d thought to himself, it’s now or never, and Dean had barreled into him, fingers pressed to the back of his neck as they’d embraced in a dimly lit alleyway, and Castiel had felt love radiating from him like light from a star, and still nothing had changed.

So, never, he’d thought. He’d made his peace with it. Being near Dean was enough, if being with Dean was not an option.

But now—

Dean is already nearing the dilapidated mess hall he’s been set up in for the night—the camp only has so much space for sleeping quarters—and Castiel hurries to catch up. He slips through the door behind him and into the dark.

Inside, the main room is cluttered and overfull with folding tables.

A dozen or so chairs are stacked along the walls, and the faint scent of instant coffee lingers in the air. Ahead, Dean maneuvers through a tight gap between tables toward a dark red door. When they make their way inside, it’s to find a cramped storeroom, where a thin bedroll and blanket has been set out for Dean on the floor alongside several unlabelled boxes and a shelf of cleaning supplies. His backpack sits at one end like a makeshift pillow.

Near the ceiling, there’s a single narrow window, and the moonlight that filters through its dusty pane catches on the buttons on Dean’s jacket, reflects bright in his eyes as he turns to look back at Castiel.

Years ago, in a similarly cramped storeroom in the Rexford Gas n Sip, Castiel had knelt on the floor to gather his things while Dean waited outside in the Impala, and wondered if perhaps one of them would be brave enough to ask for a single room at the motel they were headed toward.

He’d known already, even then, that what they felt for each other was far beyond the limits of friendship. Had felt it for a long time before that night, too, though it had taken an abrupt fall from Heaven and a brand new soul grown under the worst possible circumstances for him to truly understand what it meant.

But just for a few minutes, kneeling in that storeroom, he’d thought that perhaps this was the night. That Dean would make his move. That he’d summon the courage to make a move himself.

The way Dean had looked at him earlier that night had him feeling recklessly hopeful, and he’d been halfway convinced that they’d arrive at the Rexford Motor Inn, and their hands would touch as they walked to the room, and some understanding would pass between them.

That they’d fall into one another before they even managed to get through the door.

He’d thought about it in sharp detail. Imagined confessing to Dean, telling him how the first thing he’d felt when the angels stopped falling was the overwhelming desire to hear Dean’s voice. To see him. To hold him. To breathe him in.

How his fledgling soul ached every day that they’d been apart; how he’d realized, finally, that this thing between them was love.

He’d imagined it countless different ways as he pushed to his feet with a plastic bag in his hand, as he left the building and locked the door behind him, as he’d gripped the cool metal of the Impala’s door handle. As Dean’s hand had settled on the back of his seat while they reversed out of the parking space, fingers brushing carelessly against the back of Castiel’s neck.

He’s lost in the memory, still trying to wrap his head around what they’re doing here when Dean laughs aloud. Castiel meets his eyes, and feels the soul tangled up with his grace sing at the sight.

“Sorry,” Dean says, and there’s a touch of wild hysteria in his voice. “Just…” He gestures loosely around them. “Kinda hilarious that this is… we’re basically in a goddamn closet.”

Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh himself, and Dean’s gaze drops to his mouth. It’s not the first time that’s happened. It’s not even the first time Castiel has noticed. It’s different now, though.

Because this time, Dean doesn’t immediately look away. He doesn’t step back or crack a joke or lash out or deflect. He looks at Castiel’s mouth, and he keeps on looking. And looking. And looking. Castiel feels as though he might buzz right out of his body if he doesn’t just—

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes lift to meet Castiel’s, and there’s a shade of reckless humor in them. Something devious and endlessly irritating that makes Castiel want to throttle him for making him wait, even now, when they’re supposedly not doing that anymore.

“Yeah?”

“What are you waiting for?”

The answer, as it turns out, is nothing. Dean grins, and crowds into his space, and kisses him. Just like that.

As though it’s always been this easy. Maybe it has been.

Raising one palm to rest against Castiel’s chest, Dean slides the other into his hair, thumb dragging soft against the back of his ear as he moves him into place, and Castiel lets himself be directed. Lets Dean push him back until he’s pressed firmly against the door. Lets Dean tilt his chin just so, and deepen their kiss.

The memory of Dean’s fingers accidentally brushing against his neck that night in the Impala comes rushing back full force now that Dean is holding him there so purposefully. Kissing him with a hunger that Castiel had resigned himself to thinking would never be sated.

Even now, he’s still not sure it will be. Dean is kissing him, but Castiel still longs for him as though they aren’t pressed flush together.

Castiel isn’t sure if his perception is skewed by love, but as Dean’s lips part, he decides that despite the molecules, Skittles taste better on Dean’s tongue, and it suddenly feels incredibly important that Dean knows. Not about the Skittles, but the rest. Everything.

Can we skip it? Dean had asked, but now that they’re here, Castiel realizes that doesn’t want to.

They’ve avoided talking for years, and as Dean put it—Castiel is tired.

With his hands on Dean’s waist, working under his jacket to pull him closer still even as he breaks their kiss, Castiel does what he hadn’t been brave enough to do in Rexford. He tells Dean the truth.

[keep reading on ao3]

#deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #cass writes fic #here have some smut

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 3 years

Text

(Gen Start-Up) Not Worth It pt. 1

{Reader gets sent from our world to middle earth and falls in love with either Fili/Kili/Thoron or heck maybe all three, I'll leave that up to you, and upon coming to middle earth they get the healing powers. All they gotta do is put their hands on the person and concentrate. BUT these healing abilities have a cost if the injury is severe. Maybe they either transfer the injury to themselves until it evens out between the two? Or it takes a lot of energy from them and if they use it too much they will die. Then Reader tries to heal Thorin/Kili/Fili at the end." --- Britishfajita}

Fluff and Slight Angst

Authors Note: This is the beginning of a wonderful three (or maybe more) part connected series! Same reader for all three of the Durin's who I plan to make this for. There may be multiple parts for them, idk yet. We'll just see what happens :D!

The Durins/Reader

----

You could have been so extraordinary in your past life.

Special, wanted, powerful.

And, to some extent, you were wanted and desired, but you could never deliver on those expectations and hopes.

Your special ability to heal, ease pain, and help others was never anything special where you lived. Many people had healing abilities similar to and better than yours, and most, if none, had the drawbacks that yours did.

Where normal healers can use their powerful auras to mend and strengthen others to accelerate the healing process, yours is much more of a give and take, parasitic relationship between 'doctor' and patient. Instead of your aura enhancing the healing ability of others, it instead participates in a transfer that can leave you wounded yourself.

You retain your ability to heal and, essentially, switch auras in a wound transferral. You do not always inherit the wounds of those you heal, however.

Depending on the severity of an injury, you may be left winded, tired, or extremely hungry, but in more serious instances, the damages completely transfer to you instead.

The best way to exemplify this would be to explain how you found out about this horrible symbiotic relationship in the first place.

Your parents knew you were a healer from a young age, for there are individuals who test all children in schools to determine what classes they will need to hone their abilities, and they figured out your ameliorative nature rather easily.

The fatigue and pain you sometimes felt during training and classes was just chalked up to your control and aura being weaker, for your parasitic power was something very uncommon at the time.

It happened during your first ever shift at the local hospital.

Up to this point you've only ever dealt with smaller wounds because of your easy fatigue and exhaustion, but this day was different.

A disaster struck a nearby bank that left 40 people, and counting, injured, and it was all hands on deck. Every person on staff had somethings to do, and when a young woman with debris sticking out of her abdomen came rolling in, you were the only one free to help at the time.

You took up the assignment without hesitation, but as soon as you began to heal her, something felt different.

There was no weakness at first, something very alien to you, and you were able to heal her in record time for even one of the most skilled (and normal) healers, only, you eventually realized that something wasn't right.

The pain you felt that day was horrible and unimaginable, and you went down in a matter of moments.

It wasn't until 5 minutes later that someone found you unconscious on the ground, pale and barely breathing. If it weren't for your current location, you certainly would've died that day.

That young woman had been saved and, somehow, her power had been enhanced as well after your treatment, but it left your aura damaged and practically sucking the life out of you following her miraculous recovery.

The whole premise of your power is the nature of give and take. You give a piece of your aura to someone else to heal and enhance them (be it their power, strength, wakefulness, or anything else), and in return you take a part of theirs and become weakened depending on how much you give, needing to rest and regenerate what you gave away in that moment. You can also heal yourself of your own, personally received wounds without incident, which is rather strange.

For most, there is a finite amount of their aura that they can ever have throughout the duration of their lives, but your supply is nearly endless. However, the more you spend healing or helping, the more you lose. You can regenerate your aura forever, but if you keep going without ceasing, then your life will eventually begin to drain too, to compensate for your loss.

It isn't an instant process, though, for it takes time for your body to catch up to how much of your power you spend, so you had to train really hard from that moment on to ensure that you never spend more than you've earned.

If it weren't for this fateful vice of yours, you'd probably be one of the most powerful healers in your world; the only limit to the wounds you may heal is your own aura and life force, and the amount of time it takes all depends on your concentration and intent.

Because of this, you became unwanted.

Unwanted in a sense that, people did want you to help them become stronger, but no organization or job wanted to hire such a liability, and those with such horrible vices are always subject to horrible criticism and scrutiny, so you eventually just stopped using your ability altogether.

It isn't until you fall into Middle Earth that you start to habitually use your powers again, and it's because of the life-threatening journey you're forced to join.

Here in Middle Earth, however, you're one of a kind.

There is healing magic and those gifted with the knowledge of higher level healing, but your ability to heal simply using your hands and mind is something totally unheard of.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield were the poor unfortunate souls that you scared half to death on the day you arrived in Middle Earth.

You came, quite literally, out of nowhere.

One second you were washing the dishes in your house and the next you were unconscious in another world.

From their perspective you came falling out of a tall tree, nothing to break your fall other than the cold, unforgiving dirt below, and it successfully gave everyone a huge scare.

Your right arm seemed to have broken and you were horribly battered and bruised, and the dwarfs, hobbit, and lone wizard couldn't just leave you there.

They made camp for the night and made you as comfortable as possible, hoping above all else that you'll wake up at some point, and you eventually do. Though, it isn't a nice or very calm occurrence.

When you finally woke up to a new hat and 4 thick wool blankets smothering you, you freaked out.

At first, you thought someone had kidnapped you or something, but the calm, old wizard named 'Gandalf' managed to calm you and explain that you're not healthy enough to be thrashing and panicking so frantically.

That's when you shocked them all.

You managed to kick off those pesky blankets and shake off that too-warm, but also soft hat, and get a look at yourself, and you were dismayed to see so much of your skin marred with bruises, cuts, scrapes, welts, etc, and your broken arm was unsightly enough to make you nearly sick.

"I-I'll fix it then, I guess." You grumbled nervously, laying back down in the heaping pile of blankets to focus on mending your broken and shattered bones, re-weaving your muscles together, and accelerating the healing of the more superficial wounds.

By the time you were nearly completely healed you were too tired to finish fixing the cuts, scrapes, and other lacerations, so they were left as week-old injuries that had been scabbed over and mostly fixed.

When your eyes fluttered open again you were, once again, shocked to see multiple people leaning over you with awestruck expressions, and you realized in that moment that things were even less right than you initially feared.

Rather quickly did you realize and accept that you were no longer in the same place or time as you were before, but the news was actually fairly easy to accept because of the nature of your past life.

You were probably accidentally sent here by someone with power over the space-time continuum, and it's impossible to come back from one of those accidents. You didn't trouble yourself with coming up with a way to go back home, because you knew for a fact that it was over. You'll be here until the day you die.

You made fast friends with the two younger Durin brothers, for they were always full of questions and curiosity for you and your abilities. Many times have you had to heal them as well, for they're quite prone to trouble.

Small things were always easy to heal, so your powers proved to make you not only a very desired part of the group, but the subject of heavy praise and kind words; it's wonderful and new, for you were neither wanted nor praised in your old home once your crippling vice made itself present.

Night after night you helped them to sleep, gave them the strength to carry on, rid them of discomforts and small, painful wounds, and, essentially, made the original healer of the group, Oin, obsolete (in a good way for him, of course). Oin taught you some things about natural medicine and was, ultimately, allowed to focus on rest and fighting (which you assume is good for a dwarf of his age).

Being needed and relied on feels like heaven, and for the first time in 5 years, you have a purpose.

The true nature of your healing powers didn't become apparent to them until the fight following the Goblin Tunnels, for Thorin Oakenshield is nearly fatally wounded in his fight against Azog the Defiler, and he's left weak and dying.

The group runs as fast as their feet can carry them as those wargs and nasty orcs draw near, chasing all of you to a cliffside with plentiful trees and nowhere to go.

It's a dead end, and those foul creatures know as much.

You aren't much of a fighter so Bofur and Fili keep you ahead of them, urging you to climb the far tree with Gandalf and some of the others, and you do so without hesitation.

Fear drives your frantic climbing and trembling muscles, and, with great effort, you manage to climb far enough that those horrible dog beasts cannot reach you.

Everyone manages to climb a tree and avoid a violent death that would leave them in pieces, and you're relieved to see that there isn't much the enemy can do in this moment; that is, until they begin to uproot the trees and push everyone further back into the barely hanging on tree you already reside in.

There is absolutely no way this flimsy tree will hold all of you for long if the wargs loosen the soil around the roots, and it seems that you're not the only one to notice this.

Gandalf prepares the perfect pinecone ammo that serves as an excellent enemy deterrent, for the flames burning within the heart of the pinecones spread easily and set the cliffside alight.

The wargs retreat to escape a fiery death, but the triumph doesn't last long, for the tree begins to creak and groan as it dips beneath the weight of all 15 of you.

"T-The tree's going to fall!" You cry hopelessly, unsure what to do.

A fall from this height would kill everyone before you even had a chance to try and heal them, and this knowledge leaves an empty, useless hole in your heart.

"Everything will work out the way it's supposed to, Master Healer." The grey wizard tells you, though you can hear the unease and slight panic in his voice as well.

You open your mouth to say more, but movement catches in your peripherals and you turn your head to see what it is.

There stands Thorin Oakenshield on the thick trunk of the tree, facing the white orc with murder and hate shining in his blue-gray eyes, and your heart drops all the way down to the violent deaths below you when you realize what it is he plans to do.

The to-be King Under the Mountain abandons the tree and meets the orc in a battle, albeit short, and he loses.

Just by looking at the way that albino dog uses him like a chew toy is enough to fill you with dread, and when another orc goes in for the dying blow, you're fully prepared to experience this horrible tragedy, only it never happens.

That brave little hobbit, Bilbo, challenges the rest of the goblins one on one, and his bravery encourages everyone able to get back up and fight.

Only, this secondary fight doesn't last for terribly long, for these huge, magnificent birds come soaring out of seemingly nowhere, and they scoop up each and every one of you.

Cue a short, but also liberating, journey to the nearest, safe area (which just so happened to be a secluded and inaccessible mountain top).

As soon as your feet touch the ground you're being scooped up into a strong pair of arms, and the perpetrator breathes your name with relief on their lips.

"Are you alright?" It's Kili, the taller of the two Durin brothers.

You nod your head once and hug him in response, winding your toned healer arms tightly around his shoulders for a few beats before you pull away.

A quick glance around shows you that some of the others still have yet to touchdown on the peak with all of you, so you instead move to Fili, who had rode to his brother, and hug him next.

The blond heir firmly locks his thick arms around your middle and holds you to him for a moment, but his arms disappear as soon as Thorin is gently dropped to the ground, bloodied and broken.

Gandalf rushes over to the heavily wounded dwarf and kneels down next to his unmoving form, and Bilbo runs up behind him with wide, stunned eyes.

You pull away from Fili and rush to Thorin's side without hesitation, falling to your knees beside him as you immediately hover your palms over his body to find the biggest issues ailing him.

The internal bleeding catches your attention right away, caused by the bone crushing bite from the white warg, and you start working on healing that without hesitation.

You know that a wound such as this will hurt you, but it doesn't halt your frantic healing for even a second.

The mountain peak is dead silent while you work your magic on the unconscious Thorin, the knowledge that they would be lost without him spurring you on, and in a matter of 5 minutes he's groaning and his eyes are opening.

You feel nothing at first which tells you that soon his damaged aura will begin affecting you, so you slowly rise to your feet and move away from the still grounded Thorin to avoid falling on him if you do go down.

Pats on the back and praises are thrown your way as you separate yourself from the king, but they cease the moment Fili worriedly asks, "Wait- What... what's wrong?" He seemed to have noticed your shaky movements right away as your health begins to deplete.

You step up to Gandalf and place your hand gently onto his shoulder, mumbling with slurred words, "Gandalf, I should've told you before..."

The old man looks up at you with worried eyes, and he rises to his feet so he can grasp your trembling arms with gentle hands, "You should have 'told me before'? Told me what?"

"I..." You begin to speak, but you're unable to form another coherent thought as your legs suddenly give out from beneath you, and you slump forward into the cloaked wizard.

Gandalf releases your arm at light speed and catches you around the waist, slowly lowering you down to the ground before your eyes slide shut and your consciousness fades in place of Thorin's.

---

Gandalf the Gray was not too happy with you when you woke up sometime later, having had to save you after you saved Thorin with no prior knowledge regarding the truth about your ability.

He scolded you first, calling your actions foolish and scaring you with information on how you could have died had it been any worse and had he been any worse at his job, and then he thanked you.

"But even so, still must I say with the utmost gratitude; thank you. The service you provided was well beyond what we asked for, and much more than we deserved. After all you've been through and done for us, you would have been right to keep to yourself and not heal him. You are a very good person, Y/N, and I should like to see you survive this journey."

Is he telling you not to heal people anymore, or is he telling you to be more careful, you wonder.

Apparently this situation scared everyone shitless, because as soon as Gandalf was done getting on your case, you received countless apologies for having you heal small, meaningless wounds and for the other things you've done for them.

Of course, you tried to explain that the smaller boosts and injuries are nothing for you, but you were still apologized to a whole bunch anyways.

Fili and Kili's apologies stuck out to you the most, however.

When everyone felt better knowing that they'd informed you that you no longer need to waste your power healing them and the excitement died down, the two brothers approached with sad expressions darkening their handsome faces.

"You should have told us that we were hurting you." The dark-haired dwarf informed you sadly, taking up one of your hands in his carefully.

"We wouldn't have bothered you so much if we knew." The blond-haired brother agrees, swiping up your other hand in one of his.

Their words make you grimace, and you try to console them. "No, the smaller things don't hurt at all! I don't 'get hurt' because I heal you, I only suffer when it's a major wound that needs to heal more than just the body."

Their expressions don't change and they don't seem to fully believe you, so you try to explain in simpler terms.

You squeeze both their hands weakly, still needing rest to regenerate your own aura, then reiterate, "Think of it this way. You've got a huge jug of water about this big," you make a big circle with your arms, " and it's completely full. Now, if you take a sip of the water when you get a little thirsty and look inside again, it will look the exact same, and you can refill it super quickly... now, if you and a few others are super thirsty, dehydrated, and you need to take big drinks then it drains even more, and very soon it's almost a quarter empty. It takes longer to fill it up then, because there's way less because of how thirsty you were."

They both look at you and nod their heads slowly in understanding, but you simplify it a little more after that.

"So, what I'm trying to say is that if I do something small like help you sleep or heal a cut, maybe mend a headache, I'll only feel a little tired if that, but if it's something horrible like Thorin's wound, then it affects me more severely. It almost transfers to me, but not the physical injury, just the effect of it while my 'power' heals yours."

Everyone is listening at this point, and it seems that they all gain a better understanding of what you can do.

It seems Gandalf figured it out, though, judging by his unsurprised expression and slightly proud smile (pride because of your easy to understand explanation, most likely).

"So... what about now, then?" Kili asks, still holding your hand by your side, "What do you need?"

"To rest. Only for a little while until my water replenishes."

---

It's going to take around a day for your aura to heal and your strength to return, but, unfortunately, you don't have the luxury to just lay back and relax like you want.

You all had to stay on the move, so the dwarfs took turns carrying you on their backs.

At first you denied any and all requests for piggy back rides, embarrassed by the mere thought of being hauled around all day while you wait for your aura to heal, but it goes that way regardless.

First it's Fili and Kili, then Dori (the strongest *according to the book*), Dwalin, and, finally, Thorin.

Thorin carried you for around an hour or so, and each step he took was careful. He wanted to make your ride as comfortable as possible, and he was succeeding for the most part (you're as comfortable as someone on a piggyback ride can be).

"How are you feeling?" You ask at some point, adjusting your gentle grip around his shoulders as you do.

"I should be the one asking you that question." He replies without missing a beat, turning his head to the left slightly to catch a glimpse of you.

You don't say anything right away, looking at him with a small frown before countering, "Okay, but I asked your first."

"Truthfully, it shames me to say that I feel very good at the moment. My strength has returned tenfold, and I feel as if I've just recovered from a long rest."

"It shames you?" You ask softly, leaning your head against his carefully, "Don't let it. I chose to do that knowing fully well what I was getting myself into."

Thorin sighs heavily and shifts his grip on your legs, "I do not wish to treat you as a child. I respect your choice, but I must implore that you do not waste your life on me. It simply isn't worth it. You're too precious."

You feel your face heat up and you find that you become slightly embarrassed. "Thank you Thorin, but I think that a king is slightly more important then a commoner from another world."

"No... a king is only as strong as his people, friends, and allies. And I happen to value you as all three."

You don't argue or disagree this time and instead just nod your head once, "Then I'll say thank you again."

The rest of your conversations with Thorin are much more light hearted and wholesome, and you find that this piggyback riding isn't as bad as you initially though it would be.

#the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit bilbo #reader #fili x reader #kili x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #fili #kili #Thorin Oakenshield #healer reader #Not Worth It pt.1

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