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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Bless Your Solemn Unending Virtue {Charles Xavier x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3384 TW: Reader death, drug use, sexual assault, prejudice. Summary: Sometimes a smile hides what’s behind the surface. And sometimes, even being a superhero, grow to be too much. Accompanying song: Judy Garland by Frog.

You were a hero. It was about more than the spandex, tight-fighting outfit and the cheesy lines that they made you say in the comics. It was about more than the kids who went as you for Halloween, their costumes getting compliments and candy. It was about more than your face being in the tabloids of celebrity magazines, pictures of you with your husband Charles, a fellow hero. It was about more than being girls night with your super kinswomen, Jean Grey and Jubilee. It was about more than the muggings you stopped, the carjackings you prevented. Did anyone know what it really was about? It was about the feeling of safety, and knowing that at the end of a hard day, you were there to keep the city protected. That no matter what was thrown against you - and there were a lot of those things - you kept up the smile and made it all seem effortless. And then, after that, it was about how you were taken for granted.

“I’m too lazy to lock my door tonight - it’s okay, y/n will make sure I don’t get robbed.”

“My date canceled on me tonight. Oh well, at least I can walk home alone in the dark and watch the news, and see what y/n did tonight.”

“Yeah, I know y/n saved the world but Professor X really was the power behind it. He made her career when he discovered her.”

“I don’t care who Y/N saves, as long as they look hot doing it!”

You, of course, grew tired of it. There were times when you wanted to give the whole superhero thing up - move out of New York state and settle somewhere no one knew your name, or your superhero name. Have kids, a backyard, no cameras. But Charles would always remind you of what you would be leaving behind, and you never could have that. So up went the frosty smiles in front of the paparazzi, in the same way that they would point their cameras up to do close ups on inappropriate parts of your uniform. And up went the number of times that Charles would have to put his own morals aside and use his powers on innocent people to get them to stop taking those photos and publishing them in their greasy magazines.

“I’m just so tired, Charles,” You said one night over dinner. You had gone up against Magneto once more, or as you referred to him, Charles’ true love. And you came out a little worse for wear but at least there wasn’t a body count. You were bruised, blistered, burnt, scratched - just completely exhausted.

“I know, love,” Charles said, putting his hand on top of yours gently. “But you have these mutations for a reason. These gifts. They’re to help people-”

“They’re mutations, Charles, you say that over and over. It’s just a defect that we were born with,” You sighed, moving your hand away from him. “I can’t take much more of all of this - I’m .. I’m drying up.”

“You are ... unendingly good,” Charles said, taking your hand back and kissing the top of it gently. “That’s what makes you, you. Not your talents. It’s that you want to help people...”

“I do, I do want to help people,” You said, eyes gazing downwards at your lap. “You’re right, of course. I can’t give up.” You smiled uneasily then continued to eat your food. You were married to someone who could read minds, and yet, you felt so entirely misunderstood.

God - you loved Charles. You loved the way that he would hold you in his arms and take you for rides on his wheelchair. He never complained about your weight because he could never feel it. Almost everyday felt like the honeymoon phase. You were happy with him. And you were happy with your work. Knowing that you were helping people was a good feeling. But it still felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Like you needed more help, more support. Like your knees were buckling and you were going to fall down any minute now.

You’ve achieved so much. They unveiled a statue of you in New York City after you stopped Mr. Sinister, which was the toughest battle of your life. And you were expected to stand there and smile and wave and look grateful when what you wanted to do was yell at them to spend that money for actual good. Like repairing the damage that the battle had done. Or giving it to the people who needed it most. You didn’t need a statue. You needed - you didn’t even know. And because you didn’t know, you couldn’t ask for it. Even Charles didn’t know. Perhaps it was just to make the world quiet for a little while so you could focus on yourself, but no one could complete that request. But the world continued on voluby, never stopping. God himself couldn’t quell the pain in your heart.

A short time later, more statues came and yours got overshadowed. You didn’t mind this, but it was hard sometimes to be told that all of the work that you had done, you managed to do because of the men that you worked alongside. You were a team player, of course, there was no doubt about that. It brought on a world of insecurities and you began to work harder, work faster, work to the point of exhaustion.

If life was not about to bring you a break, you would break it. You skipped meals to go on training. You had sleepless nights and lived off of small breaks, and coffee, and took up the terrible habit of smoking because it made your stomach feel fuller. The years passing and your body getting weaker as you grew older took a toll on you. But not Charles. No, he became more and more powerful as time went on, and he got all of the praise for the work that you gave blood, sweat and tears for. And you had to hide it from your own thoughts. Drown it with alcohol, then turned to other things to make your mind go blank for a time. He knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure it out. He’d ask you as you would lay in bed together, and you would lie to him. If he knew that he made you feel that way, that the public made you feel that way because of him, he would feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault. He shouldn’t feel that way.

Another public event. Another chance to smile. At least there were children this time, and you did a lot of this for the children. You bent over and signed autographs, took pictures, gave them all the attention that their little hearts desired. Your own was full, and this was one of the few public excursions that you didn’t regret. Though your life was becoming more and more publicized, it was less actual heroic work. But you kept on your diet of coffee, alcohol, cigarettes and more commonly these days - drugs. You were sober for the first time in days, just for these little angels.

“I want to be just like you when I grow up!” A little girl had said this to you, and it caused a little burning in your heart, like a cigarette burn.

“You know, I was thinking just the same thing about you,” You said with a sad smile. “It’s the hope of people like you that makes real heroes. You should aspire to be yourself, not somebody else, okay sweetheart?”

Just as you were about to stand back up straight, an unfamiliar hand slapped at your rear - hard. In surprise, you shot back up and turned around.

A man that you had never seen before was looking at his own hand lovingly. The hand that had just slapped your ass. People were walking around the two of you like they hadn’t noticed it happening, but they must have. There were a couple of giggles from women who had witnessed it, and a man even gave a friendly pat on the shoulder and a ‘good one’ to the assailant as he passed on by. They were congratulating this man, and not even giving a thought to you!

The assailant caught your eye and gave a wink. “I think that thing is the most super thing about you!” He said, looking as if he had expected you to laugh along with his joke. When you didn’t, his mood changed. He started to get angry. “Feel lucky that I even noticed! People like you need to a get a sense of humor! It’s all in the business, sweetheart!”

Shocked, and completely appalled, embarrassed and humiliated, you slunk away. No one had stood up for you, or gave any indication that what he had done was wrong. That felt like more of a defeat than any you had been served from the hand of a villain.

You hadn’t been going out as often, preferring to lock yourself in the sanctuary of the school that Charles had created. You still faithfully went out and saved the world when the occasion called for it but you found it more satisfying to teach than to perform. Because that’s all that it felt like now - performances. A move to the right, a move to the left, attack. It was a dance number and you rarely ever missed your step, but when you did, you paid for it.

‘Y/N lets Shadow King Escape! Professor X and Cyclops Save the Day!’

‘Is Y/N Losing Her Edge?’

‘Close Contacts of Y/N Say That They Have Mental Problems!’

“Are you alright?” Charles asked you one night when he found you with a score of these newspapers around you in the back garden. He picked one up, skimmed the title, then let it drop down to the ground. “Do you want me to call them?”

“No, no,” You shook your head, hiding the tears that were building up behind your eyes. “They’re just nonsense, aren’t they? Other than this one.” You held up the first one, the one that mentioned him and your former pupil. “At least this one is accurate. You did save the day,” You smiled weakly. “I’m so proud of you, handsome.”

“You did a lot too. I don’t want you to think that you didn’t...” Charles said. For once, he didn’t know how to approach this. He was a smooth talker and could charm you most of the time when you were down, but this was something new. He had made a promise to you that he would not invade your thoughts, but he was so tempted to break that promise right now. He could feel something in the air. The energy around you was entirely different to what it had been before. You were approaching something dark.

“Don’t worry about me, Charlie,” You said, using a nickname that he usually hated but put up with coming from you. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, remembering the hair that was there. You didn’t miss it much. “Staying positive is one of my superpowers.”

Even you didn’t buy that anymore.

You snuck out on a Sunday afternoon when you knew your absence wouldn’t be noted for a while. Charles was busy marking papers and your students were enjoying the weather. You took a car into the closest city, parked it, adjust hat that covered your head in an attempt to hide your face, and strolled down the street. It felt nice to be noticed. You were just an ordinary citizen walking down the street, feeling the breeze. Why, you might even stop in for lunch somewhere, or go shopping! The possibilities seemed endless.

It was the bells that caught your attention. An afternoon service at a church. Your feet were leading you there before you could stop them, and you stepped inside the air conditioned building to find a service was just about to begin. You could use a little faith in your life right about now. Even if you weren’t a religious person, surely you could find some comfort here today.

You sat in a pew in the back so as not to draw any attention to yourself. The congregation had all removed their headwear in respect to listen to the father speak, so you did so as well, resting it on your lap. Nobody even looked at you. It caused you to grow more comfortable, not having the stares. Why, if only life could be this quiet everyday!

The father was rather boisterous. There was singing, there was dancing! It didn’t feel like you were being preached to, which was lovely. It was like a sense of community, although you were reluctant to join in. But sitting out would only have brought scornful looks, so you were on your feet, singing along though you didn’t know all the words. He walked up and down the hallway, and it was on his second walk-through that he noticed you and stopped dead in his tracks.

“We have an outsider in our midst today, folks!” He said, bringing all of the attention to you and to you alone. You started to reach for your hat, but the stares were already there. “Sweating like a whore in church.”

You weren’t expecting that kind of language from a father, but the hate in his eyes was clear. “I - I don’t know what you-” You started in an attempt to defend yourself but he stopped you.

“Mutants are an abomination in the face of God. We toss you out, sinner, we toss you out!”

With horror, you left the church, and ran and ran until you nearly smacked into a giant oak tree in a nearby park. It was there that Hank found you an hour later, your face still puffy from the tears that you had shed. They were from shame, from humiliation, from not understanding why, why couldn’t you just be accepted in a place without being noticed? But then you took a look at Hank as he drove your car back to the school and realized that it truly was hard to live like this. You might not have been covered in blue fur but you were highly recognizable as a mutant. That was your legacy, no matter what else you might attempt to do.

It was Ororo who found you first. She’d come to ask your advice on something, but you weren’t answering the door. Charles was teaching downstairs, so she knew that you two weren’t having ‘uninterrupted time’. “Y/N, are you okay in there?”

There was no answer.

Your car was still in garage, so you weren’t out. Apart from sleeping, which was odd for you to do in the middle of the day, there was no good reason for you not to be opening the door. Rather than bother Charles, she sent a little lightning charge through the electronic lock so it would open easily. She called your name once more when she stepped inside and turned on the lights. There was nothing out of place that she could see except for one thing - you weren’t there. The bed was made, the closet and bathroom doors were closed, the floor was spotless.

She went to the bathroom next and knocked on that door, thinking perhaps you were just being overly cautious about the locks while using it. “Are you taking a bath?” She asked aloud, but there was no response. She held the handle and turned it to find that though the door was not locked, it didn’t open all the way. There was something inside that was stopping it. The light from the main bedroom shone in just enough for her to see a hand on the ground with familiar rings on it - yours.

“Y/N!” She cried out frantically, then ran out of the room to find someone to come and help break down the door. Logan was the one to do it, slashing at the wood until the top half came off, and ended up falling on top of your body. The rest was cut off from the hinges with his blades, and he picked it up and threw it out of the way. His thoughts on seeing you were so strong that Charles could hear them from below. He froze up in the middle of his lecture, his mouth open, unable to breathe. A couple of the students got up to see if he was alright, but he was having trouble comprehending just what was happening.

The cause of death was overdose. It was hard to tell if it was on purpose or not, since you had asked for your next few days of classes to be canceled. Charles had been able to tell that there was something going on for a long time, but you never opened up about it. You had attempted to be strong on the outside while on the inside, everything was breaking down. No amount of shocks from Ororo were able to bring you back again.

The change in the world that happened after your funeral was something that not even Charles had been able to foresee. You had been buried on the school grounds, as you had once stated you wanted. There was no statue put up on your honor, for you would have hated that. Just a simple gravestone as if you were a normal person, and Charles planted a tree on top of you, so you would still be bringing beauty to the place. It had been a simple ceremony, but then there had been another that was more televised. It was what the world wanted.

There was a decline in crime - not because the bad guys were hiding away or decided to give up, oh no. It was because the people were fighting the injustices that you had dealt with for years. Men who attempted to sexually assault women were beat down and taught a lesson that it was never okay to put your hands on someone. The little girl who had seen you being groped by a strange man remembered his face, and after your death, she found him and while wearing an identical costume to the one that you wore, she reminded him of the ‘hands off’ lesson she had learned in kindergarten.

Hank McCoy told the story about how he had found you near the church, and how you had been thrown out merely for being who you are. How you had not been a distraction, how you did not disrespect anyone in any sort of way. How the world was still a place with prejudices. Every student from Xavier’s School went to the Church that Sunday and filled the pews for each service that was held that day. The father refused to speak for the morning and the afternoon services, but when Evening came around, he was told from higher up that he must give his sermon. A cardinal had come to sit in, and he found delightful conversation with Charles Xavier himself. Magneto, or Erik as he was still known to some people, sat in the first row next to his old friend Charles.

“You’re still a beauty, darling,” Charles would say to your grave every night, before lightly kissing the stone. The riots in the cities went on, but it was for the better and no mutant put a stop to any of it. Your heroics were celebrated once more, and so was the person that was behind the costume. There were calls to the masses that no one should ever treat someone like that again.

And that no person, man, woman, child, should ever have to put on a fake smile for the world’s sake.

#Charles Xavier #Charles Xavier x reader #Charles Xavier oneshot #XMen #XMen oneshots #Marvel #Marvel oneshots #request #oneshot #oneshots #charlesx

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notfromanotherworld · 3 years

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Avengers: Endgame would like you to think of it as a woke movie. Feminist, even. Not feminist in any way that might be annoying or challenging or alienating to its audience, but in a fun, empowering way...

Yet Marvel has consistently wasted Black Widow. It has sidelined her, saddled her with weak storylines, and failed to give her the kind of star billing it has bestowed on the men of the original Avengers.

And her fate in Endgame feels like the biggest waste yet.

Black Widow’s Endgame arc plays into one of the oldest and grossest tropes in comics

Endgame kind of quasi-fridges Black Widow.

When I say “fridging,” I’m referring to the infamous comic book trope of the woman in the refrigerator. The term was coined by comic book writer Gail Simone in 1999, after Green Lantern’s girlfriend Alexandra DeWitt was murdered and stuffed into a literal refrigerator, but it describes more than just that specific comic book death. Its broader meaning refers to the frequency with which women in comic books are killed in order to motivate the men in their life to achieve some grand act of heroism: think Gwen Stacy dying so that Spider-Man feels real bad, or Elektra dying so that Daredevil has something new to brood about.

Aja Romano and Alex Abad-Santos explained why the woman in the refrigerator is such a troubling trope for Vox last year:

The viewpoint of the Women in Refrigerators trope is that women are essentially ... not fully human. That is, they don’t actually do anything; they don’t make choices of their own, or do their own things or have their own lives. Everything we see them do onscreen is in relation to the men around them; their actions are most often about influencing or impacting a man’s actions or behavior.

Essentially, when we say that a female character has been “fridged,” we’re saying that she has been treated like an object who has less human worth than the men around her. She is valuable to the extent that her pain can motivate them...

Black Widow’s death isn’t exactly a classic fridging, which is why I’m qualifying it with “quasi.” For one thing, she is not the only person who dies in Endgame. She’s also a fully fledged character, not just a wife or a girlfriend who was only written into the story in the first place so that she could die and make everyone else sad. And she dies of her own free will, sacrificing herself in pursuit of the Soul Stone in one last blazing display of competence, not because she’s killed by a bad guy who wants to use her as a tool to hurt the men around her.

But Black Widow dies before any of Endgame’s other main characters. While Iron Man’s death overshadows the entire end of the film, and he gets a long, lingering funeral sequence, Black Widow’s death comes halfway through, and it’s primarily used to give the remainder of the now all-male team of original Avengers something to be sad about as they gear up for the movie’s final battle. Basically, she dies in order to motivate a group of men. And after her death, she’s mentioned only briefly, as though she’s been all but forgotten. Those are the same storytelling dynamics that make a classic fridging so damaging...

Black Widow’s quasi-fridging is borderline enough that it might not feel as gross as it does if it weren’t for what had already happened to Black Widow. But her death in Endgame is weirdly linked to her controversial arc from 2015’s Avengers: Age of Ultron, which was so despised that it almost single-handedly destroyed Joss Whedon’s reputation as feminist...

In Age of Ultron, Natasha is pursuing a romantic relationship with Bruce Banner, a.k.a. the Hulk, a love story that received little foreshadowing and which later MCU entries would almost entirely abandon. Bruce is reluctant to go along with the idea, though, on account of how he periodically turns into a giant green rage monster, and he doesn’t think he should inflict his monstrousness on someone else.

But, Natasha says, she’s a monster too. She was made a monster by the people who turned her into a superspy:

They sterilize you. It’s efficient. One less thing to worry about, the one thing that might matter more than a mission. It makes everything easier — even killing. You still think you’re the only monster on the team?

As Vox’s Todd VanDerWerff pointed out in 2015, in the context of Black Widow’s larger arc, Natasha is probably saying that the mysterious awful things she did in the past as a superspy are what made her a monster. But in the context of the scene, it sure does sound like she’s saying she’s a monster because she can’t have children...

To be fair, Mark Ruffalo’s version of the Hulk never did get a standalone movie either after the flop of 2008’s The Incredible Hulk. But the idea that Natasha’s infertility somehow makes her monstrous — not a real woman, potentially less than human — was weirdly embedded into Ultron.

And in Endgame, it rears its head subtextually when Black Widow sacrifices herself for the Soul Stone.

In that sequence, either Black Widow or Hawkeye can die to bring the stone back, and both of them are fighting to be the one who gets to make the ultimate sacrifice and keep the other alive. But Natasha is especially determined to be the one who dies because Clint has a family — a wife and three children, all of whom died at the end of Infinity War — and Natasha doesn’t.

And sure, it’s reasonable for Natasha to make the calculation that Clint’s kids deserve to have a dad when they come back to life after the Avengers complete their “time heist.” But because of that Ultron plot, there’s also an insidious implication that Natasha’s infertility renders Black Widow just a little bit more disposable than the rest of her teammates.

As Alex Leadbeater wrote at ScreenRant, “To have Hawkeye survive explicitly because of his family, it makes the Avengers: Age of Ultron reveal that Black Widow is infertile (and, in Whedon’s parlance, a ‘monster’) feel even dirtier.”

That’s a little bit gross. Combined with the way Endgame uses Black Widow’s death to motivate the male Avengers, it kind of feels like the franchise is saying that Natasha isn’t quite worthy of living because she can’t fulfill her primary purpose as a woman and have kids, but luckily, she’s valuable in death because she can motivate everyone else to avenge her death. And while I don’t mean to suggest that Marvel is putting that message together intentionally, for it to come through so clearly suggests a consistent carelessness in creating Black Widow’s storyline, a laziness that falls back on stereotype-ridden clichés for women characters...

So what happens to Black Widow in Avengers: Endgame isn’t the worst feminist travesty in cinema. But that doesn’t make the circumstances surrounding her death any easier to take. Black Widow was the MCU’s first first-string superheroine — and no matter how much girl power Marvel decides to invest in (and market) going forward, its poor treatment of her is telling.

- “How Avengers: Endgame failed Black Widow” by Constance Grady

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years

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Ladyhawke: Facets of Film

There’s more to a good film than a solid story and compelling characters. Otherwise, it’d be a book.

There’s a lot that goes on in the process of making a movie, in taking a story and putting it on screen. There’s costumes, sets, props, special effects, camerawork, music, and, perhaps most importantly, performances that best get across what the script is trying to convey. It’s a project containing a lot of different elements that all come together perfectly to tell a story in a visual medium in a meaningful way. It’s not a movie without ‘movie magic’, after all.

Of course, some films do better with this than others.

See, the point of all of these things is for one simple reason: to better express the story and characters already present in the script. They are there to accentuate, to enhance, to be good enough to dazzle, but not so good that they overshadow the rest of the movie. It’s a difficult balance, one that can be achieved if the same effort is put into both story and the actual movie-making itself.

The question today is, is that the case for Ladyhawke?

Does Ladyhawke use its storytelling devices well?

Let’s take a look, starting with one of the most important elements in a film: cinematography. (Spoilers below!)

The camerawork in a film can sometimes make or break it. When done well, it is breathtaking, when done competently, it is adequate, but when it’s done badly, it’s really bad. There’s more to camerawork than just pointing it at the action. There’s a lot to consider.

The cinematography, teamed with the editing process, is designed to evoke a reaction out of the audience. A good director knows how to use the camera to emphasize certain details, or overall feelings. The camera is used to help tell the story, while leaving a visual mark on it. Such scenes in Ladyhawke include the stunning shots of the landscapes, giving us wider looks at the expansive world that the characters reside in.

The camerawork in Ladyhawke is, most of the time, good. Not fantastic, but good. Most of the shots are standard uses of the camera to get us to take note of the dress in Navarre’s bag, or the emphasis on his sword. The long takes in the fight sequence in the climax are notably impressive, building a steady rise in tension, as well as showing off the semi-realistic, brutal sword fight.

There are two scenes, however, that surpass ‘good’ camerawork, in my opinion, and become great.

The first occurs semi-early in the film, when the Bishop wakes up in a cold sweat in his bed. He sits up, and we are granted a look at his bed and room: above him, carved into pillars, are birds of prey. Hawks. Given his connection with Isabeau, it’s fitting enough, but then comes another work of brilliant editing. Right after that shot, there is a wider one which reveals something else: carved into the bedpost are wolves, facing away from him. It’s an interesting and effective way to hammer home his connection with the pair before we even know what it is.

The other scene that I’m referring to is a little longer, but is, in my opinion, the best use of camerawork in this entire film.

It comes towards the end of the film, after Navarre (in wolf form) has been rescued from the ice-water and brought back to camp. Isabeau waits with him as dawn nears, signaling both of their transformations. There is an instant, made longer with movie magic, where the two watch each other transform, both fully aware of what is going on. That moment is full of shots of their eyes meeting, and transforming, never actually showing the pair’s bodies change. In another film, this edit would be an excuse to show off the transformation itself, but Ladyhawke doesn’t.

By using the camera effectively, this scene takes on a different emphasis, one of mutual love and grief. This is the scene that fully drives home the couples’ love and separation, and the audience feels it, which, once again, is the point of good filmmaking.

Oddly enough, there are very few ‘special effect’ shots in the film itself. It’s all very down-to-earth, with no outlandish creatures or large set-pieces. For being a film made in the era of big special effects, there’s nothing accomplished in the film that isn’t done with simple camerawork. We never see a transformation in full, we only see before and after, with some clever shots in the middle to give us the idea. While that may seem disappointing, it’s actually very smart to portray the scenes like this: it emphasizes the emotional impact of the sequence, and prevents any ‘dated looking’ special effects in hindsight. It also adds to many of the film’s unique qualities and elements.

There’s more to a film than the camera, however. Let’s talk about the rest of the visuals.

While nowhere near the iconography of The Wizard of Oz, Ladyhawke has its fair share of memorable images, notably Navarre’s black armor and gem-encrusted sword and Isabeau’s mid-air transformation into the titular Ladyhawke.

Part of what makes these images memorable are the distinctive looks of the characters, assisting with the expression of the character. Phillipe’s clothing is scavenged, looking appropriately thrown-together and unremarkable, further demonstrating his scrounging lifestyle and ‘normalness.’ Navarre is dressed in black armor, in a subversion of both the unscrupulous ‘Black Knight’ trope and the upright ‘Knight in Shining Armor’. Neither villainous nor a champion, Navarre is a good man on a quest for revenge, a darker path than most heroic characters in fantasy films. He rides a black horse and carries a unique sword that he plans to use in this revenge quest: once again, completing a memorable image.

By contrast, there’s Isabeau.

Isabeau doesn’t get armor, but she does get a simple, yet elegant enough, dress, combined with Navarre’s black cloak. This gives her an ethereal vibe that slowly dissipates the more we find out about her, but still retains her sense of otherworldly dignity.

Speaking of otherworldly dignity, let’s discuss the score, which is anything but.

Now, I’ve mentioned this before, but it bears mentioning again: Ladyhawke’s musical score was recorded by Alan Parsons, and the result is a combination of orchestral instrumental and synth music. Does it fit?

…..Sort of?

Once again, the music is a part of the film’s individual identity, for better or worse. Sometimes the music fits, (mostly the instrumental bits) but one of the biggest complaints about the film is, in fact, the soundtrack. Many people’s complaint is that the music is incongruous, and takes them out of the film experience. On the other hand, lots of people agree that it does add to the ‘individuality’ of the film. So which is it?

Honestly, this one is usually personal opinion. Depending on what one is looking for in a fantasy film, people either enjoy the soundtrack or dislike it. Personally? I enjoy it’s differentiation from contemporary fantasy soundtracks, but can understand why some would disagree.

No matter which way you feel about it, you do have to admit that it’s distinctive.

The musical score does rise and fall with the action, playing triumphant fanfares over battle sequences and quieter, introspective music over reflective scenes, and it does do what a soundtrack is supposed to do: get a reaction out of the audience, and help influence the emotion in a scene.

Another one of the odd things about this film is the lack of sets within it.

There are sets, obviously. The cathedral, the prison, the barn, etc. are all examples of sets used within the film, but an equally large portion of it is set outside. The film feels very natural in this sense, by using very grounded sets, further adding to the relatively realistic tone of the film as a whole. The scenes in which the actors are performing are very tame, plain, and in a way, more accurate to the period and setting they are actually trying to portray. Unlike many contemporary fantasy films, Ladyhawke feels very real-world in comparison. Being set in medieval Europe, there are no ornate palaces or magical caverns. As a result, every set and landscape feels like it is genuine and solid, adding weight to both the story and the performances that are coming across.

And after all, the performances are arguably the most important element.

No matter the thought or quality put into sets, special effects, costumes, music or cinematography, in the end, it’s on the performances to sell the story and characters. Each individual scene rests on the actors and their ability to compel the audience.

Matthew Broderick’s performance as Phillipe Gaston is charming, managing to pull off a semi-comedic character in fairy-tale circumstances. He’s sly and smart, but out of his comfort zone, rendering him rather helpless at times. He is a character struggling to catch up with events, slowly becoming a part of the story and learning to do the right thing, even at risk to himself. He’s humorous and later compassionate, expressive and outspoken to the other characters, and in his private discussion with God.

Navarre is almost the opposite, closed off and mysterious. Rutger Hauer’s turn as a good man cursed is very compelling, portraying both the grim determination for revenge, and the broken heart of one half of two star crossed lovers. (Special mention goes to the above scene with the mutual onscreen transformation, appropriately heartrending, and his confrontation at the Bishop at the end.) Hauer also has good chemistry with Broderick, depicting the growing friendship between the two very well. He portrays the full gambit with restraint, giving the impression of emotion bubbling under the surface until his joyful reunion with Isabeau at the end.

Michelle Pfieffer as Isabeau is haunting and heartbreaking, a woman living a half-life, cursed to be with the man she loves, but unable to have a relationship with him. Separated from all she knows, with little choice in her life’s direction, she also becomes friends with Phillipe, revealing the sad, borderline hopeless existence she is forced to live in. (Again, special mention to that transformation scene, and her cold confrontation of the Bishop.) She portrays a woman containing quiet strength, forced to go on and remain solid for both herself and Navarre’s sake in the face of the curse.

John Wood as the Bishop is appropriately disgusting, an old man motivated by jealousy and lust, taking out his anger on the couple. He cannot bear to take rejection from Isabeau, and he remains obsessed with her after the curse that he dredges up. He portrays a man attempting to retain control until the end. Unable to take Isabeau and Navarre’s bond, he attempts to break it, once and for all, leading to his own demise.

Leo McKern’s performance as Imperius is both comedic and remorseful, a man atoning for his past mistakes by trying to help the couple. He contributes dry wit as well as his sincere services, and his connection with Phillipe allows him to help the couple. McKern shares many scenes with members of the cast that perfectly showcase his gravitas that effectively balance out his lighter moments, rounding out our memorable main cast.

Every character in this film is perfectly realized, coming together as a team against a rotten man. There is no good vs. evil in this story, only the power of love over the power of jealousy and obsession. These characters come across as slightly fairy-tale-esque, but slightly twisted in odd ways. The performances are appropriately subtle and reserved, coming across as very genuinely human and understandable to a very genuinely human audience.

The acting, like everything else in this movie, is understated, and very simple. It’s not bright or colorful, or loud, or epic, it is very down-to-earth and modest. It tells a compelling story with compelling people, assisted by the work done to make it (with the exception of the music) a very realistic and grounded story. The performances perfectly match the rest of the movie, subdued, but genuine, and gripping to an invested audience. Every element in this film is tailored to fit a specific mood, moving the plot along without being obvious about it.

Ladyhawke has been called a cult classic, unpopular upon its theater release. It was greeted with mixed acclaim, labeled as ‘inconsistent’, and debated since then as to whether or not this film was actually good or not. Yes, the music can seem a little incompatible with the film, but overall, it comes across as a reasonably consistent, grounded film with a compelling story and characters, and it really works.

Join me next time as we discuss the behind the scenes story of Ladyhawke with a segment titled: Facets of Filmmaking. Don’t forget that my ask box is always open, and I hope to see you in the next article!

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#Ladyhawke #Ladyhawke 1985 #1985 #80s #Film #Movies #Fantasy #Adventure #PG-13 #Rutger Hauer #Michelle Pfeiffer #Matthew Broderick #Leo McKern #John Wood #Richard Donner

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tekka-dan · 5 years

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I was informed of some disturbing news today regarding my best favorite boy Sasuke Uchiha and what his ultimate outcome will be in Borutrash.

Tumblr deleted my first initial rant, so I had to sit down and write it again. Not to fret though, re-writing has given me some clarity and all of you are going to witness my first hand unresolved, but subsiding, rage with the way Borutrash has handled Sasuke Uchiha’s character.

For anyone that’s new to my blog, content, posts: I am heavily against Boruto [as a character, manga, story, concept, anime] so if you’re a fan person of this series and you don’t like disputes or negative opinions your cue to dip is here.

You’ve been warned. Moving on.

Starting off, those of us who remember Sasuke Uchiha from the older days of Naruto [part 1] can easily summarize his character in one word: avenger. As the storyline progressed Sasuke became more than a so-called avenger and he started to gain some heavy handed, much needed, development. If you can recall that much, you would also recall that Sasuke was the “oppositional” character in the earlier days of Naruto. Meaning, Sasuke was the character that didn’t abide by rules, he did whatever he needed to advance but it was for his own sake and decision. He joined the academy to avenge his clan and become stronger to defeat his brother. When he meets Orochimaru that opportunity [to become stronger] arose and he took the bait (eventually—lets forget the part where he was kidnapped against his will, tortured and then kidnapped again).

So with all of that being addressed for his character, Sasuke choosing to follow under Orichimaru’s footsteps, this made Sasuke enter the “antagonistic” role. The reason this role was important for Sasuke [as a character] is because we are given context for his motives outside of the sunshine protagonist. Sasuke knew what his goals and ambitions were from the very beginning and also from the beginning he was being overshadowed by a bumbling fool that couldn’t even throw out milk on time. Sasuke didn’t have time for that, so he fucking bounced like the cool kid he absolutely was. Being on the “dark side” gave depth to this shallow story because once Itachi Uchiha made his appearance, and his role in the black ops and being a double agent was revealed — suddenly this sunshine village with its sunshine protagonist isn’t all sunshine.

Sasuke leaving the village was the best thing he ever did in this series and he is one of the four main characters that had a vision that he never got to achieve and questions he never got answers to. When Sasuke left the village, we are only in the mindset of him as a person and what he’s trying to achieve. We aren’t in Konoha village where the Will of Fire exists, where “I don’t believe in letting comrades die” comes into play — no, fuck all of that, we are simply inside Sasuke Uchiha’s mind and all Sasuke Uchiha thinks about is murdering Itachi for killing his clan and wanting to understand why Itachi would murder his clan in the first place. These are concerns far more prevalent than doing stupid ninja tasks or whatever the fuck Konoha participated in since all they seem to do is evoke war, genocide and havoc. Nothing seemingly important happened in this village up until Sasuke departed and suddenly everyone gives a fuck about saving the last Uchiha.

I seriously wonder what the Third Hokage was thinking. He (and Danzō) coaxed an actual child/teenager (Itachi) to slaughter his own clan in order to silence their people and then they are surprised when the surviving member of that clan flees the village.

Like Konoha is full of fucking dumbasses I swear. So that’s why I’m glad Sasuke did leave and it was eventually at his own free will. That also ties into my next point.

Sasuke represented oppression. His entire clan represented oppression. Them standing up against the Konoha System represented oppression. And it isn’t enough that every single member of them dies, it’s last member flees the village, and he goes on to save the same village that oppressed him to then become fodder and succumbing to pointless death in the continuation series?

Let me repeat that: Sasuke represented oppression. Now they are silencing him - and everyone that came before or after him - forever. Eternity. They expect Sarada to carry on the Uchiha genes but we aren’t remembering that she’s only half. We are forgetting that she [somehow] learned about the massacre from books in a library. She hasn’t learned anything from Sasuke or Sakura themselves. Why is that? Because they are trying to silence it forever.

This entire series feels like some massive “fuck you” propaganda because it doesn’t sit well to me. The character that represented oppression, stands up against the system as the last remaining member who can do so, he’s beat down without given a single answer to the questions he poses and then he’s forced to atone for sins he didn’t commit / shouldn’t be apologizing for to then go on to have an offspring he wasn’t ready for to then be killed off?

Is it not enough to just admit you wanted Sasuke Uchiha around for shipping bait and to ensure his uchiha bloodline succeeds him? Because that’s what it is.

They don’t give a single shit about his character and if Naruto didn’t spend 400 of 500+ episodes chasing him to reiterate Sasukes importance than guess where Sasuke would’ve died?

The same place Itachi would have.

Sasuke Uchiha and Itachi Uchiha would’ve both fought to the death, not a single brother would’ve walked away from that. And you know what? This would’ve been an honor to him as a person and as a character. Because up until he faces Itachi his only goal was to defeat his brother and learn why he did what he did. Itachi told him (albeit on his death bed) but I assure you they would’ve wrapped Sasuke Uchiha’s character up then and there and let him perish along with Itachi.

But they didn’t. Why? Because they needed Naruto to beat him into submission. They needed Naruto to remind the audience why Sasuke was considered an antagonist and why leaving the village is forbidden. They needed Naruto to brag about becoming hokage to preach about saving everyone, except the “everyone” excludes every single slaughtered and slain / deceased member of the Uchiha Clan, you know, the only people that ever truly mattered to Sasuke. Nah but it’s alright, sunshine protagonist Naruto needs Sasuke around to remind Sasuke that “he knows how he feels” and “believing in his word can make everything better”.

What makes matters worse about them killing Sasuke who represented oppression after they killed and degraded his character is that other characters who opposed the system were killed off long before their characters could be succeeded or milked.

Example 1: Yahiko / Pein.

Everyone knows what became of Pein and everyone is aware of the Yahiko that existed before the Pein. Everyone knows that Yahiko was the Naruto of his village, wanting to make a difference and have the world be a better place. Except, when the poor young sap tried to achieve this goal, he was killed tragically during an incident that was incredible miscommunication. Dying at the hands of his friend is what was supposed to make that moment less painful but it only sparked the rage in what became the Pein we all knew that destroyed Konoha.

Pein / Yahiko was the embodiment of oppression.

Everyone knows how that played out, I don’t need to repeat the entire chapter and how the questions Pein asked Naruto were never answered, rather he was given a mediocre bullshit half ass speech that made him surrender and sacrifice himself.

Example 2: Neji Hyuuga

Before Naruto’s dreams were drilled over and over into our heads, there was Neji who represented oppression in a literal sense, preaching it to his cousin during their battle and then to Naruto during theirs.

When Neji was killed off, people were upset because his character died for nothing without atoning for a single damn thing. Neji was born a slave and died a slave and we are supposed to believe (and be happy) that during death he was free.

Is this what people expect for these characters? That only in death can they find peace, freedom or happiness? What a pathetic and crippling message that presents.

You see the picture I am painting here? It’s not looking too good, is it? There’s a fucking pattern to it, that’s why. The only difference with Sasuke Uchiha is that his bloodline was extinct so they needed someone to carry it on. Pein (who was Nagato) is an Uzumaki so his bloodline continued. Neji is a Hyuuga and his bloodline continued. Sasuke is the only one who hadn’t and they couldn’t do away with his character until they had a certain someone he could procreate with, regardless if they had a lick of chemistry.

I’m not saying you can’t kill off characters from stories, sometimes characters do need to die, eventually they will anyway. However there are better ways to kill your characters and writing stories that don’t disregard their pasts or completely ravage their futures.

Sasuke’s entire history is being erased and everyone else who represents the same thing were also erased.

When Hinata speaks about Neji (if she does?) does she talk about the hierarchy and what it did to him and his father to her kids? No, because they want to forget about it, they are ashamed of it so they hide these facts.

When Naruto speaks to Boruto (if he does?) does he mention Nagato or even Jiraiya? Does he talk about his former sensei enduring a war, taking on an orphaned group of three and then having to return to their village being slain? Does he talk about the brutal systems the other villages carry on? Again, no. Because these are things they are ashamed of, they want to never have be mentioned or brought up again.

Those who don’t know their history are bound to repeat it, as the old saying goes.

What makes this worse for Sasukes character after death is that his reunion with his “family” feels cheap and downplayed. The only character trait they knew how to write for his character is to be distant and/or absent. Because of that Sasuke never “grew” on Sarada. I think that’s unfair as fuck to do to him, they already robbed him of everything else and even prior to death he can’t just simply be a fucking father.

How goddamn sad is that?

I gritted my teeth at Sasukes end in Naruto 699 but hearing the news about the current predictions / fate of his character has left me with unresolved despise for this series all over again.

It’s not enough that they keep taking everything from him, now he gets to die the same way he feels: empty..

First they killed his dream, then they killed his spirit and now they are killing his character.

#naruto #sasuke #sasuke uchiha #anti boruto

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starryknight09 · 5 years

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Whatever It Takes Ch. 16/?

Summary: Peter’s struggling to cope after the loss of Mr. Stark. Everyone keeps telling him it’ll get better and that he needs to move on, but Peter doesn’t want to. He can’t envision a life without his mentor. So when an idea comes to him, he doesn’t hesitate, no matter how crazy it is. He’s going to get Mr. Stark back.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Ned asked.

“Whatever it takes.” Peter answered.

Read on AO3.

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Peter wouldn’t exactly call the week trapped in the lake house while being forced to talk to about his feelings every day, a good week. Sure, he got to spend a lot of time with Tony, but it was overshadowed by his bad mood about therapy. Talking about his emotions and digging up stuff he’d tried to bury, left him constantly drained and raw, and lacking his usual patience. He’d definitely snapped at Tony more than a couple times, something he never would’ve dreamed of doing before. Tony, to his credit, took it all in stride. He somehow seemed to have a sixth sense about when to push and when to give him space.

Right now he seemed to be giving him some space. Peter had finished his hour long session with Ruth this morning and instead of seeking Tony out, he’d gone straight to his room and thrown himself onto his bed. It’d been a particularly rough session. It was only his fifth time meeting with her, but her questions and their discussions had gotten progressively tougher throughout the week. He thought he’d at least get the weekend off to take a break, but at the end of their session he’d found out that Ruth was coming back tomorrow even though it was Saturday.

Between the continued nightmares, the exhausting mandatory therapy sessions and the weakness he felt every time he swallowed the antidepressant the psychiatrist had prescribed after meeting with him, which Tony and Bruce had needed to specially formulate for his metabolism, Peter just wanted a break from it all. He wanted a weekend to not have to analyze his actions or think about his stupid feelings. He shoved his head into his pillow and tried not to cry.

A rap of knuckles on his bedroom door came a short while later.

“Hey Pete.” Tony’s voice carried softly through the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” He said into his pillow, but loud enough for Tony to hear.

The door cracked open and Peter heard Tony walk over to his side and sit on the edge of the bed. He rested a hand on his back a second later.

“I just got done talking to Ruth. She told me you had kind of a hard time this morning.”

He shrugged. He didn’t trust his voice not to give him away if he tried to talk.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tony asked, hand rubbing circles over his back. It just made him want to cry more.

He shook his head. He was so sick of talking.

“Ok. Is it all right if I sit with you?”

He nodded.

Another couple of minutes passed in silence.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Tony asked again.

He nodded.

“Can I talk?”

He nodded again, face still stubbornly smooshed into his pillow.

“Ok. So I have some good news and some bad news. What do you want to hear first?”

“Good news.” He mumbled.

“Pepper and I signed the paperwork for the new apartment in New York this morning, so we’re moving this weekend.” Tony said. That’d been fast. Peter had heard them discussing things throughout the week and Happy had kept him company when Tony had needed to leave a couple times to go to New York, but he hadn’t known they’d actually picked a place. Or that you could actually buy something and move in that quickly. Must be a perk of being a billionaire.

“You’re going to love it.” Tony said, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice. He was sure he would.

“What’s the bad news?” He asked.

Tony sighed. “Ruth thinks you should take one more week off of school.”

Peter pushed up off the pillow and gave Tony a look of utter betrayal. “No.”

“Pete—”

“No no no. I need to go back to school. I-I can’t keep doing this. I’m so tired of it. It’s not helping. I just want to get back to normal.” He pleaded. “I don’t want to do this anymore. PleaseTony.”

Tony pulled him against his chest as he shushed him. “Shh kid. It’s all right.”

Peter tried to hold back his small hiccupping sobs. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want to. Please. I want to go back to school.”

“I know, but it’s only one more week.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I can’t. It’s not even helping.”

“Yes it is buddy. I know it might not feel like it right now, but it is.”

“No it’s not. It’s not. It’s making everything so much worse.” He denied frantically, but he knew Tony didn’t believe him.

“Shh. Take a breath for me.”

Peter managed to calm down somewhat. Once he had, Tony kissed the top of his head.

“I know it’s been hard but I’m proud of you.” Tony told him. “And I understand you want to go back to school, but Ruth thinks we should give it one more week.”

Before Peter could protest again, he added, “And I do too. This is hard and it’s stressful and trying to concentrate and do well in school while stirring up all this stuff isn’t setting yourself up for success, and that isn’t fair to you. Ok?”

Peter didn’t like it, but he sniffled and nodded. What Tony said was true. He really couldn’t imagine trying to pay attention in school while he felt like this.

“Good boy.” Tony mumbled and pressed a kiss against his hair. From anyone else that kind of phrase would’ve pissed him off, but Tony said it with such endearment that he couldn’t even muster annoyance.

He shut his eyes and held Tony. He just wanted to be back to normal and he didn’t understand why it was so hard to get there. Or why he had to suffer by dredging up things like his loss of the last five years along with things that seemed completely unrelated, but equally painful, like the loss of his parents and Ben’s death. But since he didn’t know how to voice all these thoughts to Tony, he could barely do it with the therapist, he just held him. And hoped things would start to get better.

“FRIDAY pull up my suit footage from the final battle with Thanos.” Tony instructed. Pepper, Morgan, and Peter were all asleep, but he hadn’t been able to achieve rest himself, so he’d gone down to the workshop and finally decided to do what he’d been putting off.

“FRIDAY.” He said again when nothing happened.

“Are you sure Boss?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Pull it up.” He said even though he was anything but sure. There was a reason he hadn’t watched the recording of his own death. The idea of it made him anxious. Afterall, who would ever want to be glaringly confronted with their own mortality like that? And even though he knew he wasn’t dead, he was fine, Peter had prevented his death, another him hadn’t been so lucky. But if Peter was still struggling because of it then he owed it to him to view it, especially after what Ruth had shared with him that morning.

“Dr. Cohen is requesting to speak with you Boss.” FRIDAY said, interrupting his work on the hologram screen in front of him.

“Ok.” He frowned and stood. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

It wasn’t an unusual request, but usually they touched base over brief phone conversations instead of face to face. He climbed up the stairs to the main floor above.

“Ruth.” He greeted Ruth as he walked into the living room. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you Mr. Stark.” She said while she finished putting her things away in her satchel.

“It’s no problem.”

“Before I left, I just wanted to let you know that this morning’s session was particularly hard on Peter today. We talked about his uncle’s death and…yours. You might want to check in on him.” Ruth advised.

Tony sucked in a breath. “Ok. I will.”

She nodded and started to walk out.

“Um before you go. One question.” Tony spoke up, wanting to ask something he’d been wondering about. “His nightmares? Have you two talked about them? He said they’re about my death.”

Ruth nodded. “We have. Your loss was very difficult for him. Understandably so. And I don’t pretend to comprehend how you’re back with us Mr. Stark, but what you have to understand is that what Peter witnessed was very traumatic. When viewed in the perspective of his past losses, it just makes it that much worse.”

Tony pulled his glasses off to rub at his suddenly aching eyes. Right. Peter had lost his parents, then he’d lost his uncle who was as good as a father to him, and then Tony. And Tony liked to think they had a sort of father-son relationship.

“He witnessed his uncle’s death.” Ruth added. “Did you know that?”

Tony snapped his head up, answer clear on his face. He hadn’t. He’d known Peter’s uncle had died, had been shot, and that was part of the motivation behind why the kid had done what he had with Spiderman, but he hadn’t known the details. Peter rarely mentioned Ben, and Tony had never pushed. He’d allowed the paucity of details surrounding the event, and Ben in general, since he’d known the loss was still too fresh and too painful for Peter.

“He watched his uncle die in front of him and then he had to go through a similar experience with you. Both deaths were very violent. Very gruesome. From what I’ve been told.” Ruth explained. “It’s no wonder he’s having a hard time. Having nightmares about it.”

“Jesus.” He stabbed at his eyes again, but for a different reason this time. He’d never meant to make his kid go through that. He’d give anything to take it back.

“I don’t…remember.” Tony said when he caught Ruth watching him expectantly. Even though she was on the Avengers payroll, he couldn’t explain how he’d gone from dead as a doornail to alive and standing in front of her. He could only imagine the kind of chaos that would erupt if the general public found out it was possible to go back in time and bring a dead loved one forward and essentially resurrect them.

“It’s…surprising to me that before me, he’d never talked to anyone about his uncle’s death, given how traumatic it was for him.” Ruth said. “Instead of dealing with it, he buried it deep down and distracted himself with Spiderman and somehow managed to continue on. Most people wouldn’t have been able to do that. He’s a very resilient kid.”

“He is.” Tony agreed. The kid was the strongest person he’d ever met and that was saying something since he personally knew all the Avengers.

“But a mind can only take so much before it can’t cope anymore.” Ruth said softly. “And I think your death was that point.”

“I never wanted to leave him.” He explained softly.

“I know.” Ruth said and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I did all of it for him.”

That earned a quirk of Ruth’s lips.

“I mean I know I’m supposed to say I did it for the good of the world and everything, but…I didn’t. I did it for him.” He probably shouldn’t admit that but the words just flowed out.

“Understandable.” Ruth nodded. “He’s your son. And there’s no greater loss than the loss of a child. And you found a way to fix that.”

Tony sighed. “It was all for him, but now he’s…”

Ruth patted his shoulder to placatingly. “He’ll be ok.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he has you. And he has an aunt that loves him. And he has your wife and your daughter. And many others from what I hear. An entire support network of people that care about him.”

Tony nodded.

“That’s what he needs. For all of you to be there for him, supporting him. And time. He just needs some time to heal.”

“Ok. I can do that. We can do that.”

“I know.” Ruth graced him with a smile. “He’ll get through it and be all the better for it.”

“Thank you.” Tony said.

She gave him a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye doc.” He said and watched her walk out.

He stood in the center of the living room, staring at the wall and gave himself exactly five minutes to deal with his own maelstrom of emotions before he got himself back under control and walked upstairs to be with his kid.

The words Ruth had used to describe his death, violent and gruesome, echoed in his mind as FRIDAY started projecting the scene of the final battle in front of him. He clenched his jaw and watched. He owed it to Peter to see what he’d seen, to be able to better understand what his kid was struggling with. And he owed it to Pepper and Rhodey and everyone else that had been there and suffered watching him die.

On the screen he watched as he fought with Thanos. He remembered this part. It was right before Peter had appeared out of nowhere and whisked him away to bring him forward in time. As he kept watching, he recognized the exact moment Peter had intervened. Everything after it was new. He had no memory of it. It hadn’t happened to him. To this him.

He watched with bated breath as he kept fighting Thanos. It wasn’t going well. The titan took out Steve and Thor and then Captain Marvel. All he could think was where was everyone else? Wanda? Strange? Anyoneelse that could’ve helped? But no one else showed up. And then it was only him and the ugly oversized grape.

He watched as he fell to the ground and caught Dr. Strange’s eye from across the battlefield. The man shakily raised a single finger. One. The one they win. And he knew what it meant, just like the other Tony on the video must have. It was up to him. He knew what he had to do.

He and Thanos fought viciously. Thanos finally got ahold of the gauntlet and Tony wrestled with it, but on the screen he appeared to lose as he was flung backward.

“I…am…inevitable.” The asshole spoke, voice sending shivers down Tony’s spine as he watched with wide eyes as Thanos snapped the gauntlet. But…nothing happened.

He frowned and then he was staring at himself as he revealed the stones he’d swiped from the gauntlet with his nanotech. He watched as he fell to his knees and threw his head back as the power coursed through him. The intensity of his eyes, the victory, the despair, made him clench his jaw tight. He wanted to look away, but he didn’t.

“And I…am…Ironman.” His voice said. Tony watched as he closed his eyes on the screen and snapped.

If he thought it was hard to watch that, the rest was worse.

After he’d somehow lowered himself to the ground, Rhodey got to him first. God. Rhodey. His best friend. And he was so hurt he couldn’t even speak. He sat against the rubble and stared, there but not really there. His entire right side including his face was darkened, charred from the force of wielding the stones. Snapping the gauntlet had hurt the Hulk, so of course it’d irreparably damaged him. Tony didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before. When he’d been told he’d snapped, he kind of assumed it’d been instant death. Or maybe there hadn’t even been a body to recover, but on the screen, he was still alive, but dying.

Peter was next. Peter. His kid. The devastation in his eyes as he tried to comfort him even as he cried, crushed his heart. Peter had lived this. And even though this series of events hadn’t come to pass now because of Peter, the memories of it hadn’t been erased from his kid’s head. Or Rhodey’s. Or Pepper’s. Anyone’s.

Pepper. She was last. A part of him was terribly glad he got to be with her at the end no matter how much it had probably hurt her.

She knelt down and whispered, “Hey.”

“Hey Pep.” He somehow managed to whisper back. It was right that his last word was her name.

She touched his chest. “FRIDAY?”

“Life functions critical.” FRIDAY reported sadly.

“Tony. Look at me.” She ordered. His eyes tried to follow the command, but he could tell he was fading fast.

“We’re going to be ok.” She reassured, looking so strong. “You can rest now.”

His head sagged to the side, and in the next few seconds he watched the light leave his own eyes as he let go and faded away. The recording didn’t stop when he died. He watched Pepper kiss his cheek and lose all her composure as she laid her head on his chest and sobbed. Behind her, Peter and Rhodey cried. And as everyone else, including the rest of the Avengers, came over and realized what happened, they each hit their knees one by one, grief apparent on all their faces.

“Off FRIDAY.” His voice came out so strangled it was incomprehensible. He swallowed down his all encompassing grief and ordered hoarsely, “Turn it off.”

The video screen blinked to black.

He’d died. And even though he’d saved the universe, he’d hurt so many people he loved by leaving them behind. He struggled to process it. He’d died…but at the same time he hadn’t. Because of Peter. His insanely amazing kid. He’d been given a second chance. He wasn’t going to waste it.

“Mr. Parker we need a decision on this now.” The man at the head of the table said, obviously frustrated with him.

“What?” Peter frowned. He sat on the opposite end of the long conference table. Both sides of it were filled with men in business suits, all staring at him.

“We need an answer on this.” The man stated and pointed to the PowerPoint slide on the screen projected behind him.

“Um…” Peter blinked and tried to squint to see the screen, but all the letters and figures on it were too blurry. “I can’t… I can’t read it.”

“Why don’t you try putting on your glasses.” A man to his right said, not very kindly, as he indicated a glasses case sitting on the table in front of Peter.

But he didn’t wear glasses. He hadn’t needed to since the spider bite. But then why couldn’t he see the screen a mere twenty feet away from him?

“Right.” He mumbled as he picked up the case and opened it. Instead of his usual dorky glasses, it held a pair of Tony’s tech glasses.

He shook his head. “These aren’t mine. These are Tony’s.”

The man to his right scoffed. “They’re yours now. Tony’s dead, kid. Or did you forget? I don’t see how you could have since he left you everything.”

Peter looked up in shock. He could read the board now even without the glasses. It was a Stark Industries proposal.

“Can you put the stupid glasses on so we can get an answer already Parker? Or just let us decide. That’d probably be for the best since you’ve been doing such a bang up job of running this company.” The man scowled.

“Yeah, right into the ground.” Another man mumbled.

“I-I-” Peter didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what the question was or what decision he had to make. He could read the slide in front of him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it.

He abruptly stood from the cushioned rolling chair and glanced down. He was wearing a business suit just like everyone else in the room. They all stared at him, expectant but annoyed looks on their faces. Why was he here? He couldn’t do this. He turned and ran.

Their voices followed him out into the hallway.

“Where’s he going?”

“What the hell?”

“He’s no Tony Stark.”

That one hurt. No, he wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. Why had Tony ever thought he could do this? Why had Tony left him? He sprinted down the hallway. He needed to get out. He needed to escape. He needed to find…Pepper, or May, or Happy, or someone to help him.

He turned to look behind him to see if anyone had followed him. No one had. But as he did, his feet somehow got tangled together and he crashed shoulder first onto the carpet.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the office anymore. He was lying curled up on his side on the dirt ground. Aliens and madness flew all around him. He held the gauntlet desperately close to his chest. He needed to get it somewhere. Or he was supposed to give it to someone? To-to Captain Marvel. But she wasn’t hovering above him like he’d been expecting her to be for some reason. Instead, Tony stood there in his Ironman armor, helmet retracted. Peter could see the line of blood trailing down the ride side of his face.

“Hey kid.” Tony said, tilting his head and giving him a soft smile.

“Hey.” He said back weakly.

“You got something for me?” Tony asked, giving a small nod toward the gauntlet in Peter’s arms.

But for some reason, Peter didn’t want to give it to him, which was crazy because he trusted Tony more than anyone. Especially when it came to stuff like this. Superhero stuff.

“Pete.” Tony said, voice still soft, and it was just the two of them even though it seemed like chaos was literally unfolding all around them. “Give me the gauntlet.”

He knew he shouldn’t give it Tony, but he couldn’t remember why, just that the very idea felt viscerally wrong. But this was Tony. Ironman. Peter wasn’t going to refuse him. He uncurled his arms from it and held it out.

Tony took it from him. “Good work kid. Now leave the rest to me.”

Tony took several steps back, but he didn’t run with the gauntlet like Peter had expected. Peter frowned and then watched in frozen horror as Tony placed it on his right hand.

“No!” Peter yelled and thrust an arm out toward him as if he could stop him by that alone. But it was already too late. The power of the stones coursed up Tony’s arm, igniting it in majestically terrible colors.

“It’s going to be ok kid.” Tony told him with a calm serenity.

“Don’t!” Peter screamed and tried to jump to his feet, but he couldn’t get up. It was like he was pinned to the ground. All his strength had left him. He could only watch as Tony closed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

His vision erupted in a flash of light. He tried to shield his eyes with his arms. When everything faded back to normal, Peter opened his eyes. Tony sat slumped on the ground a few feet away, his entire right sided burned and blackened, including the armor.

“No.” Peter whispered hoarsely. Even though he barely felt connected to his body, he managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl to his mentor.

“Tony.” He said, cupping a hand over the man’s unmarred left cheek. “Tony?”

But Tony didn’t respond, he just stared back at him, and Peter could mark the moment all the intelligence faded from his gaze.

“No.” He cried. “Tony please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Peter shook his shoulder but all it did was jostle him. His empty expression remained unchanged. It didn’t bring him back to life.

“No. Please.” He begged. “Please don’t leave me. Tony.”

“Pete!” Tony’s voice shattered the dream and brought him back awake. “Peter!”

Tony sat on the bed, hands shaking Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m right here.” Tony said, and Peter couldn’t quite catch up. Of course he was. He could see him.

“You were calling for me in your sleep.” Tony explained. Oh. He remembered.

“You-you left me.” He said through jerky breaths. He only meant to explain the nightmare, but saying it out loud brought with it an excess of hurt he’d been harboring. Because it was true. Tony had left him. He’d chosen to snap the gauntlet. He’d known what it would mean. Maybe in the moment he hadn’t thought about how he’d be leaving everyone that loved him behind, leaving Peter behind, but it had happened all the same.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispered.

“You left me.” He sobbed. “You left me.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tony said as he pulled him into his arms.

Peter wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug as he tried to calm down.

“I didn’t want to leave you.” Tony whispered into his curls.

“How do you know? You didn’t— You weren’t the one who—” The one who snapped, Peter omitted.

“I know. Because I didn’t get a chance to do it before you saved me. But kid, I know there’s no way I’d ever willingly leave you. No matter what. Especially after I just got you back.”

Then why’d you do it? Peter wanted to ask, but this Tony hadn’t actually done it, so he couldn’t do anything except guess the answer, which Peter could do just as well. He’d done it because he’d had no other choice. Because everyone would’ve died otherwise. He’d sacrificed everything to save the universe. Because he was a hero.

Peter concentrated on the sound of Tony’s heartbeat under his ear and focused on the fact that Tony was warm, and breathing, and alive. After a couple minutes, his tears slowed to a halt.

“You-you left me your company. Why did you do that?” Peter asked because that part of the dream had bothered him almost as much. And it was a question this Tony could actually answer since he must’ve made the arrangements before the final battle with Thanos.

Tony pulled back so he could look down into his face as he asked, “Why do you think Pete?”

He shrugged. “Because you think I’m smart?”

Tony scoffed. “No. I know plenty of smart people. I wouldn’t leave them the majority of the shares in my company. And saying you’re smart is definitely an understatement.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Then why?”

“Because you’re my kid.”

“Morgan’s more your kid.”

“No.” Tony said and shook his head. “I love you both the same.”

“Not to mention at the time she was four.” Tony kept talking as if he hadn’t just dropped a major bombshell on him. “And we don’t even know if she’s going to end up liking science. Or wanting to follow in my footsteps. But youkiddo. You’re the real deal. You’re like a shinier improved version of me. Better moral compass definitely.”

Peter twisted his face at that. He didn’t think that was true. Tony always saw himself in the worst possible way.

“Say Morgan had grown up and wanted to help run the company. What would you have done?” Tony asked.

“Let her, of course. What kind of question is that?”

“Just proving my point.” Tony said with a smile. “Why would I ever need to worry about Morgan with you at the helm? You’re the best person I know, and I know Captain America.”

Peter blushed and ducked his head.

“You’re just genuinely good. Even a little too good sometimes.” Tony paused to fondly brush back his hair before continuing, “You were the right choice Pete. The only choice. I’ve second guessed myself on almost everything I’ve done, but the one thing I’ve never second guessed is picking you. As Spiderman. As my intern. As my kid. As my successor.”

Peter’s eyes filled with tears.

“It was always going to be you.” Tony looked at him, eyes soft as he cupped Peter’s face in his hands. “It still is.”

Peter shocked eyes flew to Tony’s. “What?”

Tony grinned and let go of his face.

“How else are you going to put that MIT education that I’m paying for to good use?”

“What? Tony you’re not paying for—”

“And let’s just table that pointless little argument for later.” Tony interrupted. “So we don’t get sidetracked.”

Peter blinked and tried to refocus, although they’d definitely be revisiting the idea of Tony paying for his schooling. “You really want me to take over SI for you?”

“Well not now obviously. You’re only a kid. You’ve got to grow up first.” Tony tousled his hair with a smile.

“But I’m not you. I’m no Tony Stark.” Peter gave voice to the anxiety from his dream.

“No, you’re not,” Tony agreed before he declared, “You’re better.”

Peter shook his head. He didn’t agree. No one was better than Tony.

“But…what if-what if I’m not good enough?”

“You will be.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” Tony said and then added, “And you won’t be alone. Pepper will help you. And I’ll help you.”

Peter fell forward to wrap Tony in another hug. Tony returned the embrace and kissed the top of his head again before whispering, “You know I’ll always help you.”

“Please don’t leave me again.” Peter pleaded.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

#my fic

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nikitasbt · 5 years

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The Assassin (刺客聶隱娘, 2015): the quintessence of Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s visual style

The journey of Taiwanese New Wave director and a living god of Oriental cinema Hou Hsiao-Hsien has been very long and hopefully, it is not over yet. There were many rumors on his new film starring Shu Qi, though it is not confirmed if a 72-years-old master would release it or not. Till date, his latest film is The Assassin (2015) which became another feature receiving mixed reviews in his home country Taiwan and becoming quite acclaimed in Europe. The film had brought Hou Hsiao-Hsien the award for Best Director at Cannes Film Festival, his second reward at Cannes.

According to Hou Hsian-Hsien himself, the modern audience in Taiwan has been changing a lot during the last years with the further expansion of the Internet. His films have always been not for farm obscurity in Taiwan, as the viewers there still watch Hollywood films of a different sort. Now it is even more challenging for Hou to entertain the viewers, and it seems like The Assassin was doomed to be praised only in Europe. We can't say the film is not dramatic, but it requires utmost attention towards aesthetics, patience, and full immersion into the visuality of the world created by Hou Hsian-Hsien. You can't skip anything, and The Assassin is sort of enchantment you fall under. Unfortunately, such spells might be unable to penetrate many viewers, yet it doesn't make the film of Hou less vivacious.

The Assassin is based on a plot revolving around the outstanding professional assassin Nie Yinniang and adapts for the screen the ninth-century Chinese story written by Pei Xing. The girl was betrayed by her family and sent to the monastery high in the hills to be brought up. From the age of ten, Yinniang was raised by nuns in exile and trained to become an assassin. She slays the victims assassinating different officials and big-wigs. Yinniang is impeccable in her skills, but her heart doesn't allow to execute some killings she considers dishonorable. In order to test Yinniang's spirit and resolve, her superior gives her the task to kill Yinniang's own cousin Tian Ji'an (portrayed by Chang Chen) who also used to be betrothed to her. She hasn't gotten over the feelings to him, as we learn later. Moreover, the family drama had deeply affected her being, and the assassins’ wounds don’t get healed with the years passing by. While encountering Tian Ji’an, she also meets his wife, concubine, father, other assassins and many other extra characters forming the story. In short words, the plot is all about Yinniang's inner fight between the resolve to follow the orders and her heart's desire to contradict them. However, the way Hou delivers the story is very mysterious and not quite clear, so many viewers might be confused. It doesn’t bother the director so much, as the plot is not a thing of drastic importance in The Assassin.

Commonly for Hou, the plot of the film is not something the viewers would be really paying attention at. Just like for example in Shanghai Flowers or A City of Sadness there is nothing much going on, in terms of action. The Assassin is de-facto a wuxia film, but there are very few instances where the characters cross their weapons. These scenes don't stand out in the beauty of combat but come up to emphasize the drama. But the real action is missing, and this is Hou's intention. The majority of viewers would try to follow this simple plot for the first 20-30 minutes and then they are to decide whether to immerse fully into the visual sophistication of The Assassin or to give it up.

The visuality and imagery of The Assassin are on the highest peaks of Hou's style development. It's hardly unlikely you would find so many vivid and sophisticated landscapes depicted in such manner in other films. The way Hou shows them is hard to describe as these landscapers swamp your mind and immerse into the old times you can really feel and taste. This is realistic and beautiful as in the epic legend at the same time. The work on decorations is absolutely impeccable. It reminds of Shanghai Flowers very much, but this time all props are even more tense, bright and gorgeous. There are very few locations in the film, but both nature spots and buildings are made in a perfect way emphasizing the significance of every littlest thing. The design of costumes is also just classy - watching Yinniang wearing her black outfits and her hair is one-of-a-kind experience leaving you enthralled and mesmerized.

As I already mentioned, the film falls short in the narrative part, and we just need to ignore the concept of domination of the narration in the cinema. The only way to watch The Assassin is to let the stream carry you wherever it goes and to observe every detail. The pace of the film is extremely slow and hypnotic, this is the real example of Oriental arthouse where the visual delights overwhelm all other parts of the film. However, it is very different from those Asian wuxia films that became very popular in the United States. Unlike those films, The Assassin is not really moving and it doesn't give a glimpse into "bizarre Asian culture" and crazy sword fights with wild visual effects. Hou’s film would fascinate those who are already deep into Oriental romance, drama, and culture. Hou Hsiao-Hsien is not against editing, but we see that he still employes slow dramatic close-ups and long takes to avoid too much of montage. The camera work is never frenetic. Camera sashays with tremendous grace, slowly immersing the viewers into the boundless of The Assassin. It feels like the time had stopped, as Hou's camera reveal this adorable dream.

Shu Qi's role of Yinniang is worth mentioning in separate articles and passages. A haunting and mysterious assassin would say only a few words when the film opens. The next time we hear Yinniang talking would be somewhere at the second hour of the run. Her role doesn't presume many expressions, as she lacks emotions. This illustrates the battle inside the protagonist. Many viewers might be alienated by the fact that her face doesn't change often, but there is something magical and enigmatic about her look emphasizing this Oriental drama. Shu Qi is wrapped into the beauty of The Assassin’s costumes, decorations, landscapes, diversity of bright colours and stunning images, yet everything revolves around her, and she is able to be perfect till the very end where she slowly walks away during the ending credits. Perhaps, it was a difficult work for Chang Chen to play his part as he is completely overshadowed by Shu Qi in her most exuberant and memorable role in the cinema so far.

To sum up, The Assassin is a truly Oriental romance many viewers would find dull and slow. From the other hand, for those who enjoy the boundless dimensions of the Oriental world's sophistication and mood, The Assassin would be an unforgettable delight. The film lacks a coherent narrative part, but it is extremely beautiful. It entertains with sublime visual methods of Hou Hsiao-Hsien and kills with the performance of Shu Qi playing this haunting and alluring assassin Yinniang. Once again, Hou decided to rely upon visuality, and this is a challenge the Taiwanese New Wave master accepts. He encounters the world of modern cinema where the film has to come up with moving action and call upon the similar instincts and predilection of the audience raised on the Hollywood rubbish and clips where you can always skip half or even more without losing anything. Hou Hsiao-Hsien keeps making his films against all odds, despite some adjustments. His style remains unique, and the beauty of The Assassin is worth millions of faceless features. The Assassin is another great achievement of his career and one of the best modern Oriental films I have seen.

#hou hsiao-hsien #刺客聶隱娘 #Taiwanese New Wave #taiwanese cinema #shu qi #林立慧 #Chang Chen

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a-leonhart · 6 years

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The final chaos

What happened to you? That´s what little Eren from a few years ago would ask the current Eren looking at his eyes, the fact that this boy is the protagonist of the serie makes me think that a lot of people blear this view of the real vision of Eren about the world and how much he has changed throug time because his justified reasons and actions overrated for wanting the "peace" for Erdia. This will be long but i need to clarify my perspective about Eren and to take initiative of his current situation, he is one of my favorite characters, I´ve felt a big empathy with him from the beginning, I appreciate him but now I'm intrigued and uncertain about what could be going through his mind after the chaos he has generated not only in the life of those he loves and wants to protect but also in his own life, yesterday I was watching the new videos of Shane Dawson called " The Dark Side Of Jake Paul" it is completely recomendable to watch in order to understand what this guy wants to talk to us about, it´s more than just to show us nonsense from someone like Jake Paul, it makes you realize how big and small the world might be at the same time, of the fear that humans can give even more than monsters and that trying to know what other people think is fucking complicated, it's incredible that with just one look you may realize that someone hates you, it's crazy or is it just not to be honest with you, when the people do not notice this because they´re mentally manipulated by their vision directed to a single angle, specific to a sociopathic person who uses a mask that tries to hide and intends to achieve his checkmate, get the attention and acomplish his own desires without caring for the good of others or exposing the danger to other people around him, where do I want to go with all of this? To the emphasis that I think of giving Eren right now, he is broken, takes control of his feelings and emotions and fades away in the deepest place of his heart, try to rescue everybody and protect them but the only thing that he gets is that hundreths of soldiers died because of his own safety, he has determination, he´s strong even though he has to hold a lot of pain and suffering since he was a child, but he has never known how to face death directly

He keeps surrounded by death and blood, being aware of how valuable his life is to reach the splendor in the walls he is predestined to die, but the death of Eren is equally valuable and for this reason they walk hand by hand with the fact that he has survived by having his titan power shield, he is only 13 years old, death has roamed near where they were before he inherited the power of the founding titan, it was always predestined to lead a life of suffering and we could confirm that in the Lost Girls' Ova, neither Mikasa or Armin could save Eren from the beginning and as a result of any action of Eren, death will always be involved, any intent to try to keep him alive will be in vain, however, that adorable boy has on many occasions carried a big weight on his back by trying to win a battle against the world, losses and wins, the balance is the same and he is overshadowing his personality.

Eren is more mature now, Eren thinks with a cold mind now, Eren is creating an agressive roughness keeping a terrifying, calm and patient this above his actions, submitting any emotion or inconvenience, such as fear frustration only seen in an occasion like Hange or the surprise at the mercy of his reason, is someone who has earned the respect and contempt of many people now, does not get to take away by the manipulation of others and walks for his own objective of finding Zeke, leaving aside everything and everyone.

That leaves me thinking in Shane's words, he could considered Jake Paul a sociopathic just for the simple fact of not having feelings of guiltness about his desitions or actions, be a violent person and cause hurt to others without any regrets, that transforms him in a dangerous person and if we analyze Eren's look, it doesn´t have any kind of emotion, his eyes are empty, not showing any sign of sadness about catastrophe given in Mare, can we relacionate them? Absolutely, both seem like normal people, even smart and charming sometimes, with the potencial of hiding things and liying, but that means that Eren is actually a sociopathic? I don´t think so, is he hidding things and lying? Probably, to protect Zeke, get to the extreme to use Historia as a piece in his chessboard and use his titan power as a weapon of war, without a doubt, but the real question is: Is Eren a villain? No, because heroes don´t exist in SNK, there is no good side, no good people, they´re all sinners who have killed in cold blood, for their own safety or for others, as Eren did at an early age like Mikasa had to do to get out alive and scape from hunters, depending on the perspective of the viewer each person chooses who is the hero and who the villain, what is right or wrong, what is justice or what is not, it happens the same between the characters, I can personally say that really nobody knows it so they all chose their own side without any apparent reason, an example will be Levi, many people would be on their side just to have a pretty face without looking at their past, seriously people today would support an island that can cause the end of the world? If we talk of reality it would be ridiculous, it's just emphaty that we feel about these characters, because in another situation the 80% of the people in this world would support Mare being the "Heroes" that are trying to save us and by how things are happening actually in manga, it leaves me analyzing three possible endings for SNK:

1. Eren will follow his road as the founder titan being guided by the influences of Eren Krueguer, of his father and Ymir Fritz, destroying the demon of the earth, that is the principal creature that practices all kind of powers and it's the only enemy of the world, waking up all the titans of the walls, destroying all the walls in it's path and giving an end to the curse of the titans.

2. Open ending, nothing concrete, Erdia needs more than 50 years to be on par with the rest of the world, nothing can be deduced from that, only war.

3. Even though the Fritz has seemed affected by the memories of the past users when they inherited the power of the titan founder and they become in some kind of god, they got complely crazy as Frieda did in manga and unlike Eren, still has the sanity even though current is showing signs of sociopathy because his internal conflict of emotions, presenting his desesperation, hurried actions and the lack of guilt in front of the death of a lot of people. Despite these facts, a desesperate way to end up with the conflits between Erdia and world is the option that Eren devours all the changing titans, inherited his powers and locking in a crystal just like Annie´s because of that nobody has any touch with him and makes a pause in the curse.

4. I´ve the hunch that Eren will activate the coordinates by mistake together with Zeke, regreting and starting a battle between the titans. If that happens, all the protagonists will die as a heroes at cost to protect the humanity.

5. Then after winning peace, the peace with the rest of the world and saving everybody, Eren dies and leaves his power to the next user. When he accomplishes his objectives he dreams with his parents and wakes up of the nightmare that he had in the first episode, sitting in the tree but without Mikasa next to him.

In conclusion, we can say that the friendship created from the beginning doesn´t matter after that the war starts while working together for the good of humanity not to be any betray to be realistic I don´t think that this will happen twice, probably there will be a change of opinion, everyone is conscious of it and as long as Eren is clear about his ideals and doesn´t go crazy, he can protect his friends and the legion of recognition of death. To be honest, I must say that I like this new Eren, clearly he is not well, he is mental and emotional health is complicated, he is becoming someone that he didn´t plan to be in the course of his life, nothing was for his own will even though he has enough determination to take away any obstacle and as Shane has mentioned, no one can say at what point they will make their move and Eren pulls his ace up his sleeve, but he is not the only one unstable, they all have a kind of trauma and that is how different disorders are formed , Zeke is an example of that, being his life a lie, he was surrounded by people that influenced him in one thing and his parents told him other, he must be mentally exhausted even if he is a prodigy capable of thinking in anything to opt to find a solution, but on the other hand his only movement and anchor so that everything he sacrificed was worth, it is Eren that carries within himself the soul, mentality or memories of Eren Krueguer, for that reason I consider that from the first encounter between Eren and Zeke in Shinganshina , he could appreciate the nostalgia and hope in his eyes when asked if it was "Eren Jaeger".

I seriously think that if Eren Krueger and Eren Jaeger are connected in some way by the invisible paths that are linked to him, he could have contact with his past and future, sending a message to the nine-year-old Eren while he sleeps under the tree, ensuring the security of Mikasa and Armin, changing their actions of the future to save them and keep them alive as he did twice, is the only hope, a single hope to free themselves from a future in which everyone dies.

#shingeki no kyojin #snk #snkspoilers #eren jaeger #mangaspoilers #aot #theory

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xellzios · 7 years

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Dreich

adjective \ ˈdrēḵ \ of weather; gloomy, damp, dark, grey, lacking light.

Disclaimer: Angst, bask into a long piece of post-146 angst made by me and my good friend, @harleyquilt. I hope you know how much I enjoyed writing this with you.

Words: 11,713 (yes, really and not kidding)

Rating: T for tears

PREVIEW:

Did he do all of this?

It did not matter what she physically felt, because even if she bore the pain from the wounds of the battle that had transpired, even if she could feel the restlessness that threatened to break her tired bones – nothing could prepare her from the heartbreak. Someone had shattered her heart completely into pieces as if it was the easiest thing to do, and it only required hearing the devastating wail of a creature her husband had become.

“Touka,” Nishiki held her arm back before she could take a step. She didn’t even turn to face him. “You should realize, that thing isn’t Ken anymore.”

The stench.

This putrid stench of blood. It was overwhelming, wave after wave of rotten flesh drowned out Touka’s senses and she saw nothing but the crumbles of the city she once she knew well. It was replaced with the endless, unrecognizable corpses of people - be it men, women and children. She felt the bile crawl up her throat at the sight of rotting corpses and tried to steadily take heavy steps towards the loud commotion in the distance.

Did he do all of this?

“Touka,” Nishiki held her arm back before she could take a step. She didn’t even turn to face him. “You should realize, that thing isn’t Ken anymore.”

The sound of his voice was desolate, as if he himself did not want to believe in what he was seeing. But his words passed through her meaninglessly. Of course, she already knew that. Still, hearing the words brought a pang of sadness in her heart - as if molten lava sauntered into her stomach and settled there.

Thing.

What was once her beloved husband was now a beast that rampaged the city that was at one point, their home. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for his actions, she helped cause this, she thought. If only she had guided Ken into the right path, she could have saved him. If only she did not influence his decisions, then maybe, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to them. If only, if only he did not have her to take care of, maybe he would have been better as a leader. There were so many things running in her mind that shattered her more as she realized the brevity of the situation.

His howl was of such fierce grief that it had overpowered everything. There was nothing else left in the 24th ward now anyway, nothing but the world of ruin and chaos that the creature had brought out by its birth. When she first saw the shining scales of a huge kagune, all she could think of was the dread that she felt in her heart.

And when she first saw him, nothing could ever, ever prepare her from the anguish that dropped into her being as the blinding red haze of fury overshadowed Tokyo.

She had failed him. She had tried her best, she was sure, but it was simply out of her grasp. What was one person against a thousand of enemies that stood in front of them? She wished she could turn back time, run away and never look back, maybe she could have saved everyone, maybe she could have prevented these senseless deaths. Maybe, maybe.

She pulled her arm away from Nishiki with her jaw clenched and teeth gritted, turning to face him and the small crowd of followers behind him. He looked so tired – his hair was disheveled and scattered all around his face, his glasses were askew. And the people, oh god the people, they all looked defeated – with the undeniable sorrow and hopelessness planted on their faces. Tsukiyama’s face was unreadable as he stared at the cold ground and Banjou looked like he wanted to wake up from a nightmare. ‘What will be left of any of us once this is over?’ she wondered sadly.

In the end, she felt like everyone radiated the same thoughts over this mess – how could it have gone so wrong? Everything felt so hopeless.

Was this what awaited her after everything she had been through? Would all the efforts, all the lives that were lost today amount to nothing? It felt like a never-ending nightmare. Her heart ached, heavy and bleeding, as she thought of all the people she had left behind just to ensure the survival of people whom she wanted to protect.

It pained her to know if all of their efforts and sacrifices would go in vain. She knew in her heart that if she only realized this would be the end, then she would have fought side by side with them until the very last breath.

Touka wavered in her step and rested a hand on her stomach. Their child – would they be forced to live in a world in this world of darkness? Would this kid need to live without knowing who their father was and what he meant to her? To anyone? Would her baby even be allowed to live at this point? That single thought brought back tears that threatened to fall upon imagining such a world, a fear that continued to consume her and made her stomach churn with the bitterness and resentment towards the world.

They haven’t even chosen a name yet.

“Touka-chan,” Ken huffed as he took his hand away from her stomach. “Is there something wrong with the names that I suggested?”

She flicked his forehead and rolled over on their shared bed and felt Ken wrap his arm around her again, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck. He was a mix of curiosity and disappointment, waiting for an answer.

“What’s wrong with my names?” Touka protested, but continued to lean into his touch. “They’re unique.”

“Well…” Ken sighed against her and felt her shiver besides him. “I guess we can talk about that later.”

They remained like that for a while, with Ken rubbing small circles against Touka’s stomach. The look on his face betrayed such warmth and tenderness that it made her feel happy. It was silly, she thought, but when you live in a world of uncertainty and death, even these little gestures were some kind of approval. His lips pressed against the crown of her head as she felt his heart thudding against her back. It was such a nice sensation, to physically feel the indication of his life. If only they could stay this way for as long as they could, she would not want to let go. But she knew that soon enough, he would have to leave again. And she, once left alone, would be left cold in the suddenly large and empty bed. She would wait for his return, the fear of losing him again creeping in her heart, like a shadow she could never get rid of. Her mind would be littered with the idea of him never returning, of never knowing what would happen, the fear that anyone could burst into her room and announce his death. That thought alone could keep her awake and nauseous.

For now, she had to shake her own worrisome thoughts as she laced her fingers through Ken’s, gripping them tighter. She hoped ignorantly that he wouldn’t leave her, as long as they remained this way. That’s all she wanted at the end of day – for her husband to be by her side as they talked about a life they both wanted to live for.

And yet,

“Kaneki.” She turned her head slightly to face him. “Do you really believe we can achieve a future for us?” Her hand then rested on top of his, silently asking for an answer to ease her worries. “For this child?” Her uncertainty leaked through her voice as her eyes looked at his, begging for hope. She wished he would have answers, wished that she would be given reassurance to qualm her fears.

There was a pause and Ken’s hand seemed to have stopped moving, his eyes thoughtful. He then leaned up and looked down to Touka’s worried expression with a bright, gentle smile, his hand moving to brush back her hair as he kissed her forehead.

“Yes.” He said confidently, moving his lips down and kissing the tip of her nose. “I mean, I know it seems stupid to hope for as much considering the circumstances and such, but as long as we keep fighting, there’s hope that we will achieve the future we desire. It’ll just take some time.”

He then moved lower and pressed his lips against hers, pulling back to watch Touka break into a smile, her hand caressing his cheek. There was a sense of relief that flooded through her when she heard him speak those words, to hear his unwavering voice and watch his eyes remain on hers. She knew it was merely wishful thinking, but she clung onto them, as if they were her hope in itself. Because she believed him, she always did.

But they weren’t the truth.

Why couldn’t it have stayed like that?

All that hope seemed to have shattered almost instantly – their dreams, their aspirations. They all smashed into meaningless shards of broken promises and forgotten words. She almost felt stupid for thinking that such things would be possible to achieve on this cruel world they stood on. If this was their fate, then she would never again be able to feel herself in his arms, to hear his sweet nothings whispered in her ear at night, to watch him light up at the mere mention of the child. She would lose all of that, and it scared her.

Touka forced herself away from her thoughts as she faced the cold reality of the situation. She tenderly caressed her stomach, in a silent promise that she would fight, that she would continue fighting – even if it was hopeless. Because she still wanted to believe that there was a future waiting for them. And as she raised her head to face Nishiki, she gave him a look of determination that couldn’t be squelched. She refused to accept any of this, to accept that Ken was gone and out of reach. If he had drifted too far, she would force him back down, regardless of how the others would protest. Because somewhere inside this monster lied the kind and gentle man she had always loved. Besides, they promised a better future, didn’t they?

“It’s still him.” Touka said stubbornly, turning her gaze back to the commotion occurring deeper into the city. The screams made her wince and it was now that she felt how heavy her clothes were, still damp with blood. “It’s still –”

“You don’t need to go.” Yomo appeared besides her, his hand settling on her shoulder, in a silent but reassuring gesture. He was wounded and was barely able to stand, yet he found his way to her. His voice was raspy and strained, almost as if he was pleading her to not move forward.

“If I don’t,” Touka said quietly, “then nothing will change. I have to at least try.”

With that said, she started to head onwards, Yomo’s hand falling back down to his side as he watched Touka walk on without any hesitation or doubt. However, it wasn’t long before he followed on behind, along with Nishiki, Tsukiyama and eventually, everyone else.

She would save him, she would bring him back.

II.

His pudgy little hands held an old book, marveling at its touch. He inhaled the musty scent, his thoughts pervaded by the mixture of wood and the earth. For one so old, the black shiny leather looked well-kept and was surprisingly smooth, as if it had been loved dearly. As soon as he opened the page, the familiar feel of the paper sent warmth to his heart, drowning everything but the gift his father had left him.

His smile grew at the thought that he finally finished reading it, his happiness palpable as he hugged the object close to his heart. He couldn’t wait for his mom to get back from work, then he would like to show her his latest accomplishment!

He thought of what he should tell her. Maybe he should start by showing him his test results, she would like that, wouldn’t she? He got a perfect grade again in Mathematics and History, and the teacher had praised him for being such a bright kid. She would be happy with that this time, right?

He’ll make her smile this time, right?

As if on cue, the door creaked open as light streamed from outside his room. He sensed familiar footsteps going in, as well as a thud from shoes being removed. Ken was hesitant to go out, holding on firmly to the book as he hid inside the room. His mind was racing with the thoughts of what he wanted to say that would make his mother smile and look at him, but at the same time, he was anxious that she would just once again ignore him.

Slowly, tentatively, as his mother walked towards the kitchen, his feet followed her. He wanted to make his presence known, but not to the point that he would anger her – she probably knew he was peeking at her anyway, as she sent the groceries into the fridge. When she turned to face him, he instinctively took a step backward, hands trembling at the thought that she did not want him here.

His mother continued eyeing him suspiciously, unaware of the fact that it was scaring the boy. With a deep sigh, she pulled out a small carton in the fridge and threw it at his way. “Here,” she muttered.

Ken barely caught it, the feel of the cold packet of milk landing on his tiny palm. “Thank you, mom.”

Silence. It was deafening, and it terrified him.

“M-mom?” He hated it when he stuttered, yet he gave her a nervous smile. His mother stayed silent, her eyes looking at him judgingly. Ken didn’t know how to read her face, hands still shaking as he gathered strength from his father’s beloved treasure. “I – I did well in school today,” he stated, trying to spark a conversation as he set his eyes on the cold stone marble. He tried to remember what his teacher told him, an anxious chuckle escaping from his lips. “I got a perfect score in Math and History.”

Before he could even continue, his eyes went wide as her shadow grew near. He could already feel the tears streaming down his trembling face.

‘Where am I?’ he thought, exhausted. He felt like he was floating, his memories seemingly fleeting into his consciousness as he tried to figure out what was happening. He remembered his mother beating him for trying to spark a conversation, of the sadness he had felt when he escaped back into a corner of his room – crying his heart out, hugging himself close. He could still feel the pain as he remembered the heated beatings that pulsated against his skin and his mother’s cruel words that echoed in his hazed mind. But a gentle voice suddenly called out to him and he woke up, confused.

Ken’s cognizance felt like it was tainted as a dull, steel gray. It was almost as if a low-hanging, polluted mist permeated inside it, the tendrils of the said poison snaking to every facet of his mind. He opened his eyes through the darkness that embraced him, heart pounding. He could feel the sweat in his brow, as well as the ringing in his ears.

‘Huh?’ At first, all he could see was darkness. He felt like his senses had been diluted, as if a mist covered his eyes. He couldn’t make out where he was, he felt like he was trapped somewhere – in between being held onto something he couldn’t quite comprehend and being suspended in air.

Soon enough, the fog started clearing. His mouth prickled with the metallic taste of blood and his nose inhaled the smell of rotting flesh in the humid air. He felt a low rumbling from where he was, yet his lungs constricted as panic started to set in. Bile rose from his throat as his vision took him into a view of a city. And whatever he was in, it was moving quite fast as it went from building to building.

He felt it clashing through stone walls and broke through windows as they shattered into nothing more than small shards. He felt its every movement against his very skin. Yet, wherever he was, he couldn’t do so much as move inside it or control a muscle as he laid like an onlooker to the destruction it caused.

He tried to remember where he was before he got here. And then, as if the merciless grief had taken his soul, he felt his heart cry and a deafening roar permeated from the creature and filled the place with a tremor so strong it could be mistaken for an earthquake.

He remembered losing – the feeling of helplessness flooding his senses as Furuta taunted him of how weak and insignificant he was. He remembered the grief he felt as he saw the heads of two boys he cared for, and the feeling of despair that threatened to overtake him when Furuta whispered that his wife was in danger. The last thing he remembered was feasting on the revolting flesh of the Oggai, and then he blacked out.

His wife.

‘Where is she?’ he wondered in his daze-like state, looking around. He couldn’t shake the feeling of dread arising from his stomach at the thought of him hurting her. He recalled his desperation, his fear, as he tried to find her. He chastised himself for being useless and weak once again, of failing the people he loved once more.

Was it his fate to see them die? His head hurt from trying to make sense of what was happening, but he now knew. His suspicions, his worst fears, they came back to haunt him as he came with the shocking realization.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. This creature, this monster – it was him

III.

A deafening roar reverberated through the skies as he tried to let go all of his emotions, in an attempt to gain control once more. His heart cried as the truth reared its ugly head to him, slapping him awake. It felt like a knee to his gut, or waking up to the sound of his bones breaking – as he realized what he had become.

It disgusted him to see himself like this – conscious but helpless, like a child who was forced to watch a brutal scene out of a movie. He bellowed and flailed, but it was to no avail. The creature’s response was that of a thundering growl, a menacing figure sent by the heavens to finally destroy everything.

Was this the end then, for him?

It felt so sickening to know that this was where everything would lead. That in the end, he was just a hopeless puppet to a world of blood and death. Was this the future he wanted to bring? He knew he had no choice, knew that it was his fault how he became like this, as he accepted the only way he could at least salvage what remained of the people he wanted to protect. He knew that if he didn’t do it, his loved ones would be killed either way.

From the moment he realized what he wanted to do, he had acknowledged the fact that it would forever change him and his life. Still, it didn’t dampen the wish he held in his heart – deep inside, he just hoped for them to be able to live in peace, to be able to smile again and laugh without having to think of death or how they needed to fight to live another day.

He had failed them.

Should he succumb to his fate? To accept that he would never see Touka once again? But that’s why he did this, right? Because he wanted to see her again, to at least have a small glimmer of hope upon knowing she was safe. Yet he could feel death looming in the corner, as if embracing him so that he wouldn’t escape.

He laid there, prone and immobile, as the creature moved to destroy everything that was threatening to hurt it. Funny enough, he couldn’t even feel any of their missiles or bombs, not even a tickle. He observed how his kakuja would move from structure to structure, as if in a loss of where to go, or maybe because it was moving on instinct alone.

A gun fired his way again, but unlike all others, for the first time he felt the cold, unrelenting sensation of the metal against his body as it pierced him. He couldn’t help but yelp at the contact, sending the monster into a frenzy of yowls as he tried to located the source of his pain.

It was in this blurred turmoil that from the corner of his eyes, he saw them. His heart stopped.

He could see Hinami’s form looking at the ground, her hands balled into fists. There was even Tsukiyama, Banjou and Nishiki, who looked crestfallen – all of them seemed like they couldn’t even bear looking at the scene. Guns continued to bombard him, causing his body to scream at the contact. Whatever they were using now, they were built to destroy him, kill him. The pain blurred his vision, numbing his senses that he almost lost them.

Was he to die here then? Would he be denied of the chance to see her, if he were to die from this?

A woman’s distressed scream brought him back as he recognized the voice. He would recognize it anywhere, so he willed himself to searched for the source. Ayato was holding Touka back as she shouted and flailed. She was crying, from the way her eyes looked bloodshot along with the expression of horror on her face. It broke his heart to see her like this, and yet he could do nothing. How he wished he could even hold her and tell her that it would be alright, to erase the sadness in her eyes.

But he brought this, and he had no choice but to pay for it.

The kakuja continued to destroy everything in its path because of its endless rage, snapping him back into the realization that he held no control of its actions. It had massacred everything that caused its trouble, moving as fast as it could to eliminate them. Ken knew he had to stop it, knew that it was up to him to help them.

With a sigh, he laughed bitterly at how naïve he was. He had accepted his fate, all he could do now was protect them.

Even if in the end, he would have to protect them from himself.

IV.

It was hopeless, desperate.

Touka watched in horror as the bombs fell onto Ken’s form – the loud, thunderous blasts deafening whilst they continued to barrage Ken with endless attacks. His monstrous kakuja cried out in agony, writhing in pain before he fell with a heavy thud besides Touka, a gust of wind from his fall pushing her back as she struggled to stay in place.

She knew she should run as the humans continued their merciless attacks, but she trudged onwards stubbornly. She had to reach him, whatever happens – she had to save him. She wouldn’t allow him to fall here. Her arm reached out desperately with a silent cry for her husband. However, with another wave of attacks, Touka was blown back, skidding across the hard ground as her mind blurred and her ears rang loudly.

It was hopeless.

She could feel her beating heart thundering in her ears. Shaking, she pushed herself up and narrowed her eyes to try and clear her vision. Ken’s many eyes were set on Touka – she could feel the desperation written in the action, as well as the determination to stand and move just to reach her. With a loud, aching groan, he dragged his wounded and broken form towards her, as every small movement managed to shatter her heart some more – with his desperation, with his will. It was hard to make out, but Touka was certain that between his garbled cries, he was calling out her name.

He was always reaching out for her, always trying to protect her no matter what the circumstances brought. Somehow, it always seemed that she was the reason for his pain, for his continuous suffering that wore him down with each passing day. Ken wanted nothing more than to stay by her side with the reassurance that she was safe and sound. But in the end, she was just another burden in the life tragically altered by people’s selfish wishes. Even now, even if he could run with the little strength he had left, he still continued to move towards her. It was painful to watch; her heart couldn’t stand it anymore. Has she even helped him at all?

Touka pushed herself onto her feet and started to stumble towards Ken, her heart screaming out for him as she neared him. She felt weak, her body already trying to succumb from all the blows that this day brought, and yet she pressed onwards with every strength of her will. To see him in pain crushed her, his painful whimpering unbearable to listen to. And to watch his dark blood spill endlessly down onto the ground below tore her apart – with fear eating away her aggrieved heart. She refused to let him burden himself any further. This time, she’ll be the one to protect him – she needed to.

All of the sudden, Touka was shrouded in darkness as she heard a large explosion above her. Before she quickly grasped the situation, the corner of her eyes saw a monstrous kagune, all beaten and battered and torn apart.

Ken had surrounded her. He protected her. Again.

Touka gasped in shock, the air thick and suffocating as Ken started to crumble around her and pieces of his flesh fell off his mangled body. With her heart slamming against her chest and as her body froze in fear, her wide eyes darted around to see if she could find him – the real Ken. She searched with such a fearful gaze, desperately attempting to claw away everything she could. She felt the surprisingly cold blood dripping down onto her as the disgusting smell filled her nose. But she couldn’t even mind all of it, as the cold feeling of dread swept through her heart.

How she wished, begged even, for this to be some horrid nightmare that she would wake up from. But with every drop of blood that fell onto her pale cheeks, she knew the truth wouldn’t be so kind.

“Kaneki.” She croaked, raising a trembling arm. Her voice felt so tight and raw, even to her ears. “KANEKI! Where are you?”

As if her voice had beckoned him, his body emerged from the heap of flesh, his new form wrapped around his limbs with his head hung low and his eyes shut. As his body lowered into Touka’s reach, she leaned up and caressed his cheek with her hand. His skin was frighteningly cold and deathly pale, but she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of his warmth beneath her touch. Tears escaped her eyes from the sight, succumbing to all the feelings she had tried to suppress. His eyes fluttered open, a faint smile on his quivering lips as he locked eyes with Touka for the first time. He reached out to her, his warm smile a cold contrast to their surroundings as rested his head against hers.

“You're… alive.” Ken sighed, palpable relief emerging from his weary voice as his eyes fell shut once again.

But just as Touka could even dare breathe again, Ken slumped against her, his body heavy and limp as he passed out.

“K-Ken,” Touka uttered, her voice hushed and strained. “P-please, wake up.”

She shook him gently as the flesh wrapped around his limbs pulled away and left his stiff, deadweight body leaning against her. Her mind started to race as her knees buckled beneath her. She fell onto them with Ken still in her arms. She was unable to accept the bitter truth – he wasn’t dead, right? He was just wounded and tired. He was still here, right?

Right?

Touka lifted his head, but his eyes remained closed and his lips slightly parted. She sobbed his name out of desperation, her voice growing louder with every touch as her hands gently cupped his face. He looked so peaceful.

“P-please, no. Please,” Touka whimpered whilst she held his body close to her chest and rocked back and forth. “Y-You can’t leave me yet, not yet. Don’t do this to me.”

She had wanted to knock on death’s door, to pray and beg any god, anyone at all – to not take another loved one from her. She couldn’t, she really couldn’t be forced to live seeing more of their glassy eyes as they succumbed to the netherworld. It was too much, too cruel, for life to do this.

The dragon’s form continued to strip away and the investigators started to edge near the scene, but Touka couldn’t care less. All she could do was keep Ken close, to keep him by her side as death made its way towards her. ‘Perhaps,’ she thought, holding onto her husband, but at the same time, caressing her stomach, ‘it wouldn’t be so bad. At least then, only then, I would be able to see him again. I just want to see his smile again.’

Perhaps, in another life, the world wouldn’t be so cruel and they would be able to live. To live. Do mundane things – laugh around with people they love, hold hands, start a family. Perhaps, in the next life, she would still be his, but life would be kinder. Perhaps.

Some distance away, she heard the humans bark orders at her, but their words were blurred and meaningless. Her surrounding was dim and lifeless, her attention only focused on Ken and Ken alone. Even now, it almost seemed like he was smiling, his relief written all over serenely.

It was all worthless though – all her purpose, her hopes and dreams, drained away into a void of despair. She wanted to desperately attempt to call out and scream, because all that she asked for was for Ken to open those beautiful, grey eyes of his. What use was her survival if he wasn’t there to be with her? What was the use of their lives? She felt bitter, they only wanted to leave, tried desperately to survive – and yet the world couldn’t even grant that wish.

She said she would protect him, her own thoughts repeating the cycle cruelly in her mind. She promised. What happened to that promise?

But if she were to die now, then what did Ken die for?

With her mind confused and conflicted, her grief and sorrow mixed with the forlorn truth, she looked down onto Ken’s face and thought for a moment on what he would’ve wanted. She failed. She couldn’t protect him. Everything that happened was because of her again. But if she were to die now, she would only be failing him once more.

And then there was their child. It was probably still smaller than her own palm, and yet to take away such a valuable life out of her own selfishness and grief would be too cruel. This child, the symbol of their love and hope, deserved the world as much as they did. Ken protected this life, he wanted and even desperately tried to make sure they would both live.

To die would only be tossing back the favor that he paid the terrible price for. She wouldn’t be so cruel, even if it broke her heart to do so.

No, she must move forward. For him. For their child. She had to shove back her own selfish desires and push onwards. That’s what she’s being doing all this time, right?

She rested Ken’s body gently onto the blood-soaked ground and got onto her shaking feet, her majestic kagune emerging from her throbbing shoulders. The surroundings lit up with the bright colors of red, purple and orange dancing from her blazing ukaku. Touka lowered her body as she shot projectiles towards the investigators that tried to surround her, she wouldn’t allow them near her or him. They wouldn’t take him away from her.

However, even with a simple attack, her body was already drained of all her energy and she slouched over, her kagune starting to simmer as her gaze drifted back to her sleeping husband. She reached out to him but gunfire soon erupted and she felt a sudden shock as a bullet passed through her arm. With a weak cry, she leaped away, but before she could shield herself, another bullet pierced her thigh. She fell against one of the smashed cars, feeling the deep throbbing pain from both her wounds, as she slid down onto the ground. They must be thinking that he was the one doing this, as the shadow of the kakuja penetrated every corner, every wall.

Along with her pain, Touka couldn’t help but feel her guilt begin to swell, leaning her head back as she looked up onto the clear night sky. Was this the end? Was this how she was going to die? She wasn’t even strong enough at this point to even escape should they try to fire aimlessly again.

Everything, all of this, was so useless. Meaningless.

Still, even now, she looked back at Ken and started to limp towards him. If she could just feel his presence in her last moments, she could at least feel some comfort in her death, even if it hurt her so much.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her hand moving back to her aching stomach. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t do anything in the end.”

The gunfire continued and Touka managed to force out her kagune enough to block the attacks. Lightning sizzled around her as she gritted her teeth. There was sharp, shooting pain as the bullets pulsated through her limbs, but she managed to drag herself to Ken and fell down to his side. She held onto his hand and whispered his name, spouting her apologies into his ears.

It was hopeless. She wanted no more of this, just desperate for this farce to come to an end.

A weak graze touched her skin and she couldn’t even believe it, as her heart welled. But there was another, and another, the movement getting strong with every attempt until Ken managed to weakly squeeze her hand in return.

Touka’s eyes opened wide at his actions, but as she raised her face, she saw nothing but the standing bodies of the humans surrounding her.

The smell of death towered over them, rearing his ugly head. ‘Where was everyone?’ she thought. Why could they not stop this?

A man asked her to step back, as they raised their guns for the final shot. But Touka screamed, her voice scorching through the night. She couldn’t even hear their response as her senses started to blur, but she did hear a gun shoot.

Ken pushed Touka down as he wrapped her body over his. Before she could even do so much as protest, a few, loud gunshots continued to ring in her ears, Ken taking in every last one. His body spasmed violently with every wound he took but he shielded Touka, her eyes locked onto his face with sheer terror and shock.

At first, she was too stunned to comprehend what had just happened before Ken released his own kagune and pierced it through every investigator around them until no more gunshots were heard. However, the damage was done. Crimson red bathed him, and he let out a rough cough as the warmth of his blood splattered across Touka’s face.

Regardless, once Ken lifted his head and opened his tired, sunken eyes, he let out a bright smile. The arms that he leaned on around Touka’s head shaking as he struggled to hold himself up. Touka struggled to breathe, her hand hesitantly moving up towards his face. She couldn’t even do so much as move – her eyes were wide with fear, her hands trembling as the shock ate her.

“I really thought I wouldn’t have made it in time just then.” Ken laughed nervously. “You scared me.” He coughed some more as blood spluttered all over his lips, and he lowered his head to Touka’s neck. She could feel his strength leaving him. She flinched at the sound of him hacking, shutting her eyes momentarily to pray for this to be some kind of cruel joke. “Why did you come back?”

“Ken.” She whispered and she couldn’t hold herself back any more before she wrapped her arms around him, crying out pathetic sobs as the feeling of his blood soaked her body. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. P-Please – I can’t –”

“Touka-chan,” he sighed, his voice now quiet, his body slumped against hers. He brushed his shaking fingers through her damp hair, planting a kiss against the crown of her head. “It’s going be to be fine,” he mumbled, trying to desperately reassure her, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“I can’t do this without you.” She howled with grief. His movements and breathing began to slow as another violent hack pierced through the air. This was all wrong, everything about it was wrong. This couldn’t be.

“You said all you needed was me, but the truth is, it was me who needs you the most. It hurts me so much, seeing you leave all the time,” she cried. “Please, I can’t bear this. Please.”

“Shh, Touka.” Ken lifted his head weakly, his sorrowful smile remaining on his dried lips. “You’re the strongest woman I know. It seems cruel of me, but can you promise me to keep living?” he winced as he held back his coughs. “You will make a good mother.”

How he wished he could see that time, to partake on that said event. He wanted nothing but to desperately live a life not shrouded by death. And yet, it was all life gave him it seemed. Warm tears ran down his cheeks as he realized that it would never come true, that he would never be by her side again – to see their child, to grow old with her and hold her in his arms.

Touka felt all of his feelings – all the regret, all the silent cries of wanting to live. She felt the overwhelming urge to refuse his words, to scream, to shout, to cry that there would be no point – but instead, she chose to listen. It was too late, after all. So instead, she looked up with admiration on his beautiful face, drinking in his every feature as she tried so hard to engrave him on her mind.

“Can you promise me that, Touka-chan?” He asked, his voice hopeful yet strained. She nodded weakly, pulling him back into a tight embrace as she felt his strength slowly begin to diminish. “I’m glad.” She felt him smile against her neck. “I’m glad I met you all those years ago.”

“Me too.” She sobbed, her hold on him tightening.

“That, makes me happy.” Ken pressed himself closely and bent his head to whisper into her ear. She felt like she could laugh at what he did amidst this horrible mess, but she remained silent, nodding slightly. He then grew still and just when Touka was about to call his name, his whisper laid gently in her ears, “I love you.” It was his last breath.

“I love you too.” She had to say it, even though she knew he was already gone.

“Touka-chan?” he muttered, turning around to see if she was there. They were walking silently by the shore, looking around as the waves created a slow, steady rhythm. It created a sense of calm, with the breeze cool against their skins and the sun shined brightly in the horizon. They could see some people also enjoying the scenery, gathered with some friends or loved ones with smiles in their faces.

Touka walked to him and he took her hand, his smile warm and gentle. She couldn’t help but blush at the gesture, the butterflies in her stomach dancing fervently at his touch. Both of them continued walking, comfortable with the silence.

Ken stopped and looked at her, his expression serene as his hair danced with the calm gust of the saltwater air. This had been the most peaceful she had seen him in a very long time. It was as if he was back to those peaceful days in Anteiku, where most of their concerns rested with maintaining the normalcy of their lives. He removed his sandals as they neared the gentle waves. “Our experience won’t be complete if we don’t walk barefooted on the sand, you know?” he told her. The tranquility of his place and of the scene mesmerized her, as if it was taken straight from a dream.

Almost automatically, she mimicked him and he fetched her slippers, holding them with his free hand as he sprinted back into the spot where they left their things. Touka could feel the rough texture of white sand against her feet, and was surprised when the cold water bit her skin. She instinctively took a step back and would have lost her balance if Ken hadn’t caught her arm as he returned to her side. He chuckled at her reaction, his face so bright and childlike that it made her cheeks flush. And when he led her closer to the water again, just enough that the water struggled to touch their ankles, she felt very pleased.

It was as if they were a normal couple, for once.

She waddled deeper, looking at the small fishes that lay visible in the clear blue water until she spotted a small black blob. “It’s a jellyfish! Look!”

“Touka-chan, try to be careful,” Ken beamed, bending down to watch as the tiny creature floated against the current. “If you get too close you might get stung.”

“Right,” she pouted, looking at the water. She saw him wade a bit further, crouching down as something met his eye. Curious, she sauntered towards him as he picked up something near the bottom of the sea and showed it to her.

“Look, I found a seashell,” he said brightly, placing the perfectly shaped clam-shell for her to examine. The sandy clear color stood out as the sun reflected it, with its curved lines running smoothly into her hand. She felt amazed and mesmerized, to be able to enjoy these mundane things. It was as if the world has turned upside down, and yet she didn’t mind it at all as she surrendered herself into its palm.

They spent the good part of their time crouched and partly kneeling in the sand as the currents brushed against them. Touka felt like a spoiled child by enjoying an afternoon on the beach with no one but Ken. She couldn’t help but feel happy whenever she saw his relaxed face. Somehow, she felt like he was his age – not someone who was thrusted with all the worries of the world. From time to time they would stand up and eagerly share the treasures they had uncovered from the sand, smiling and laughing.

At some point, Ken used his time to get creative as he started packing lumps of sand together near the shore. Touka, who was just content looking at his handy work, observed him, appreciating the small details he had put in his project. Sometimes, he would ask her if she wasn’t bored just looking at what he was doing. On other times, he’d invite her but she would refuse, contented with just helping him get more sand.

There were several pillars and cylinders made of sand in one huge lump – like a castle, she realized. It was already late afternoon when he finished, clapping his hand to remove the dirt that got stuck. She couldn’t help but smile when she glanced at his direction, grazing his face gently as she attempted to remove the dirt in his cheeks.

“So how do you find my piece of art?” he asked tentatively, feeling insecure.

Touka tried to keep a straight face at his expression, holding on a chuckle as she poked her hand on one of its pillars “It’s interesting.”

He shot her a glance and pursed his lips, trying his hardest not to smile. “I tried,” he muttered, pouting.

“Your castle amazes me, my king,” she teased, nudging his rib. Ken winced, scratching the back of his head as he laughed nervously.

“I built it for you,” he turned to it timidly, cheeks warm as he crouched and attempted to fix parts of it that were withering away. Suddenly, his gaze turned somber as the waves finally picked up their strength, washing away parts of the sand slowly.

As time passed, Touka could only watch helplessly as the sand started to crumble apart, the sea leaving nothing on its onslaught, wiping away everything. It felt like a hollow, twisted scene, like the world had reverted back to what it was. She wanted to stop it, and yet she couldn’t even move as she felt her heart beating faster.

And when she turned to him, Ken stood up and smiled sadly at her, the sorrow apparent in his features. “I’m sorry I could only give you a sandcastle.”

She could feel the warmth of her tears as she tried to hold onto the dream, curling like a ball to ease the ache in her heart. How many days had passed? Weeks? Months? She couldn’t even decipher, refusing to even leave her room as the void she felt in her heart became palpable yet again.

Her hand held the small bunny keychain firmly, afraid that it too might disappear should she choose to let it go for a second. She felt pitiful for clinging into a small plastic figure just to feel that he was real, that once upon a time, he existed. It was as if the world had erased every part of him – his identity, his name, his story. And she couldn’t help but feel the grief creeping into her bones whenever she thought about it.

‘Why?’ she asked, her question directed to none. She put the small gift near her face, as if it was enough to bring back a part of him. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, her throat felt dry and raw. And her hands, they trembled as she placed them near her heart. If only she had tried to stop him, if only she had been strong enough to protect him – then maybe things wouldn’t be this way. She wished she had told him how much she loved him, wished she had spent more of their waking days together. If she knew this was what fate had in store for the both of them, then she would’ve held him close, cherished every touch, every feel, every moment.

But all was lost, was it not? He’s gone.

As she stood up, she didn’t know what she expected to happen next. Perhaps she could just stay here, because whenever she tried to even stand up, she would just slump back down against the door and sob helplessly.

And yet, in a moment of trance, she found herself walking – out of the door, out of her house – in her disheveled hair and hooded jacket.

Touka walked into the road, aimlessly, helplessly.

She walked past the ruins of a building, barely looking at the damage it had suffered. She recognized a familiar way and stopped by the alley as felt the air of nostalgia tiptoe on her lungs. This was where she first really talked to him, she realized. She could still remember the look of disgust on his face, as a sad smile crept on hers. It was hilarious really, because she never thought she would even get close to someone like him.

Touka walked along the rough, cobbled street and leaned to touch the wall, as the darkness hid the small vivid details from her view. It was cold and felt so empty, she thought, just like her heart. She could still imagine how frightened he was then. If only she knew what had awaited both of them, then maybe she should have been kinder and helped him. Her heart whimpered, just like herself, and she had to stop before it became unbearable. With a sigh, she turned her back to it with what energy she had left, dragging her feet as she thought about how much he had changed since that day.

She moved without direction, allowing her feet to carve her way as she hugged herself. She could see her tired, aching limbs as she walked, albeit blurry. Had it already been too long since then? How she wished she could turn back the time – back to when she had a place where she belonged. She couldn’t help but reminisce about the time that he could still laugh freely with them, with his gentle face finding a sense of peace even when he was thrusted into a world that only contained blood and death. He was so skinny then, and so weak, she thought. And yet his warmth and kindness always saved them, always enveloped them with love that the world never deserved.

“I’d be sad if you died.” His voice resounded into her being that it sent a jolt of pain to her heart. How ironic it was, she thought. She tried to keep her tears at bay as her hands balled into a fist, stopping from her tracks. ‘You fucking idiot,’ her heart screamed, ‘you promised me, you promised.’

Oh god, it hurt too much. Touka’s tears fell freely, muffled sobs escaping from her lips. It was too much for her to bear, too cruel. She could see him everywhere, remembered him in everything. How was she supposed to live like this? How did he expect her to keep her promise when all she could think of was the day she saw his hollow eyes close for the last time?

She remembered :re, and couldn’t help but feel a small pang in her heart as she realized how long it had been. It was a place she built out of her hope that he would one day, return. Because even when everyone had thought him to be dead, she never stopped believing he would one day find his way back to them, back home. It was bittersweet really, that she got her wish.

But in the blink of an eye, everything she worked for, everything she wished for felt meaningless. He could never return to her again.

She broke into a run, clenching her teeth as she realized how much she hated the world for doing this to her, to him. It was one person she couldn’t allow herself to give up on, the one thing she was scared to lose. She grew up on with the constant reminder that she had no choice but to live while losing things, and yet this loss was someone she couldn’t bear, one thing that she always fought for.

Yet she still lost.

She found herself in a familiar sight. And before she could even realize it, her feet had already dragged her back to the place they once called their home, if only for a bit. It was as if he intentionally led her here – even with the smell of rotting flesh and the endless amount of destruction that littered its halls.

She wandered through it, the pervading air of darkness and gloom filling her presence. As she touched the cold metal bars that had kept them company at night, it made her feel tingly. It wasn’t much, she knew, but at least it kept them safe from the world. And even with the small amount of time given, it was enough to make her feel like everything was alright.

Touka saw his makeshift room, with the walls in the same thick, grey stone with a mean barred opening. It festered with the smell of the cool earthen breeze, the same one that she always remembered. It alleviated her heart a little, to feel his presence here – no matter how faint, untouched by the ravages of war. She walked past the metal bars and in front of the small, tattered bed.

And that’s where she saw it, a small blue box.

She tucked it carefully inside her jacket, her heart refusing to open it in fear that she would break down. She was about to get out when she stumbled upon a black sweater, so she stooped to pick it up.

She held it close to her face, breathing in its fragrance. It smelled so much like him – the scent of leather and citrus, as the feeling of warmth brought by the piece of clothing when Ken held her in his arms overcame her senses. Was it that long ago? Was everything so far back into the past that she couldn’t even remember them much?

In a moment of haze, as she slumped her back onto the cold hard floor, she thought she saw him. It was so eerily familiar, really, as if everything that was happening right at this moment was reality. She wanted to fervently hope that he was really there indeed, looking at her from the bed with gentle eyes. Her heart ached at the sight, for she knew it was a fragment of her imagination, no matter how much she longed it to be true.

Yet she had nothing else to hold onto at the moment but this.

“Why did you have to leave?” she asked. Her voice sounded so broken, her throat still hurt and stiff from crying too much. Ken gave her a sad smile, but he didn’t move from the bed, nor did he say anything as he stared at her.

Her vision felt fuzzy, and yet she wiped them forcefully, not wanting to miss the opportunity to see him like this, to feel his presence. “You don’t know,” she croaked, trying to find the words to describe what she felt. Her lungs constricted at the effort, and she couldn’t breathe properly. “You don’t know how much it hurt to lose you, how hard it was.”

“I do.” Somber, sorrowful.

“I love you.” She hugged herself, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Touka felt his presence stand up, yet she never could figure out if it was real. Dare she hope? She didn’t know anymore – couldn’t decipher reality from imagination. A sigh escaped from a voice she had memorized so well. Warm hands enveloped her, seeping from her skin to her being. And just when she thought she would never feel like this again, her soul was flooded with feelings.

It made her remember the warmth of his body against hers, the softness of his lips as he kissed her worries away. It made her remember the way he took her hands into his, to gently wrap them around his own as he squeezed them tightly – to reassure her that he was there, that he would always be with her. Their grip would tighten, as if it was the last time they could be together, before he would lean in to capture her lips with his.

It would bring shivers down her spine when he did, and yet the warmth that puddled in the pit of her stomach would ease out and spread like butterflies. He would kiss her – her eyes, her brows, the crown of her head – he would leave his mark in gentle succession, barely touching at times, and yet enough to make her feel the scorching fire flood into her veins. It was there that they would allow each other to be fully honest, as they allowed their actions to express what they truly felt. It was then that she would get lost into his touch – a second, a third, it didn’t matter. For he was there, with her, for her – and everything else pales in comparison. Nothing else mattered.

“I’ll always be with you, Touka.” A whisper, a murmur, a voice she loved so much.

The realization hit her and sent her mind spiraling into oblivion. Her heart felt like it would physically burst at that moment, as she held on dearly to the small piece of clothing as if her life depended on it. It was too much; the pain was too great and raw – as if someone once again shattered her heart and ripped it out of her chest. It filled the entirety of her being with such longing and fierce anguish that death would pale in comparison. This time, she allowed herself to let go, to drown in the intensity of what she had lost, to feel how much it had meant to her after all this time.

‘Ken, you idiot.’

Warmth enveloped her form, as she found herself carried by someone. She felt every step of his movement, she thought. Her consciousness was still too hazy, and yet she felt comfortable with his touch. It felt strong, yet it was also gentle – a familiar presence that at least brought her a form of peace. Her head ached, and she felt so tired. She found herself nuzzling for his warmth, as if it would help with the void in her heart, as if it was enough to help her find a remedy to stop the pain.

She knew she was alive, with the steady breath of her lungs and the beating of her heart. It made her sad, to think that she was still here, and yet she knew she couldn’t fail him - her husband. ‘A life depended on it,’ she thought. Her hands clenched into fists as she remembered, and the figure halted his walk that she had no choice but to face him.

“Aneki,” his husky voice whispered gently, his voice stained with worry and fear.

Touka looked at him and smiled tiredly, reaching out to gently touch his face. How had he grown this tall? How had she missed all of this? She wondered how much more she would miss, how much more life would take away from her. His eyes looked like they were suffering as they met hers, the gentle orbs filled with pain. She couldn’t even find herself to speak, retreating back into the warmth in his chest.

She felt him sigh, and yet he did nothing and continued walking. Touka closed her eyes as she realized that the sweater was wrapped around her, and she nuzzled closer to her brother’s chest. “Let’s get you home.”

VI.

‘Remember your purpose,’ she muttered to herself, as the climax of her pain and frustration intensified.

Of all the times she could remember experiencing pain, she knew in her heart that this topped her list. There was so much at stake here, so much to lose and to gain at the same time. It left her writhing in agony, as red-hot pinnacles climbed steadily.

‘Breathe,’ Touka reminded herself.

Don’t give in, don’t give up. You’re not allowed to.

Don’t.

With an agitated grunt, she gripped Hinami’s hand, a desperate cry escaping her as a contraction passed through. She was thankful for her sister for being her guide, as the worst of the pain subsided. She clinched her eyes shut, taking comfort on Hinami’s whispers. This time, the pain was not a punishment, she thought. It was not a trial the world had purposely left for someone like her. This time, she was reminded of the reason she was alive, and why she kept fighting.

“You’re the strongest woman I know.” She remembered a voice, so gentle, so serene. A face, a smile that hid the most pain. “You will make a good mother.”

After what felt like hours of torturous pain, she slumped back down onto the bed, drenched in sweat as her senses dulled. Tears of pain turned into tears of relief as she remembered the so many months that had passed. This child had become her strength, her reason, her life. The very thought that she would finally be able to hold him in her arms was almost unbelievable to her – a light that shined through their darkness, her and Ken’s hope. She wanted nothing more than to see the beautiful face, touch his small hands and hear his cries as she held it close to her chest. For so long now, she has dreamt of this moment continuously, her heart growing warm at the thought.

After Ayato had found her alone in Ken’s now empty room, everyone had tried their best to help Touka, to make her focus on her future – on her child. In a way, this child was the only one that made her cling through life, as cruel as it may have seemed. It was her child that fueled her to move, to live again – no matter how empty she felt. It was the child that helped her with her grief and sorrow.

And yet, it was also the child that reminded her most of Ken.

It would seem like this was a healthy progression, an improvement even, from what she was only a few months ago. But the others knew better – she was only pushing aside her agony, bottling it up and hiding it away as she pretended everything was fine, when in reality, each and every part of her only screamed to forget.

She remembered him when she saw coffee – of the times she would praise her delicious brew, of the times she taught him how to create his own.

She remembered him in the smell of flowers, old books or even leather, and his scent would haunt her, follow her – as if it was the only thing she could find.

She remembered him when she saw Hinami and Ayato, sometimes even when she saw random children, would remember how he used to read to them and teach them.

It was slowly eating her away. And it was during lonely nights when she would wake up from night terrors, would she scream out for him the most. It was ironic, but also cruel that life reminded her of it – what occurred that day was something she would never, ever be over with – the scar opening fresh wounds with every little smell, gesture, sight, as her own guilt tore her apart. ‘You never really forget,’ she thought.

Regardless, she continued to smile as if nothing had happened at all.

It was horrible to watch and yet, nothing anyone tried to do seemed to have helped. Touka was broken and no matter how hard they tried to piece her back together, she would only crumble apart again before their very eyes.

Again.

And again.

Even through the red haze of pain, Touka wanted nothing more than to see his face, for him to be with her, as her jaw clenched and her hand tightened in Hinami’s. She tried to soothe her agony, dabbing a wet cloth over her head and offering words of encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Onee-chan.” Hinami told her, squeezing her hand. She felt so tired. “Stay strong.”

Touka could almost laugh at such words. Didn’t he call her strong that day? And yet she did nothing more than disappoint him. It was a part of her life where she felt so useless, helpless. But she kept all these thoughts to herself in silent mockery before another contraction went by.

“I’m here.” A familiar voice, a familiar presence whispered faintly into her ear. Tears welled up from her exhausted face, as she looked around in hope. Warmth enveloped her, strengthening her will as she realized the deep meaning behind these words. They spoke of a love that didn’t vanish – bottomless, fathomless love that knew no boundary. For even if life could end, even if she would never see him again, his love did not fade away.

It was in it that she drew strength – strength to wake up, strength to move and strength to go on in her everyday life. Whether she was strong or not did not matter, because it was his presence that still empowered her. In the end, she was willing to go through this painful moment, that seemed so little to her at this point, for her child.

Anything for his hope.

The least she could do was hold onto this last promise, this last wish that he always prayed to come true. Just this once, she hoped that world wouldn’t be cruel enough to take it away again.

‘Breathe,’ she told herself. The contraction was tapering slowly now, and with it, the burning sensation as the tremendous pressure made itself known. She barely had enough strength to grip Hinami’s hand anymore, yet the warmth continued to make her feel that she could do it. She bore down on that warm weigh with everything she had, giving one final push with a loud cry.

She pushed on, just like she always did.

All at once, the pressure was suddenly gone as she fell limply back into the bed. Her vision spun from the effort as she chocked hungrily for air. The movement around her was a blur, and so were the voices.

She was tired, so very tired.

A piercing cry broke through the fog that surrounded her. Blearily, she opened her eyes, wanting so badly to see the child’s face. Her child.

“A boy,” a voice announced, holding up a small, crying baby wrapped in a bundle of blue blankets. The vision felt like a blur to her, and yet she could faintly see the familiar silhouette that wore that same black sweater. He turned to look at her as he held the child in his arms, while his face showed only air of tranquility as he beamed brightly.

Touka let a single tear slip down her cheeks at the sight. It felt like a dream, an illusion, and yet there was only light shining in her heart. Her vision swam as the figure carefully placed him into her open arms. Her son calmed down and stirred, his small, pudgy hands reaching out to her as he pinched the air.

He was so beautiful.

Her baby was flushed with a vibrant pink color, and had the softest, black hair that Touka ever touched. She felt like she had never seen someone as perfect and as beautiful in her life until she saw her child. Joyful tears stream down her cheeks, her eyes locked onto his face as she drowned in his every feature. She stroked his cheek softly and he let out a small smile, gripping her finger. She couldn’t help but sob, holding him closer to her, feeling his warmth and the beat of his heart.

He was here with her, he was alive.

“He’s adorable.” Hinami squealed and Touka smiled as she looked up to her. “He looks just like –” She stopped, her voice trailing off and her smile fading as she realized what she was about to say. It still pained her, and them, to think about him.

“Just like him.” Touka whispered softly as her son grabbed onto her finger once again and squeezed tightly. He had the most exquisite, delicate features and he filled her heart with so much love, with so much hope.

Slowly, she began thinking of the future again, a future full of hope, just like his father wanted.

“What’s his name?” Hinami asked excitedly, pulling Touka’s focus back towards her.

She asked for her to get the box she handed to Nishiki earlier. And whilst she waited for her to return, she continued to admire this life in her hands. He was so small, you would wonder if he was alive at all – but he was here, breathing and moving. Alive.

This was what they had sacrificed for, this child that held their lives.

As Hinami came back into the room with the box in hand, the others joined her with bright, excited smiles before they crowded around Touka and her son. Ayato cocked his head to one side as he stared at the small baby, his eyes narrowed.

“It’s so tiny.” Ayato mumbled. “Is he even alive?”

“Of course he is, silly.” Touka giggled. “And it’s not an it. He’s my baby boy.”

“I hope that’s not what you’re gonna name him.” Nishiki joked as he leaned in to take a peek of the child. “He’s got some fat cheeks. His name should be chubby boy.”

Touka ignored his annoying comments and took the box from Hinami’s hand. She opened it only once before and this was her second time, her hand smoothing over the surface before opening it to find a small plushed, neatly made bunny with a name sewn into the blue stomach.

Kazuki.

Ken pressed himself closely and bent his head to whisper into her ear. “Kazuki,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried so hard to stay awake, stay with her. With a smile, he imagined the child in his arms, “our hope.”

Hope.

That was what this child was. Her hope, and his. Even if the simple memory was unbearable for her to look back on, she clung onto it, struggling to hold back her tears. Even if it felt like a stab wound in her aching chest, when she looked back down to the son she was blessed with, she imagined the joy Ken must feel at the moment. She hoped he also felt this newfound hope and faith that bubbled up inside her. For a moment, it felt that perhaps happiness wouldn’t be an impossible achievement, not with Kazuki resting peacefully in her arms.

Hope, it was her gift to him. It was his gift to the world.

Please let us know if you liked it, thank you so much for reading!

#tokyo ghoul #tg fanfics #tgre #tg:re #tokyo ghoul:re #tokyo ghoul re #touka kirishima #kaneki ken #kanetou #touken #kaneki x touka #my fanfiction #my fanfic #joint writing #shar and leila writes #angst #shar.writes

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kuriquinn · 7 years

Text

The Last to Know [3 /5]

Blanket Fic Disclaimer

Beta Reader: None right now. Check back later.

Warning: Some language

AN: Not sure how I feel about this one. It’s my first bit of writing since taking a break, so maybe I’m just holding it to a higher stander? Anyhow, I will eventually go through it again later. I just thought I should post something for my birthday, and this was the closest thing to do.

First Chapter

Sakura is shaking after she leaves the Hokage’s office, both with anger and a little fear.

She’s nervous about her outburst, keeps running over the entire thing in her head. She has never lost control like that, not really, even when Kakashi was her instructor and did things she was critical of. Even with Naruto, they’ve had arguments, but she’s never…

She has never attacked her teacher before. And she’s never lost her temper to the point of vulgarity before.

Did I go too far? Sakura wonders, rubbing her upper arms self-consciously. Or not far enough?

Sakura has always been guided by her heart and what feels right to her; it’s only in recent years, being so close to Lady Tsunade and the running of the village that she’s had to think more with her head.

And I never was really good at that anyhow, she thinks glumly. Images come back to her of a bridge and a knife, hateful scarlet eyes and a woman with glasses bleeding out in front of her. Every time she has tried to make a decision where her head and her heart disagreed, no good has come of it.

Right now, her heart insists she did right, but her brain keeps running over all of the logical arguments against her actions. She hasn’t felt so conflicted since the war, and it’s dizzying. She needs to take a step back from it somehow, to release the growing painful pressure inside her before bursts.

Her first instinct is to go to Ino, but she knows she can’t. As yet, this is all still utterly secret; she can’t reveal anything about Itachi to Ino. She could, however, mention being kept in the dark by her other teammates.

Except...

Except her best friend is at home with Sai right now, enjoying newly married life. Though he is also one of Sakura’s closest friends, she doesn’t want to overshadow his newfound happiness with her black mood. Especially considering his own past, he deserves as much uncomplicated joy as life has to offer him.

Sakura’s mother would be her next choice, but the thing is, Mebuki Haruno has a blind spot when it comes to Kakashi and Naruto. Considering Kakashi is the Hokage and Naruto the hero that saved them all, she’s taken on a tendency to agree with them about everything. And she knows Sakura well enough to infer that Sasuke is somehow involved...

Mebuki has never been overly fond of Sasuke after he defected from Konoha, to put things mildly.

She’d say they were right to keep it from me, Sakura thinks, clenching her fist. She can’t blame her mother, not really; a parent’s duty is to protect their child. Mebuki’s feelings on the matter would be totally justified simply because she has never been on the frontlines or fought beside Sakura. Intellectually, her parents know what Sakura is capable of, but they have never seen it first hand. And they weren’t there to see the obstacles she’s overcome to achieve the power she has now.

Not in the way Naruto and Kakashi are. Those are the people who should know better, and yet…

Lady Tsunade would set them straight, Sakura thinks angrily. She would know…

A horrible thought occurs to her.

Did Lady Tsunade know?

She’s the Fifth Hokage, and she’s a Senju. It would make sense for her to know about what happened. And what Tsunade knows, Shizune usually knows as well, at least in Sakura’s experience. If they were both privy to the information, is there any chance they might not have told Sakura?

Lady Tsunade has always shared Sakura’s mother’s opinions about Sasuke Uchiha, and she can be just as overprotective.

No. No, they would have told me, Sakura insists to herself. Based on what Sasuke said, only a handful of people ever knew the truth. Only Lord Third and Danzō Shimura and Obito Uchiha. The latter was the reason Naruto found out, along with Kakashi and Yamato. They were on the way to the Kage meeting when Obito, still masquerading as Tobi, let them in on the secret. Sakura remembers all too well that during that time, Lady Tsunade was out of commission.

Besides, she never got along with the Elders or Danzō. She’s the last person they would have told about this, even before the attack on Konoha. If she didn’t think to look into the matter, she wouldn’t know, Sakura reasons. So Shizune wouldn’t know either.

Unless, at the end of the war, there was some sort of meeting to agree on keeping Itachi’s deeds and Konoha’s involvement in the massacre from public knowledge.

In that case there’s a very small chance…

That pained feeling in her chest and throat is back, like a knife. Sakura tries hard not to feel the mounting sense of betrayal, but it’s hard. She wishes more than anything she could go to her mentor right now and ask her about it. But Tsunade is out of the village on one of her gambling binges, and Shizune spending a few days at Konoha’s orphanage trying to make sure all the inhabitants are up-to-date on their vaccines and physicals (and because she still doesn’t trust Kabuto, probably to keep an eye on him).

Both are too far away to ask.

Under normal circumstances, this would be the point where Sakura goes to talk to Naruto or Kakashi, but considering they’re both contributing factors in why she’s feeling like this, it’s not an option.

As for Sasuke…

No.

She can’t bring this up to him, not after he entrusted her with such a horrible truth. Her feelings of being kept in the dark cannot compare to what he endured, and bringing this situation up to him now feels disrespectful. As if her pain over being left out once more could ever mean anything in the face of what he lost? She’s not so arrogant as to think she matters that much in the big scheme of things.

This shouldn’t be hitting me so hard, she chides herself. After all, it is in the past, and isn’t this time of recovery all about forgiving the sins of the past and working toward a better future? She should just shrug this off as a fait accompli and move on.

But the treacherous little voice in her head keeps whispering to her.

What if they keep doing it?

In the face of that, she can’t help the overwhelming hurt. It’s as if something is broken inside her, but nothing as simple as a bodily wound that she can mend.

She usually burns that feeling off with physical activity, and she desperately wants to go out and destroy a training field or two—to feel the earth shatter and break beneath her, and watch solid rock become dust between her fingers. But that would attract attention and people wondering and she just needs…she needs to do something.

To remind herself that she isn’t useless.

That she isn’t twelve years old and cowering while Sasuke throws his body in front of her because she is too weak and useless and inferior to defend herself. Or with snot and tears running down her face while Kakashi naively promises her that everything will be alright and Naruto vows to bring Sasuke back to them.

I am not that girl anymore, she growls to herself.

In that moment, she decides where she needs to be right now, and makes a determined beeline for the hospital. Upon arriving at her place of work, she takes a breath and, as always, lets the outside world slip away at the door. She strides into her office, where her intern Ando glances up in surprise, and before he can ask why she’s back so soon, she interrupts him.

“What’s the next operation scheduled?”

“Uh…Isamu is doing a double foot transplant in fifteen minute—”

“I’m scrubbing in on that,” she tells him. “He can have the next one.”

“But—”

She strides out before he can complete his protest, heading for an operating room.

Sakura very rarely wields her influence to jump the queue on cases, but she needs to stay busy, and she thinks that today of all days she deserves to use her advantage a bit.

Over the course of several hours, she schedules procedure after procedure, taking the lead on the most complex and challenging cases—the ones that require her constant presence and attention. In the midst of her work, she is able to forget the uncertainty and hurt and the memory of the useless child she was. Here, she is once again head medical ninja of Konoha, a hero of the Fourth Shinobi War and a legendary Sannin in her own right. She battles with death every day and, more often than not, wins. People here look up to her, defer to her knowledge and listen to her recommendations.

Naruto, of course, finds her soon enough, being as meddling as ever. While Sakura walks across the courtyard to consult on a possible case of Chakra Virus, he appears in front of her, determined and repentant.

“Sakura, I’m sorry, I swear, we didn’t—”

“I’m working, Naruto,” she tells him flatly and keeps walking. “Please leave.”

“But you need to listen—!”

“I need you to respect my wishes,” she replies. “Since it’s clear you don’t respect anything else.”

“That’s total bullshit and you know it!” Naruto yells, frustration and worry in his voice. For once, though, her immediate reaction isn’t to try to calm him. “Just because of this one thing—”

Sakura turns around then, her hand snapping out and grabbing Naruto by the collar of his jacket.

“This is my place of work,” she hisses at him, a flare of anger bleeding through the carefully constructed façade of business she’s lost herself in for a few hours. “I am saving lives right now, and I don’t have time for your interruptions while people could be dying. Now leave on your own, or I will break every one of your bones so thoroughly that even with your healing abilities, you’ll still be stuck on bed-rest for a month.”

She experiences a minor spark of gratification at the way Naruto goes pale beneath his whiskers and vanishes in an instant, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. Like his apologies, his misery feels hollow to her and does nothing to satisfy the hurt.

When she returns to her wing of the hospital, she gives Ando and all the other staff warnings that she is not to be disturbed by friends or family while she works. It’s not the first time she’s ordered this, so they don’t argue. She has a trusted support network among her colleagues, all of whom know better than to question her at this point. Those that do and still attempt to speak to her are run off with a single forbidding look.

While cleaning up after a successful limb-reattachment, a new intern that she doesn’t know very well approaches her.

“Sakura-sensei, the Hokage requires your presence,” she tells her shyly.

Sakura says nothing and reaches for the nearest chart and begins to glance over the particulars for her next case.

“Should I tell him you’re on your way?”

“No.”

“Oh…um…so you’ll be a little late?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “What...what should I tell him?”

“Nothing.”

The girl isn’t quite sure what to say about that, but Sakura glances up and says, “That will be all, Wakana. You have rounds.”

She barely registers the intern’s puzzled expression as she heads off to her next appointment.

For another seventy-two hours straight Sakura pushes herself from one procedure to another, elbows deep in blood and viscera one moment, or painstaking research and experiments in the skills lab. She survives on caffeine and soldier pills, focussed on the problems she can solve. She doesn’t have to think about her injured heart while healing a broken pelvis.

Of course, she knows she can’t go on like this.

Eventually she starts to feel the exhaustion of using so much brain power and chakra without a respite. Even though she has a large reserve and could conceivably go on for days, it’s irresponsible to do so outside of a combat situation. Besides, being at work is no longer distracting her the way it should. Her thoughts and worries are beginning to bleed back through, and she knows she’ll have to face them sooner or later. Kakashi will only accept her ignoring his summons so many times, and Naruto won’t be deterred by her threat much longer.

Truthfully speaking, she’s surprised she hasn’t seen him at all since their encounter days ago. She suspects Kakashi might be keeping him from bothering her, because he at least understands the need for space.

Ando eventually makes the vague, round-about suggestion that she head home to sleep and relax—he curbs his usual bluntness by not telling her she smells, though she suspects she really should shower soon—and Sakura finds herself giving in.

She’s too tired to argue, apparently.

As she leaves the hospital, she pauses, dim and sluggish and too tired to think too much. It’s why she’s pretty sure that she’s dreaming when she notices a familiar figure waiting across the street.

Sasuke leans against the building opposite the hospital, a living shadow in an otherwise bright and cheerful street. And she instantly knows he’s waiting for her, even though he has never done so before.

It should bother her that he’s watching her, looking as unruffled and untouchable as always. And she’s probably got circles under her eyes, and the remnants of makeup caked on in places or and she doesn’t remember if she brushed her hair or teeth this morning. But somehow, it doesn’t really matter to her right now, the way it once would have.

And it’s still the most natural thing in the world for her to change her course and head toward him. His presence doesn’t erase her exhaustion or her inner turmoil, but it does cause a fluttering sensation or anticipation in her stomach.

After stewing in her self-constructed isolation for a few days, she’ll take it.

つづく

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#naruto #sasusaku #ssfic #fanfiction #rating: teen #fic prompt #legacy of fire series #sfw #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #drama #angst #coping #friendship #trust issues #inner sakura reigns

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