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protect-anthony-edward-stark · 3 years

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Tony Stark's thoughts described in the MCU books (part 1)

- Pepper

Tony always knew something was going to happen, during 6 years he has been preparing everything to protect everyone. When Thanos arrives he doesn't know what to do and chooses to get on Maw's ship to keep the danger away from Earth and the people he loves, ready to go into space and face his biggest fear. Pepper calls him and begs him not to get on the ship and to go home. We see Tony, who just wanted to stay with her and have a family, already on the ship, distraught and destroyed not knowing what to say.

In the "Infinity War novelization" we learn that at this very moment he's under a lot of stress. He hears in Pepper's voice that she's terrified and thinks about the worry he had felt a few seconds earlier for Peter when he saw him on that same ship. And it breaks his heart that Pepper is feeling the same thing right now.

- Tony and Peter during IW

We already know that Tony loves Peter and is afraid for him. He has always looked after him and done everything to protect him.

In the "Infinity War novelization" we see exactly what Tony is thinking throughout the journey. He's terrified for Peter.

Seeing him on the ship: "If Tony didn't act quickly, Peter Parker would die. And it would be all his fault."

Seeing him aboard the ship after doing everything to save him from it: "Peter was on this spaceship and that was that. So, he now had to save Strange and then get Peter Parker back on Earth safe and sound."

Seeing the Guardians threatening him: "But how ever much bravado Tony seemed to have, the dread of exactly this moment was laced in his words. He was terrified."

- Tony and Jimmy

Tony is so caring and has the biggest heart. He just always wants everyone to be safe and can't stand it when someone dies or gets hurt in front of his eyes. He always thinks he should have saved them, that's why he spends nights blaming himself for everything. That's why he always makes sure that people don't get hurt during or after the Avengers fights. That's why when he fights he never leaves anyone behind and always finds a way to save everyone.

And this from the very beginning. We already know that Tony was shocked to see innocent people killed at the very beginning of Iron Man 1. And in the "Iron Man novelization" we see especially the horror that Tony saw and experienced with the death of the soldiers and especially Jimmy and how it impacted him. He even noted the watch he was wearing. He care about every single person around him.

- Tony in India

In Homecoming we can see that Tony has been to India and that while he was there he was still watching over Peter, ready to intervene and save him if something happens to him.

In the "Homecoming junior novelization" we know exactly why he went there. He needed to get away from it all and refocus after what happened in Civil War. He lost the family and unity that the team had (and blames himself even though he was the one who fought so hard to keep everyone together). One of his best friend in whom he trusted lied to him and they all betrayed him, he has suffered so much and just.. needed a break.

He deserves so much more support, love, sincere people and serenity in his life.

- His biggest fear

At the end of Infinity War Tony's biggest fear, everything he's been trying to prevent for all these years, comes true. Tony who has always just wanted to keep everyone safe is totally destroyed by this moment. In the "Infinity War novelization" we know exactly what he's thinking.

When he sees Peter disappear: "No, Tony thought. Please, no. Not him. Tony rushed to Peter. "You're all right," Tony assured him, just like he'd done before. Look at me, kid. I'm calm. You're going to be okay, he thought. I'm right here. I'm right here. Just look at me. Tony grasped Peter's shoulder, his eyes locked on his as, with a tiny whisper, Peter turned to dust. "I'm sorry." Tony slammed his hand through where Peter once was. His hand now full of nothing but as hes. Tony willed it to be false. Willed the boy back. Willed another chance to save him. To be there for him. To protect him. To love him."

Here Tony is, alone with Nebula, his biggest fear has become reality and there was nothing he could do about it. The boy he sees as a son died in his arms. And he's stuck here not knowing if his loved ones, his friends, if the love of his life, has survived. "Pepper. Had Pepper survived? How much had he truly lost?"

It's horrible. We see him cry at this moment. Because, it's too much. As RDJ himself said, this event traumatized him to the point that he will never be the same anymore.

- I am Iron Man

At the end of Iron Man during the press conference and despite what the shield had asked him, Tony decides to reveal his identity. It's because he's proud to be Iron Man, to do something that helps the world. But that's not all.

We learn in the "Iron Man novelization" that his revelation is also to to people. He saw what happened with the secrets and lies with his company and decided to put an end to it. He doesn't want any more secrets that will lead to deaths. That's why he didn't keep his identity secret

"He thinks about how lying and deceit from others has brought him to this pass. He has sworn to put an end to that sort of thing".

Tony always takes care of everything and eveyone. To think that some people think it's out of arrogance.. He's always so misjudged and deserves so much better.

- The suit

In "Infinity War: the Hero's Journey", Tony spends time in the lab with Happy. And he describes him what it's like to wear the armor. He implies the emotional weight of all the suffering involved in being Iron Man.

"Happy smiled, then struggled to pull off the gauntlets. They didn't budge. Tony laughed and scooted his stool next to Happy. "Thanks," Happy said. "Don't mention it," Tony replied. "They were heavier than I thought they'd be," Happy said. Tony thought for a moment. "Yeah, they are," he said. His tone turned a touch graver than it had been a moment prior. "The whole suit's heavier than I thought it would be.."

In his life he's always only receiving pain, suffering and horrible traumas. Losses, ptsd, nightmares, insomnia, anxiety attacks, blames, betrayals, physical and psycological pain, health problems, he lost Peter, he got stabbed, he got stuck in space without food or water, he sacrificed everything for everyone even if nobody is there for him..

So few people realize how much he suffer..

Buy the Iron Man novelization

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#BringBackTonyStarktolife (petition)

#tony stark #bringbacktonystarktolife #iron man #tonystark #ironman #avengers #infinity war #iron man novelization #iron man 2 novelization #homecoming #mcu #marvel #pepperpotts #peterparker #pepperony #infinity war novelization #TONY STARK DESERVES SO MUCH BETTER #pls sign the petition 😭

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notyetbulletproof · 3 years

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I do think there is a greater conversation to be had in regards to Kaz about forgiveness (of himself) and allowing himself to get the softer, lovelier, kinder things in life. I do think guilt plagues his life and has been a fixture since he survived and was “reborn” (let’s face it a large part of him had to die for him to come back) in that saintsforsaken Harbour. I think he never really confronted his grief — 1) he had no time, 2) was completely abandoned and left to die by a system where the only value one had was monetary and one’s ability to make more and 3) how could he?

Grief masquerades as many things before we admit to ourselves what it is. Anger. Vengeance. Fear. Those 3 things? They’re often way more motivating. They add purpose and give us something to work towards.

He had to build up his life brick by brick on the promise to himself and Jordie that he would destroy those who destroyed him and his. No distractions from the goal. That he doesn’t notice when love slips through the cracks - Inej, Jesper, Nina, Wylan, Matthias. He doesn’t realise until he lets himself realise. Kaz is honourable. The deal is the deal. He protects his own. Yes. But it’s the fact that these people become incredibly important to him so much so that he names his victories (emerald palace becoming silver six) after them. A monument to who they were and who they’ll always be—- his crows.

"Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don't forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for." — CK

Then, we have Inej. The girl he loves. The one person that is able to slip under his amour. More importantly, the one person he’s willing to try to disarm for. The one person the softer emotions become more obvious around. He wants her. He needs her. She’s essential to him. The one person he admits he’d drop every plan for revenge (legit his purpose for YEARS) he ever had if it meant she was safe. Then it’s the conversation of —- Can Kaz let himself be loved? Can he let himself find joy amidst the grief? Will he allow himself solace and reprieve? Will he allow himself to have what he desires or will his past keep dragging him back?

I keep thinking about these quotes:

“ We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”- CK

“And that’s what destroyed you in the end, the longing for something you could never have” — SOC

"I've taken knives, bullets, and too many punches to count, all for a little piece of this town. This is the city I bled for. And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it's that you can always bleed a little more." — CK

"Suffering is like anything else. Live with it long enough, you learn to like the taste."— CK

Don’t get me wrong— I am very clear that Kaz’s touch aversion and phobias exist because of the terrible traumatic event he experienced at 9 (wtf!) years old. I am just saying that I do think it’s the psychological torture and barriers he’s put up that plays a part too. When he talks about psychologically torturing Pekka being a way better outcome —- the boy would know. How long has he done that to himself?? When Kaz is in a fight, a violent bloody, lots of people touching and kicking and just ALOT—- violence seems to help (he’s said as much). It gives him something to focus on and the pain dulls the fact that people are touching him. Being hurt, having touch be followed by pain and grief is something he is accustomed to. A learned coping strategy. Not necessarily effective but hey— it’s worked.

And then Inej. Someone, I think we can all agree kaz is so much softer for. His tell. His one weakness. And he tries to reconcile that with his harder coping strategies by rejecting any reality where it could happen for them but they keep coming back to each other. He can’t maintain the ruse with her. He can’t be Dirtyhands all the time around her. She deserves more than that.

Then it’s their desire for intimacy. For physical touch. He wants to be physically intimate with Inej. Maybe not all the way right away, let’s be fair to them both, that’s not happening yet. But he wants to touch her (if she wants that and she does). He wants to hold her and know she’s alive and present and here with him. We know that physical contact triggers the trauma response. Yep. However his want to best it to be better than this “weakness” (it’s not weakness sweets but okay) motivates him to keep trying. To be what they both want. And while Inej might not know everything about his pain, she has her own issues with touch and when he says that if she can be brave to speak those words aloud, he can be brave and move past the fear—- it’s monumental. It’s acknowledging that it’s difficult for them both but they want this and they’ll try try try.

Let’s also think about when he thinks about Inej. Beyond all that. When he talks about himself being broken and “bad” but knowing he could pull himself into a semblance of a man for her. Feeling broken and less than and then by CK knowing that he could do right by her and showing more than telling just how much he loves her.

And most of all (because this was the point I am thinking about)—- starting to really consider forgiveness. For Jordie. For himself. Starting to really review what it is he’s truly broken about. What ending Pekka will not solve. It will give him a reprieve but he needs to make the effort to break down his walls. Him holding Inej’s hand signifying a promise to her, to himself, to them, to a new future.

A promise to try. To break down the amour and to forgive himself for not “knowing better, for being a child and trusting in the kindness of people (that line always fucked me up). To break down the barriers that keep him from happiness. That keep him from letting himself be loved. From keeping everyone at a distance because even when you do that? You still lose people and in the words of other characters in other books in the universe — “you’ll mourn (us) them anyway”. Or in Kaz’s own words “And if Ketterdam has taught me anything, it's that you can always bleed a little more." — CK

All this to say that I feel that as much as Kaz Brekker’s amour exists as a response to the horrors of his past. Exists as a shield to the world. Exists to protect him and his from the horrors that currently persist. I do think it also exists to prevent him from dealing with his grief. From forgiving himself and Jordie. For forgiving himself because in doing so he would have to confront certain things about his experiences that he couldn’t focus on before.

If he’s all about destruction then he doesn’t have to feel the other things that come with all he has experienced. (Honestly him thinking about Jordie and what he says to him about Jordie’s decisions leading up to their terrible loss— I was a mess).

“Was there never another dream?”—- CK.

Is the amour protection from that? What happens when vengeance is achieved?

Build something. Watch it burn?

Make a promise to support a new purpose?

Is forgiveness a huge part of taking off his amour? Yes. I believe so. And it starts with him (forgiving himself).

You were both kids. You were all kids.

#kaz brekker #my love #he’s making the steps towards healing

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catracorner962 · 3 years

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Beautiful Children Ch 1

It's been five years since Horde Prime was defeated. Two years since Catra and Adora got married. Magic has been brought to Etheria, but all is not well. On a mission to destroy the last of The Brotherhood of Prime Catra finds an orphan magicat among the ruin. Now she and Adora must decide if they are ready for another adventure all together. Adora is ecstatic, Catra...less so. Through their decision, both must revisit childhood memories, some more pleasant than others.

*Warning: Violence, childbirth, themes of childhood abuse and trauma.*

She came into the world a flaming comment, blazing with shining light in an otherwise darkened world. A world becoming undone.

“Good! Good mistress! Just a little longer, I can see her head. Push now! Push!” The room shook violently, bed shaking, debris falling from the ceiling. The woman heaved for breath, pushing, her face pinched with pain.

“Aaaahhh can’t! W...e...we have to….g...go!”

She pushed harder, straining. Fists gripping at blue sheets.

“Almost there darling, you just have to…watch out!” The man all but threw himself across his partner, grunting as debris hit his back.

“Honey?!”

“I...I’m fine!” He smiled grimly, touching, squeezing her arm, “just keep pushing. They’ll be here soon. So soon. You’re doing great!” The woman starred at him, eyes filled with dread, another seismic shake from the earth beneath them sent the room into a spinning tumble. Windows clattered with the terrifying wind, outside muffled screams were lost to the tempest.

“I...I c...can’t!”

“You can mistress, just one more push...that’s it!” The midwife assured her, gripping the bed posts for balance. Blood and viscera leaked from the woman, but so too did a smattering of golden hair.

“Go love, that’s it! That’s…” A crack, metal from the roof above them bent and broke, falling around the small bedchamber. He screamed; shards of splitting iron cascading down. He bent close to his partner, shielding her head.

“What’s happening?! We...we’re not going to make it! I c...can...aaahh!” The woman’s body buckled, arching with a final desperate push., whole form tensed.

“Waaah! Hwaaah, hwaah!”

The man turned, squinting over his shoulder towards the sound, heart hammering. His vision tumbled, another series of tremors. Glass shattered, bursting out into the storm around them. The wicked gusts tugging at the sheets of the bed.

“I...is it….?”

“S...she’s alright!” The nursemaid clutched the baby close to her chest, it’s little cries deaf to the destruction around it. “She’s healthy...a..and w...well!”

The laboring woman’s face collapsed with relief. Sighing and smiling, despite it all.

“You did it! You did it my love she’s here! Did you hear that?! We have a daughter! We have,” he kissed her, lips slicked with tears and sweat and all. Even as reality fell down among them. Trees outside screeched, bark splitting and tearing. Rocks and boulders spun through the air.

“She...sh...aaaaarggg!”

The room trembled once more, bed rocking.

“Th...there’s another!” The nurse maid cried, falling forward against the exhausted woman, threatening to collapse on top of her. She caught herself with one arm, the swaddled baby held fast in the other.

“A...Another?” The man breathed, face tightening. His eyes scanned the destruction surrounding them. The walls shook, tearing apart.

“I….c...can’t!” The woman sobbed, her blonde hair falling from it’s ponytail. He swiped a lock of hair backward.

“I..it’s okay, it’ll be alright, we...we can,” the ground undulated, pitching the bed to the left violently. The pair, their nursemaid and the infant screaming as they fell to the floor.

A red light piercing through the dark clouds. Sounds of cannon fire.

The blonde woman rolled, groaning, hauling herself upward to squat among the wreck of their home, the walls now crumbling.

“Here, take her,” the nursemaid thrust the tiny babe to her father. He took her, into his shaking, bloody arms. Her little from squirming, gummy mouth still emoting pitiful cries.

“There, there, it’s alright,” he soothed, kissing her little head. The red light blasted around them, people screaming, crying, begging for mercy. The little baby only gurgled, oblivious to the destruction around it.

“Love, you alright?”

He turned towards his partner, who screamed, enough to rival the gales.

“Th...that’s it!” The nursemaid crouched before her, hands outstretched ready to catch the second babe.

With a final cry, the woman broke down in a sob with the second series of little wails.

“A boy! Also h...healthy.”

The man tried to step forward, towards the two women. He coughed, smoke filling the wreck of the room, of their home. He pulled shaking arms around them, another cracking beam fell through, crashing around them. Both babes wailed.

“Sh….sh...it’s alright. You did it,” he cried, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the little ones.

“Adam,” his partner sighed beside him, holding the boy in her arms. She kissed his forehead, determined to make a moment of love and peace amid destruction.

“And the girl?” The father asked.

“What about…”

“Aaaahhh!”

The nursemaid screamed, then crumpled to the ground, limp. A bot stormed through the harrowing storm. It’s cold lights blinking, lazer revving up.

“What have we here?”

The man and woman starred in horror, at their nursemaid’s body holding the infants tight against them. The wind tugged at the figures cape. His pale form illuminated by fire, red eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“H….Horde Prime…” the man whispered, pulling his arms tighter around both his partner and newborn. The pale figure only smiled, revealing pointed fangs.

“No, fool. I am not Horde Prime. You are not worthy to behold him. I am but his brother.” He stepped forward, metal claws poised.

“You have something I desire. Now give it here.”

“No!” The woman screamed, she seized a shard of plated metal and rose to her feet shaking. Adam tucked tight against her.

“Love! No!”

She strode forward, fast as her condition would allow. Determined, she raised the shard to strike at the Hordesman’s neck. Claws warped tightly around her wrist, snapping it.

“Aaah! N...no!” He grinned cruelly, eyes flicking to the baby in her arms.

“Let them go!” The father shouted, trembling.

“Fools. You are as arrogant as all your kind. First Ones, ha! You will be nothing but a shadow. A memory. Your people are arrogant, selfish, wretches. A plague upon the galaxies.”

The Hordesman smirked, the bot beside him turned towards the woman and her child.

“No! Don’t!”

BAM!

The woman screamed, laser fire blasting through her chest in one fell blow. She too collapsed to the shattered earth. Body charred, and smoking, Tiny Adam wailing in her arms.

“N...no….no!” The father whimpered, his legs frozen. In his arms the tiny girl squalled, Little arms reaching out from her thin blanket The Hordesman stalked forward, bending down to the dead woman. He reached for the bundle in her arms, lifting it and huffed.

“D...don’t hurt h….him...p….please!”

“He’s not the one I want.”

The villain stalked forward, the bot turning towards the father. It’s laser cannon glowed ready for another blast. He gulped, mouth dry. Sweat beading on his temples. The small life in his arms cried. Red eyes bore into him.

“Hand it over,” the Hordesman reached for the girl in his arms.

“No!” He turned away, twisting to keep his child as far as he could from the reach of the Horde. The bot’s laser shot a beam, just past his head. He screamed, folding to the ground over the child at the Hordesman’s feet. The last of the bedroom wall now blasted to a smoldering pile. All around them the wind whipped, burnt flesh and charring metal filled his lungs, eyes streaming with tears sorrow and discomfort in equal measure.

“I will not ask again,” the imposing Hordesman hissed. “Give it to me.”

“Not a chance!” He snarled, hunkering down over the baby.

“Very well, you have chosen your fate.”

The father let out a small whimper, the Hordesman’s metal claws clamping around his neck. He clutched the baby closer still. Even as his feet levitated off the ground, kicking feebly. The baby continued to wail, Her blue eyes creased with confusion and fright. Too little, she was too little to know such emotions. To comprehend such chaos. She should not have to, not at only a few moments old. Already experiencing the horror of the world.

“Give it to me,” the Hordesman commanded. The father’s arms held her tight even as the creature grabbed for the infant, wrenching her away with an impossible strength.

“A...Adora! No! P...p...please!”

The Hordesman tucked the screaming baby into the crook of his other arm.

“Adora,” he mused. The baby’s blue grey eyes squinted, little tears ebbing at the edges of her eyes. He turned back to the father, his grip tightening.

“This child will be instrumental to Horde Prime’s victory. She will be an asset to our conquest. You may take comfort in that, before you die.”

Adora’s father clawed at the Hordesman’s arm, mouth sucking for air, his eyes wild and wide. Lipless, the Hordesman smiled, fingers tightening against the pulsing viens, the soft flesh. His smile only grew, the man’s windpipe crushed with ease. His body flailed and twitched, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

He smirked, turning from the wreckage. The baby had quieted, large eyes only blinking and confused.

“Adora,” he whispered, one claw caressing her little cheek.

“You will be of great use to us.”

The Hordesman, known as Hordak tucked the child against him, through the swirling dark portal. Leaving the wreckage of Eternia lost to the anals of history.

---

“Adora! Look out!”

Glimmer shouted, flinging one hand out to send a beam of magic forward, it flew past Adora’s shoulder, directly behind her. She turned, only to see one of Prime’s clones fall to the ground.

“Thanks your magest...ugh!” She swung out with the sword, catching yet another clone with the broadside of the blade, shoving him backward and wrestling him to the ground. He swung out lamely, fists beating against her armor. She bit back a grin, squaring him straight in the face.

“Shera, on your right!” Bow shouted, an arrow swinging by, hitting another clone in the shoulder.

“Got it!” Adora, as Shera ran forward ducking another three other clones. She spun, dashing and slashed them across the back of the neck. Their chips sparking with electric shocks. They groaned, crashing to the ground.

“BOOM!”

She turned, heart sinking at another explosion, this one in the village center. Debris shot through the air, crashing down into the narrow streets.

“All the people...they...they made it out right?!”

“We got everyone we could!” Netossa answered, shortly. She swung another volley of nets capturing the clone closest to Spinnerella.

That’s not reassuring...where’s…?

“Aaaaarrrggghh!” Adora turned towards the sound on instinct but smiled, she knew that sound.

Catra, but not her cry of pain or distress. It was a giddy cry of satisfaction. She took another swipe at an oncoming clone, hitting him with the butt of her sword before flinging him over her back, smashing him to the ground and looking up at where Catra leapt from a nearby tree branch. She all but glided through the air, leaping at two clones, her claws tearing through their makeshift robes with ease. She vaulted off them as they feel, landing, as always, on her feet.

“What is it princess? See something you like?” the end of her tail flicked back and forth in a tease.

“I….”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The sky over Tellinville flashed with orange red light, buildings crumbled, the ground shook. Catra’s ears flicked back in irritation.

“There really better not be any left,” Adora whispered, heart clenching. The heat of the fires stinging her face.

“How many more of them are there?!” Spinnerella took out four more clones with a strong gust.

“According to Perfuma and Frosta not many!” Netossa kicked at a clone who had pinned her to the ground. A net clamped over it, throwing it aside.

“You alright?” Bow gasped, Netossa nodded, gaining her footing and rushed forward once more.

“We will be victorious brothers! In the name of Horde Prime we will….”

“Shut it!” Catra snarled, jumping onto it’s back and dragging her claws across it’s thin throat. Green blood spurted from it’s neck before it coughed and fell forward, still.

Adora fought the blush rising in her cheeks.

“Will,” Glimmer shot another beam of magic towards an oncoming clone, “you,” she ducked, kicking out nailing another in it’s hip, “two” it recovered but not before she darted forward, jabbing at a pressure point in its neck, “get a,” it fell incapacitated and Glimmer saw her opening, swinging her staff to take it out with a bash to the head, “room!” She finished, glaring at the pair of them.

“Sorry Glimmer!” Adora shouted, punching yet another clone in the stomach. She cut through it easily like paper. All that training paid off.

“Awe what’s the matter Sparkles, jealous?” Catra cocked a hip out in her stance. “Argh!” She turned, whip out instantly, cracking over the face of a clone.

“I...I think that’s the last of them!” Bow panted, slinging his bow to his back. He spared a moment to kiss Glimmer on the cheek as she wiped a sweaty hand across her brow. Adora sheathed her sword.

“The Brotherhood of Prime really managed to occupy this town for awhile huh?” Netossa looked towards the decimated village.

I failed….no...we failed...no... Adora stopped herself. Even as Shera, the thoughts swarmed through her mind. The tempestuous anxiety filling her gut. Remember Perfuma’s lessons. You aren’t a failure. It’s not your fault. We only just found out about the Brotherhood of Prime.

A warm hand on her arm coaxed Adora from her thoughts. Catra offered her a tiny smile, fingers squeezing. Her eyes met Adora’s briefly as Glimmer went over further strategy. It was a small glance, seemingly nothing really. But Adora recognized it well. After all, she and Catra had spoken with silent looks for most of their lives. A glance here and here in training exercises. A mischievous squint during drills. A sympathetic eye after one of them emerged from Shadow Weaver’s chambers. It was a secret language they knew well.

Are you alright?

Yeah.

“Sound good?” Glimmer finished. Bow nodded, taking off with Spinnerella, “Oh will you two pay attention for five damn minutes?!” The queen of Brightmoon all but screeched.

“What? Sorry!” Adora wrung her hands, unsure what to do with them now that they weren’t holding a weapon.

“We’re scouting Tellinville for survivors. Think you the Horde Scum can keep your hands off each other long enough to do that?”

“Depends,” Catra quipped, wrapping her arms around Adora’s thick bicep, “how many dark corners and little alleys does Tellinville have?” Glimmer only rolled her eyes.

“Fine! We’ll look for survivors! Not that there can be many after Prime’s remaining brother’s destroyed everything.”

“We’ll meet back here. If you find anyone, signal for me.” Adora nodded, making her way towards the village with Catra in tow.

---

Buildings lay in smoldering rubble. Smashed dishes, an overturned bed.

“Do you hear anything? See anyone?”

Catra shook her head, sniffing for any sign of life. Only melted metal, the residue of that viscous green liquid.

Come into the light little sister, yes….yes...let your pain melt away.

No!

He’s not here, you're safe. It’s been five years. You’re alright.

Catra scratched at the back of her neck, stepping over a fallen pillar.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Adora walked ahead, eyes endlessly shifting for any sign of life. “I’ll go around the outskirts of the perimeter in case Bow and Spinnerella missed anything. Perfuma and Frosta are covering the town center. If you can cover the south side that’ll help. Netossa and Glimmer have the rest.

“A’right, call if you need anything princess,” Catra answered, trying to hide the lack of enthusiasm.

Adora leaned forward pecking a kiss to her temple. As Shera her lips radiated warmth and magic of their own that sent a thrumming through Catra. She suppressed a purr before Adora gave her a final salute and strode off, through the heaps of wood and stone, green liquid sloshing under her boots.

“Hello? Hellooo? Anyone! Anyone there? Hello? Answer me dammit!” Catra called, her ears flicking this was and that. Ducking through alleys and under a collapsed entry way to what had been a home.

“Helllloooo?”

Catra sniffed,

Smoke...iron...blood...urine...more blood...tears….burning fur...smoldering flesh…

Burning fur…?

She sniffed once more, dropping to all fours,

There’s something here…

Catra picked among the broken shards of glass, tracing the scent from the demolished home. Going brick by brick.

“Ehh, ehh, aah!”

She sniffed again, tail high. Going through the wreck, she dug through the rock. It used to be a ceiling or a wall no doubt, destroyed by one of the bombs that the Brotherhood of Prime set off when they saw the princesses coming.

“Hello? Say something! We’re here to help you!”

“Ehhh, ehh ehh!”

Sounds like a child….

Catra flung through the bricks and dust frantically, white dust clouding and puffing up. She coughed through the hazy cloud, squinting to make out any sign of….

An eye, shut against the white dust that covered half a face. She dug faster, hacking through the plumes of soot. Catra lifted another brick with one hand, bracing the others so they didn’t come tumbling down with the other.

“There...there it’s...it’s okay,” she muttered and stopped. The ear of the little thing flopped, triangular, black and velvet.

What….?

“AAAhh! Ahhh!”

It cried, white specs falling into its mouth. It coughed feebly. Catra reached forward, sliding her hands under its small body. She held her breath, lifting the little thing from its entrapment, gathering it in her arms.

Sh licked her hand, wiping at it’s face.

Two floppy little ears, and the stubbiest of tails curled around it’s bottom. Catra gingerly shook out its hair, white powder sloughing off to reveal thin wisps of blonde hair. She adjusted her grip on the little thing, carefully giving it’s mouth a swipe with her finger to clear any remaining dust.

“Mrrp, grrl,” it squeaked, opening its mouth to cry once more.

Fangs?

It’s whole body shook, it’s belly, still retaining a thin velvet coating of birth hair, huffed in and out in an attempt to take in more air.

Catra starred, heart hammering.

The arms around the infant grew heavy, riddled with goose bumps. Every hair on her body stood on end.

A...magicat kitten….

---

She came into the world the treasure of a dying people. A relic, a hope. But it was not to be.

“I can do this, just...just…” the magicat held out his hand, crouched between the humongous roots of an old one tree.

His husband grabbed his hand tightly. Keeping his worry to himself. The kitten was coming too late, it had been due to arrive moons ago. A birth this far past it’s time could only end one of two ways. A death, or severe complications leading to death not long after.

“You can, you can do this,” even as he said it, he looked around, ears on alert for any sign of movement, any sound of bots or First One’s bugs Either were equally possible in this part of Etheria. Neither the Fright Zone, or the Whispering Woods, or any of the princess’s kingdoms.

“AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!” he cried, body tensing. “Aaaarrgghhh.”

“That’s it, that’s it,” The other soothed, going around to crouch before his husband. “And...try not to...be so loud? We only just lost the bots. I’d hate to have you running in your condition.”

“Not be so loud?! I’m delivering your child!”

“Right, sorry. You’re doing great.”

Still anxiety ate at him. Bots could linger anywhere, Horde soldiers, it was a miracle they survived this long, with one of them pregnant no less.

“Okay, okay almost there….almost….” a rush of liquid, a little mewling cry. The magicat took the tiny thing into his arms, cutting the cord with one claw.

“Is….is it…”

“A girl,” he whispered, smoothing over her sticky mat of dark hair. She cried until he put her to his husbands chest. Tears and quick breaths of relief all around.

“She’s so small…” the other magicat reached up, cradling the kitten to his breast with one hand splaying across her entire back. Her stub of a tail barely switched. Her little eyes remained shut, but her ears were perfect velvet and her nose sniffed.

“She’s perfect.”

Silence, and for one brief moment the three of them were safe. Safe and together, a sanctuary between the trees. The magicat stroked her face lovelingly.

“I’m sorry love, I’m so sorry...I wish I could feed you properly,” his heart cracked, seeing her little mouth trying to suckle. Nothing would come. He was too thin, too starving. Barely well enough to carry her himself.

“Don’t feel bad my darling,” his husband kissed the little kitten between her velvet black ears. “It’s not your fault.”

“We...we can’t keep her,” he choked out, wiping his tears with a free hand. His husband nodded.

“They’ll catch us eventually. Even if she doesn’t starve.”

They held their child close, clutching her close against the breeze of the wood.

“What do we do?” He looked up at his husband, holding their child tight. She mewled for any food, her tiny body fragile.

“I have an idea, but...you won’t like it. I don’t like it either but it’s better… better than anything we can give her.”

It took four moons to get to the outskirts of the Fright Zone. Lightening cracked over the dark sky, they huddled close, keeping the kitten under a bundle of clothing scraps.

“...We...we can’t leave her,” the magicat pleaded, looking down at the flimsy box he held in his shaking hands.

“If she stays with us...she’ll die. We’ve been over this my darling we...we can’t. Better to give her a future, any future then sentence her to a slow death. That chance, a chance for a life is the only thing we can give her now.”

He looked down at the kitten in his arms, her yellow and blue eyes blinked up at them, curious. Her tiny claws poked through the folds of the clothing.

“I...I’m so sorry my love,” her father whispered through tears, pressing his nose to the crown of her head. Breathing her in, her scent, still fresh and clean. The kitten only whimpered, her tiny stomach gurgling. Her father kissed her between the brows for one desperate longing moment. She reached out, little hands padding against his damp cheeks.

“Come here,” he handed the little kitten off to her father who held her to his chest, kissing her, running his hands through her matted hair and caressing the tiny velvet ears.

“We love you kitten, so, so much,” shaking, he placed her down in the box, making sure to double check her blankets.

He placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“I...i just want to hold her...just a little longer…” he reached down, scooping her up once more against his frail frame. The other magicat spoke into the small recording device they had scavenged.

“Please...please take care of her,” he begged. “Tell her we love her. When she’s old enough, show her this, so she knows how much we cherished her.”

He reached forward,

“It’s time my darling.”

“No,” the other magicat cried, shielding the kitten from the torrent of rain and flash of lightning.

“No….no...no...no...stars please no!” The little kitten, oblivious, drifted in and out of sleep in her father’s arms. One fist wrapped around her tail. Even through her birth fur, her ribs stuck outward.

He relented only when his husband pried her from his grasp gently, leaning down to put her in the box once more.

“She’ll have a bed, and food, and somewhere to live.”

“Is living with the Horde much of a life?”

“Darling….”

“I know,” he cried, ‘I know...I just….” he looked down at the sleeping kitten. “We never got to name her.”

His husband nodded, reaching down and giving the kitten a final kiss on the nose. He looked at her with adoration and misery. He could only ndd, despondent. They made the mistake of naming their first kitten. One that died shortly after being born. A heartbreak almost as bad as this one.

“We love you kitten, we love you with all our hearts.”

---

“Shera! Shera you saved us!”

Adora let out a nervous giggle, giving the woman a pat on the back.

“Well it was a team effort,” she admitted, escorting the woman to join the other survivors. Glimmer and Bow helped the last few stragglers into the spaceship.

Perfuma and Frosta handed out blankets as people got comfortable.

“Is that all of them?” Adora asked, gazing up the ramp of the ship. Glimmer nodded,

“According to Netossa and Spinnerella yes. They’re doing a final sweep just to be sure.”

Adora nodded,

Where’s Catra? She should be back by now?

Adora, calm down. It’s fine she’s probably doing a final check.

“I’ll do one last check,” she turned towards the village again.

“Adora, wait you don’t have to…”

She strode off before Glimmer could finish.

I have to do this. There are seventy five people in that ship who could’ve been killed. We...we weren’t able to get everyone out before the bombs….

Her heart sank, wandering through the quiet streets, looking for any sign of life.

Where is Catra….Catra?

“Adora?”

She turned instantly,

Now that was a cry of concern.

“Catra?! Don’t touch her! I…”

She stopped short as Catra came into view, wide eyed but in one piece, and holding something. She scurried up to Adora, something small in her arms.

“Catra your alright! We got the rest of the survivors on the….”

Adora looked down at the bundle Catra held. It was small, curled on its side into the crook of Catra’s arm.

“What….what is it?” She spluttered, dumbfounded. Catra looked from her to the thing in her arms, its little ears pressed against its head, tail curled against itself.

“It’s...it’s a baby,” Catra spoke as if realizing for the first time. She placed an instinctive protective hand atop its head. “I found a baby.”

Adora blinked throat suddenly dry. She took in the little creature by degrees. It’s tufts of hair, its scrunched face, the way Catra held it to her so tenderly. The way it seemed to sniff her out and curl closer to her. Something swelled in her chest, making her heart flutter.

“Where….where is its parents?”

#my writing #catra #adora #shera #spop #finn #catradora family #catradora kid #catradora parenting #glimmer #bow #shadow weaver #shadow weaver a+ parenting #spop season 5 #she-ra princess of power #SheRa and the Princesses of Power

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skellebonez · 3 years

Text

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 8

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link!

Summary: What makes them tick, what gets under their skin, our villain wants to find out. Let’s see.

Warnings: These characters are going through it, the warnings on AO3 for Blood and Injury, Childhood Trauma, and Emotional/Psychological Abuse start here.

Author’s note: it has been almost 72 hours since Revenge of the Spider Queen aired in English and now I can finally post this. MINOR SPOILERS INSIDE (and in future chapters).

Chapter 8: Endurance Test

Red Son took a half step back, trying to take stock of his surroundings and keep his breathing steady at the same time. MK and Mei had to be somewhere nearby, he didn't know precisely how the Calabash worked but he could make a pretty decent assumption based on their experiences so far and what Jin had told them. This was all perception, a trick of the virtual reality simulation peaking into his brain and showing him an approximate visage of what he had experienced before. He was not truly back in one of the worst day's of his life...

And it was painfully obvious with the less than conspicuous absence of his mother. He remembered this day well, far too well perhaps, and his mother should still be standing behind him on his left. Not even the fairest hint of her wind was there to suggest she had ever left or been there in the first place. Was she there before? He had been too distracted by hearing his father repeat those possessed words again to know.

"And what do you think you're doing?" That same voice growled out lowly, sending a shudder up Red Son's spine that only intensified as DBK's blue glowing eyes settled on him. "Sneaking away?"

"No!" Red Son answered quickly, standing straighter and shaking his head with a forced smile. It came so easy, too easy, too fast, like he was slipping into an old habit. It was an old habit. "No, father, I-"

"Don't lie to me," DBK growled. "I don't trust anything you say. Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure time and time again, nothing but disappointment!"

He'd heard the words before, he thought he had moved past them, but as he heard his father speak down to him again he found himself repeating the past. Standing tense and clenching his fist and feeling his sharp teeth clench against his lip, threatening to break the skin with the taste of copper and there was ice flowing down his neck-

"Traitor-yes! Perhaps..." And then he remembered what was to come next, eyes widening in fear as his father turned more fully toward him and his mother wasn't there. "You thought you could deceive me? Stand against me!?"

Red Son felt himself scream at his body to move to run to shield himself to do anything but he just watched in terror as his father's not his father no he wouldn't do this fist slammed right into his face and-

He was pulling his own fist back from his face, about to send one more punch into it before he stopped himself with a gasp and a shudder. He looked around frantically, breathing heavy and panicked, no longer in the throne room of his parents but...

"Uh, what's he doing Wukong?"

He stood up straight, head reeling around and instantly recognizing the scene before him.

He was young. He was small. He was powerful, more powerful than he had been in centuries, flames burning bright under his skin in a way that felt so fake but so familiar. And he was facing Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie.

There was the soft whisper of a woman's chuckle and words he couldn't quite hear on the wind and-

"What in the world are you doing?"

He turned again, his face burning in pain before it faded as if he had never been touched. His father was standing before him again, smaller and scowling in a chef's frock.

"This was your idea, finish getting ready before the festival starts."

----------

"Uh, Kid?" Macaque repeated, his fake so fake he could see that now half smile faltering into something more genuine frustratedly confused. "Come on, talk to me. We're not going to get anywhere if you don't comu-"

"Shutup..."

"Huh?" Macaque's eyebrows raised in surprise. "What did you just say to me?"

"Shut up!" MK screamed, teeth clenched as he extended the staff into the fake monkey. Calabash or not he refused to face the man who had messed with his head so badly without getting at least one cheap shot in for revenge.

He felt a sense of satisfaction as Macaque's face twisted in pain and surprise and anger and-

Suddenly he was in the sky looking down at that nearly identical face, plus one milky white eye and scar, smirking up at him in cruel victory before a fist slammed into his stomach and pain radiated through his entire body.

It was so much like when it really happened that he almost forgot this was fake, just like everything Macaque had done before this very moment every smile and ruffle of his hair and compliment on his technique. When this happened for real his whole body burned like fire had lit through his veins in a single second and then rushed to escape immediately after and out through that spot on his back.

The Calabash didn't know how to replicate that properly. That's the only reason MK found himself able to tense and curl a fist and turn to smash the face of the shadow clone that had lead him here and-

"OW, what the hell, Bud!?" Wukong yelped as MK's fist landed in his face. "I know I'm invincible but that still smarts!" He rubbed his nose, looking up at his student with a look of genuine emotional hurt and confusion. "If you didn't wanna watch the fireworks you could have just left..."

MK ripped his hand back in shock and fear, staring at the Monkey King in confusion. He had just punched Monkey King, a fake Monkey King but still his mentor, right in the face. And to the Calabash clone it was out of nowhere and for no reason.

"I..." MK started, breathing growing heavy and fast and there was a wheeze under it as he heard a chuckle and some kind of mumble distantly.

----------

"Oh no!" Mei yelled, spinning around as she stood and glowered up at the fake visage of her ancestors. "No, I have done this already! I've proven myself long ago and I refuse to let some computer program play with my brain and use my family to make me prove myself again!"

Mei was angry. Mei was strong. And Mei lifted her blade above her head and slammed it into the wall behind her and smashed it, debris flying around her and making the fake visage around her blow away like smoke through the wind.

She smiled in victory, wide and triumphant and there was a chuckle, loud as if it was right behind her ear as she felt something not unlike hands pushing her forward and-

MK looked up at her in confusion, holding his chest as it slowly stained red from the fresh slash across his body. "Mei? What... what did I...? Why?"

There was a wall there, Mei knew there was a wall there not even a second ago. But now her best friend was falling to the ground and her sword was stained with red and her parents stood behind MK looking at her in anger and disgust. She stared in confusion and horror and she knew this wasn't real it couldn't be real and-

The food she was holding slipped from her hands as she gasped and looked around wildly, breathing heavy in confusion as Pigsy's angered expression changed to match the worried one that Tang was sending her way.

"Uh, you ok Mei?" Pigsy asked, eyebrow raising.

"You're going to require more work than the others, I see." The voice that matched the chuckle she had heard before whispered in her ear.

----------

"And you are becoming annoying," that same voice, Princess Jade Face's voice, rang through the tiny room Jin had been breaking his hands in as he attempted to escape. He couldn't hear whatever had come before that and, but he could only assume it was directed at one of the trio. "It's actually kind of depressing, watching you hurt yourself like this."

"Oh come off it," Jin hissed, rubbing his knuckles and scowling as he sat back down. "You're enjoying this."

"Hmmmmn, not really," Jade said, humming again as she typed something on the console. "You know, if you had just cooperated you could be sitting in the actual room with your brother." He voice grew cold, annoyance and frustration lining under it. "All you had to do was follow the rules."

"And what are you going to do 'bout that?" Jin asked, tapping his fingers against the floor. Ring, pinky, ring, middle, pointer. Repeat. Repeat.

"Oh, I've already done plenty," Jade continued, voice back to her neutral happy tone. "All you have to do is sit tight and maybe I will release you both to the Spider Queen aware enough for you to explain to her exactly why I had to keep you to myself. Or not. It depends on whether or not you continue to break back into your code."

Jin cursed under his breathe, scowling down at his hand as a lightning jolt of pain coursed through it and immediately eased. A warning. She'd noticed his little pattern.

"It's not really that big of a deal to me, though," she continued with a chuckle. "Everything is going exactly how I want it to. Even if you break out of there you won't be able to find your little fail safe. So don't bother trying."

She went quiet after that, and Jin listened for the tell tale sound of outside noise filtering into the Calabash through the opening she had opened to allow her voice to speak through (he was glad they never remembered to add wireless voice to this thing). And there was none. He waited a moment, sitting still.

No voice.

No lightning jolt of pain.

The door opened and Jin smirked.

Good.

She hadn't noticed the pattern he'd been drawing with the tail he had finally figured out how to control.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #mk #Qi Xiaotian #red son #mei #long Xiaojiao #jin #they are not going to be having a good time for a while #buckle up folks

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heeytwelve · 4 years

Text

A mundanity that creeps into your very soul

Insidious Humdrum is he most intriguing and controversial character in Simon Snow books. It also one of the main characters of “Carry On” book, and, (as unpopular opinion) - he is still appears in “Wayward Son” - he mentioned by Simon, Agatha, Penny, Baz multiple times as nightmarish memories.

I believe Humdrum will make his appearance in third book and I want to dig on why he is so important in “Carry On” set and why Simon might be not quite done with him.

Humdrum is “official” antagonist of the first book, the prophesy which gave Simon “The Chosen One” title also implies that his only mission in life is to banish the Greatest Threat of World of Mages.

It’s important to notice that Simon himself is not really invested in fighting Humdrum, he strangely detached from his life mission:

“When the Humdrum comes after me, I fight him. When he sends dragons, I kill them. When you trick me into meeting a chimera, I go off. I don’t get to choose or plan. I just take it as it comes. And someday, something will catch me unawares or be too big to fight, but I’ll fight anyway. I’ll fight until I can’t anymore—what is there to think about?”

Excerpt From: Rainbow Rowell. “Carry On.” Think about it - he never create strategies, he never tries to understands what is it he tries to fight with, he never initiate the battle, he accepts battles, when he can’t avoid them. You’d think that he just escalate this part of job to The Mage, but then, (say to compare with HP) he doesn’t exactly bothers The Mage with questions or he doesn’t try to find out what Humdrum behaves like this and what is he plotting.

Oh, yes, plotting. See, we could say - you know, Simon is just like this, he’s quite passive, he hates to think or take action, but it’s untrue. Simon, in fact, has 3 antagonists: first one is Humdrum, which was given to him, second one is Mage (which as Voldemort in HP both created him and destroyed) and third is the only one antagonist he actually chose - Baz, the handsome vampire. Because Simon chose him (and Baz accepted). it is this antagonist he is really fighting and very passionate about: he thinks about his plotting every day, he cracks his secret/superpower, he finds his weakness and “defeats” him. Simon is capable of active fighting, thinking and strategising.

WHY Simon is so NOT invested in fighting Humdrum?

Let’s take a look at Humdrum and Simon, using Penny’s method, aka - what do we know, here I gathered a small table of data for these two:

So clearly, you can see that Humdrum is very unusual antagonist. Yes we can see that like in many pairs protagonist-antagonist there are a few opposite qualities of them, and it’s normal, it is trigger to fight dynamics. But at the same they are sort fig leaf to hide from Simon (or reader) who Humdrum really is. Humdrum - is Simon’s doppelgänger. And that is VERY important, let’s look at this from writer point of view, it is not your usual antagonist-just-a-person-who-have-opposite-beliefs-or-hates-you-for-some-reason. This antagonist is VERY attached to protagonist, he is in fact his continuation.

WHY would you want to write exactly this type of antagonist, what do you want to say?

I have multiple answers to go through.

1) To show Simon’s complexity. To show _protagonist_ complexity and somehow preserve the certain image of him. In “Carry On” Simon (at least for me as a reader) associated purely with soft and positive features, he is the definition of the good and kind hero. Yes, he’s impatient and short tempered, but he is empathic, he is thoughtful, he cares about most of the people around (he protect and shield his _chosen_ enemy, Baz. He won’t end him without second thought when he finally has opportunity - the scene in catacombs), he doesn’t hold grudges or avenge betrayal, he always tries to think above the things, see the whole picture, kinda look past himself. It is very high EQ and it is my dream character. But realistically for kid who had no one to raise him to love and understand people; with tough childhood - it is impossible to have no dark sides. Again, remember how annoyingly for reader neurotic HP would be in books? Well, guess what, his dark side is still in a book, it’s just detached from him, to not spoil his image for reader. Perhaps, because at this point (introducing the character) his dark sides are not allowed to make impression and they are not important YET. 2) To allow protagonist to do things he want to do, but can’t. This is “Jekyll and Hide” type of protagonist and yes, this is fair for Humdrum too. He destroys things and doesn’t feel bad about it. He “mundane” and again, he doesn’t feel bad about it. He doesn’t have to go to magic school and still - he is known, strong, dangerous. But most importantly - he can express his negative feelings. He is unhappy to be forgotten - he attracts attention (quite brutally); he is unhappy to be the only one who left to deal with trauma - he reminds about it - he summons Simon exactly at the place where bad things were happening (Lancashire) and he takes the form Simon probably tries to push away from his mind; he dislikes Mage - he talks to the Mage harsh and dismissively and laughing at him; the only people which Humdrum snatches/damages away from Simon are Agatha and Baz - it might be some sort of jealousy expression, and surely he express his jealousy about Simon’s skill and development. And IF he really hates the magic - he sure express his hatred good too, by literally destroying and he allows himself to feel pleasure from act of destruction (the face expression Simon never saw on his own face). And often, this reasoning for introducing doppelgänger goes with implying that protagonist has hidden desires to not be as good as he currently is. What doppelgänger does, it is what protagonist secretly desires to do.

To sum this these 2 points - they _usually_ lead us to the point that protagonist is not as good he thinks he is. And while it is partly true - I believe, it is NOT Humdrum purpose.

3) While Humdrum is surely threat to magic, is he Simon’s antagonist, really? Does he hates Simon? Do his actions have purpose to destroy what Simon have/created? It is a big no, to all these questions.

Humdrum is metaphor for Simon’s trauma, he tries to shove away from himself.

Many people talk about Humdrum in the book, but most informative are - Penny, Mage and Baz, Simon and Humdrum himself.

Penny, I believe, is an author’s reflection in the book, so her words are clues), and she tell us - that Humdrum face is his real face (he is Simon), he’s childish and Simon’s dealing with negative emotions frustration/fear/annoyance/going off brings him joy (genuine childish laugh). She also tell Simon, the reason why he have to fight Humdrum - cause he the only one who can (and have to) do it. Which is true. Mage - who is the real Simon’s antagonist and evil in the book - is the one who setups the reality “Humdrum is evil, you have to fight it”. Which can be easily translated to “Your feelings/experiences are not valid, you have to get rid of them”. He also setups example of not being important as a person, but being important as a weapon, to sharp your blade constantly if you wish.

“Look at me, Simon. Have you ever known me to indulge myself with a normal life? Where is my wife? My children? Where’s my house in the country with my cosy chair and a fat cocker spaniel to bring me my slippers? When do I go on holiday? When do I take a break? When do I do anything other than prepare for the battle ahead?

Excerpt From: Rainbow Rowell. “Carry On.”

Again - it translates to these old methods of dealing with trauma: fight it, ignore it, experience more trauma to make yourself numb. It doesn’t work. Mage doesn’t care about Simon. But in a way, Simon follows his instructions.

Baz - he is the symbol of healing love Simon needs (one of his defining quotes is “I chose you” - returning Simon everything what was taken away by Mage at that point) he have experienced Humdrum only one time, but it’s enough for him to figure it out precisely. He understands that Humdrum is Simon (or his part) and he does not hesitate to confront Simon with it, because it is important. And he the one who tell Simon the aftermath of ignoring Humdrum. Baz is the one who - finally - triggers Simon to act. He also the first character who sees Simon (and Humdrum) and accepts them as whole. And still loves him. Simon - he doesn’t talk about nature of Humdrum a lot. He hardly bothers to describe fighting scenes in a past. But he clearly indicates how he avoids Humdrum, thinking about Humdrum, thinking about time he will need to deal with it. He doesn’t want to have any touch points with it, even when he’s confronted about it. He shouts at Humdrum when he sees his own face on him, but he never thinks that Humdrum is him. Because it’s all painful. Humdrum - is pain he released and locked himself out of it. That is why he reluctant to deal with Humdrum, though it his life mission. He only do it if he have HAVE TO. And then - he will take the pain/fear/negatives and lock it in Humdrum again (make magic holes bigger) and leave. So he can stop thinking about him again. And finally, Humdrum. He thinks a lot, he has time for it. And he know exactly who he is. And when Simon is ready, when Simon’s is finally ready to face him by his own will, he tells him who he is:

“It’s the Humdrum,” I say. “It’s you on the day I found you.” His eyes are wide and soft. “My boy—” “I’m not him,” the Humdrum says. “I’m not anybody’s boy.” “You’re my shadow,” I say to the Humdrum. I’m not afraid of him now. “More like an exit wound,” he says. “Or an exhaust trail—I’ve had loads of time to think about it.” “The Insidious Humdrum,” the Mage whispers. “It’s a crap name,” the Humdrum says, bouncing his ball. “Did you come up with it?”

Excerpt From: Rainbow Rowell. “Carry On.”

He is willing to talk about himself and all this scene he is strongly communicating on Simon’s side, but not on Mage’s. He behaves like he is Simon’s ally and they have the same goal. He’s open about his wishes (to evolve, to be like Simon, to be the one with Simon), he is open about what happens if Simon’s continued to follow the Mage’s instructions ( “He’s right. End everything. All of the magic.”).

The scene of dealing with Humdrum doesn’t feel like Humdrum eliminating, but more like becoming one with him, finally accepting what was shoved away, belated debts payment. It is very sad but beautiful scene.

“I’m sorry that all the good stuff happened after I left you.”

“The Humdrum puts his hands over mine and gives me a small nod. His jaw is set, and his eyes are flinty. He looks like a little thug, even now. I nod back. I give it all to him. I let it all go.”

At the end - Humdrum and Simon became one, like it was before Simon first went off and got his magic at 11 year. Now he back to the same state and next book he is dealing with trauma (not the way he should, unfortunately).

Maybe the key of getting powers back is to learn how to live with Humdrum and not ignore him. To accept yourself, to find yourself. Maybe use Humdrum powers too. “Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”

p.s. The negative power of sucking off magic reminded me about Dementors in HP a bit, in a way, that’s what made me think about Humdrum as trauma or depression. At the same time, sometimes, Humdrum would show us, that he is still a doppelgänger of Simon’s and have the same thoughts - like his phrase about “it’s it better than fighting” about Baz is quite the same as Simon’s.

#humdrum #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #the mage #penny bunce #penelope bunce #the insidious humdrum #wayward son #my texts #carry on meta #simon snow meta #humdrum meta

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carrera-ffxiv · 3 years

Text

Drowning Sun (8.2)

Knock. Knock.

Hadriel paused at the door, expecting to hear some movement; expecting to hear something.

Knock ...Knock.

An eerie silence followed. A sigh escaped his lips; he adjusted the package at his side and leaned in to listen against the door.

Again, nothing.

A singular thud sounded, more muffled than the rest. Hadriel pushed open the door and released the broken handle; he removed his handkerchief from it and tucked it away in his vest before gently guiding the door shut. It remained slightly ajar from the damage he inflicted.

The apartment was dark. Fitting for a blind woman, but he felt something was off. “Dawn?” he called to her. “I just wanted to check up on you…”

His pricey leather shoes made dull clacks against the flooring. His gloved hand traced along his face and hair, catching his eyepatch; he removed it with a single smooth movement and tucked it into his pocket. A bright eye scanned the room.

Dawn sat slumped against the wall, her ears plugged with a white stethoscope, the golden chest-piece against her bosom. She was convinced she could hear it; between the beats of her heart she could hear it slither in her chest. Feel it. Dawn’s hand raked through her hair and clutched a handful. Anxiety was the only thing that tethered her fraying sanity to that moment in reality. She thought she could hear dull thuds in the background but the thought quickly faded along a torrent of stressors that drowned her consciousness. She felt like she was losing parts of herself faster than she could retain- as if sand slipping through her fingers.

There she was, in between oddly shaped pillows and piles of books, holding something close to her chest. “Dawn…?” he called to her again. Her hair was frazzled and she seemed dazed, afraid even. Waiting for something.

Her heart beat a hundred malms a minute.

His gaze pierced deeper and confirmed what he knew, a bitter grimace fleetingly wearing on his features. This was his fault, wasn’t it? He had sent her on the mission that took her sight. He had given her that soul crystal which corrupted her aether. He had unintentionally forced her into this position. While moving pieces on the chess board he had forgotten about a single pawn ...and now this was the result: An unnecessary sacrifice.

“Hadriel…” she seethed in a brief moment of clarity. Did she recognize his voice? Or perhaps it was something else within her that recognized him. Either way, it didn’t matter. Carrera’s words lasted with her- ‘As for whose plan… who gave you the stone?’ Was her current predicament: her unraveling, the result of this man’s intent? She felt her skin burn as the soulstone along her chest brightened. She plucked the stethoscope from her ears and placed it carefully on top of a book before darting forward to strike him.

A wild but oddly accurate blow. Hadriel stepped to one side to avoid it. She adjusted and adapted to his movement- was she hearing his subtle steps? Strike after strike, he would adjust his shoulder to move out of the way, then tilt his head. He turned and ducked underneath before returning to his full height again. He could read her movement like an open book as he saw the aether shift between her arms and legs. He would smoothly guide her forearm away from his persons with a gentle touch, causing her to miss.

Her breath grew more desperate and ragged as she kept at it. Still, he would either step aside or swat at her attempts with a hand. Her movement was practiced and intentional, not that of a novice. Strangely enough, it felt easier to counter since he could predict the movements as opposed to the wild flailings of an amateur. Still, it was odd that she moved the way she did before it dawned on him. She was fighting much like Adala did without her greatsword- with practiced movement and intuition. Countless times he had watched her spar with Rina. Fast, experienced, and predictably unpredictable.

She grew tired of his evasiveness; bladed edges of light sparked from her fists as she redoubled her efforts.

A quick and hard jab found Dawn’s diaphragm, knocking the wind from her lungs. She fell to her knees and coughed, but there was no air to let loose. She choked and struggled to try to breathe in air but her throat would not take any in.

“This isn’t you Dawn… breathe. Focus. Find yourself. Don’t lose track of who you are. I believe in you.”

He often told people what he thought they needed, not what he had calculated in his mind. His left hand grasped the hilt of his blade tightly. Mira had asked him to help her, and he had done what he thought was best.

She retched. Then she heaved. She did her best to inflate her lungs again as tears continued to stream down her face. Dawn tried to focus but his voice seemed so far away. All she could feel was an unbridled fury held within the core of her being. She felt a gentle guiding hand along her chin, lifting her face. A dull ache struck her left eye as she could feel it being pried from her skull. The sound of metal humming sharply followed by immeasurable pain deep in her head.

Anguish swelled in her lungs and fled from her dry throat. Agony gripped her like a vice, with each cruel beat of her throbbing heart sending wave upon wave of madness into the void that was once her eye; she moved to shield her injury long after it was too late. As blood dripped from her shaking fingers, Dawn yielded to the torment as her body contorted and convulsed along the floor; Her head felt like it was about to burst like a cracked egg. Just a few paces away Hadriel tore into the small package he kept tucked beneath his arm and twisted the top of the revealed jar open. The contents sloshed as he lifted her replacement within his grasp; the dull, lifeless, salvaged eye of his friend, Adala. With a twist of his wrist the jar and the gelatin liquid within went scattering across the floor, and with one swift motion Hadriel grabbed the panicking woman by the wrist and hoisted her onto her feet.

She felt a foreign object- wet, soft, and cold where her eye should be. She collapsed into a sitting slump as he released her, the pain still assaulting every sense she had.

His dry voice only continued to boil her blood as she tried to focus on what was happening, “You want to get better. It’s up to you. Remember the people who care about you. Your friends. Your family. Heal your eye. I’ve severed the nerve, if you don’t use your magic you’ll remain broken.”

None of it made sense to her. Why would he mutilate her further? Over months he had helped her to learn to live again, but now, why was he so cruel? She could only ponder these things as she desperately lit up her wound with a bright light. She felt the broken and torn tethers from her optic nerve melding into the lingering strings from the eye. They connected as the nerve endings mended and snapped together. Each connection sparked an indescribable sensation. Her right hand fell forward to catch herself from collapsing, her left cradled her face as beads of sweat rolled down her visage. She looked up to Hadriel, the glowing blue eye staring directly at him between her fingers.

“W-what is this? This...”

She saw millions of tiny, shimmering blue lights forming shapes before her. One such shape was the man in front of her. In the periphery of her vision she could see the plants and potions lit up, and even the lightest glow came from static objects around her. Books and even the floor maintained the residue of aether bleeding from the two of them. She was breathless again, but not from blunt force trauma this time. She witnessed brilliant lights forming his frame, the largest concentration of which rested in his heart. It made a sort of sense, it was the engine to his being and kept him alive. But one oddity failed to escape her notice; a comparable amount of aether was gathered within his left eye.

She continued to speak, “This… this is… I know whose eye this is.”

He shook his head, “I promised Mira I would help you.” his voice was quiet and forced.

“But,” she whined, “...Am I even myself anymore?” Her hands ran through her hair and intertwined behind her head. “I’m losing a piece of myself ...every. Day.”

“You’re not that same girl who walked in through our doors. You’re something else now. Whether you want to find out what that is, or stay here in the dark crying- that’s up to you. Life is never what we expect. And it hasn’t been fair to you, more than most. But, life ...is rarely ever fair.”

“It’s consuming me, who I am, what am I supposed to do when there’s nothing left?”

“Give up. Let go. Or, or you could hold onto the things that make you, you. Dawn, only you know who you truly are. Get up, wipe your tears, live your life. Find out who you are through all this. One step forward at a time. You don’t really have a choice. If you give up, then it all ends; I’ve already told you this before. You didn’t give up when you lost your sight, don’t give up now because you have to fight for your survival. Win, overcome, and stay with us.”

She looked over to her side. She could see her own residual aether on the stethoscope she placed.

“Fight to control. That’s all this is. That amulet is aether. That thing inside your chest is composed of aether. You have the finest aether manipulation I’ve ever seen, you can do this, if you let yourself. If you stop being afraid of what could be, afraid of what you might lose.” he kneeled down to her level. “Think instead of what you might gain.”

She grabbed for the scope and clutched at it against her bosom. “I’ll, ...I’ll try… I’m trying.”

“Don’t give up. Mira’s been worried about you. That’s all I can ask.” he sighed a bit, “Take a potion and get some rest. You’ll need it.”

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mysteira6 · 3 years

Text

FukaFlower - Visiting You

Summary:

Requested by Lil-flowie (on Wattpad).

Casting aside his fear to visit her… was a lot harder than he thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Prompt: “Flower gets hurt and is in the hospital. Fukase is worried for her.”

Hey there! It’s been a while. I still heckin love these two so don’t think that I’m gonna stop making these for a LONG time~ :3

Special one-shot this time because this was a request from my book on Wattpad! Hope you enjoy. ^^

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“She’s in room 17,”

He quickly nodded once in thanks. “Thanks,” He replied gratefully before turning away from the receptionist and looking back at the hallway. White-clad nurses typing away on wheelie monitors littered the hallway, along with the occasional visitor walking back and forth between visiting their loved ones and chatting with other doctors. The sterile scent in the room conjured images of medicine and machinery in his mind, almost coercing him to shrink into the size of a ball, curled up and shivering on the floor.

Fukase hated hospitals. He didn’t want to have a reason to visit such a place that reminded him too much of what he had been through. By instinct, his left hand swiftly raised to touch his face, his bandaged fingers swiping against the grooves along his cheeks.

Come on, Fukase. Stop thinking about that. You’re here to visit the one you love, not to mull over your… stuff.

After giving himself a solid nod of confidence, the red-haired boy began to make his way down the hall, his crimson eyes looking out for the double-digit label that indicated which room his partner was staying at. It wasn’t too long before he found it, standing before the door as if waiting to be let in.

He held tightly to the bag in his right hand, the antiseptic scent still annoying him. Here goes nothing.

A turn of the doorknob later and the boy walked into a small room with walls of beige, satin blue furniture consisting of a sofa and visitor chairs aligned neatly against each wall while a longer bed sat in the middle of it all. Laying on said bed and tucked behind pearl-coloured sheets was a petite figure with gorgeous violet eyes, her smooth curls of white moving along with a strand of black hair as she turned towards her visitor. It wasn’t long before a small smile adorned her face, and Fukase found it very difficult to turn away from her upon seeing her beautiful smile.

“Fukase!” She murmured gleefully, and though she tried to step out of bed to greet him properly, the girl was reminded of her slight impairment when she felt a sharp twinge from her right arm, the thick plaster cast wrapped around her forearm reminding her not to move too much to agitate her wound. With a heavy sigh to herself, she eventually shifted back to her original position, only watching as the redheaded boy quickly trotted to her side, dragging a visitor’s chair with him as he placed his paper bag on the bedside table.

“Hey Flo,” He started, heart still fluttering at the sight of his partner’s pure expression. “How are you?” He was internally praying that the unease in his head had not leaked out into the tone of his voice.

“Alright, I guess,” The patient in question replied, motioning to her cast. “I just don’t know why my manager made me stay in the hospital for a hairline fracture on my arm. I’m pretty sure Xin Hua and you can take care of me fine,”

Fukase felt his cheeks heat up at the comment. He did like taking care of her when she was sick, after all. “I’m sure they just don’t want their ‘superstar’ singer to get hurt a second time. Besides, they did mention that your treatment would be covered by them,”

“But the food here is so plain,” She protested, a pout forming on her lips. “I’d rather just make my own food at home, even if I’m gonna feel pain throughout the whole thing-”

“Now that’s when I gotta stop ya, Petals,” The redhead’s tone deepened as he continued. “You know what your doctor would say; don’t move that cast around too much or it’s gonna stay there forever,”

She huffed impatiently. “Okay, I guess you got a point, but it’s still pretty boring around here-”

She was cut off by a jovial laugh coming from the boy now sitting next to her, accompanied by the sight of a familiar marshmallow coloured doll popping out of his paper bag, soon stumbling out of the bag and hopping onto her bed, taking a seat next to her lying figure as Fukase’s laugh slowly died out. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He asked cheerfully with a smirk on his face.

The girl’s cheeks turned satin pink. What was she thinking? Here, she was being visited by her loving and kind boyfriend and all she was doing was complaining to him. Some partner she was.

Hoping to ameliorate the situation, she smiled warmly at him. “Thanks for visiting,” She softly spoke, giving another smile to the little doll by her left hand, who had been patiently waiting for her to acknowledge its presence. “I know you’re pretty busy and all,”

Fukase let out a small chuckle. “Hah. If by ‘busy’, you mean that I have to handle being teased all day by the Kagamine twins about ‘my girl’ being in the hospital, then yeah, I guess I have been a little busy,”

Flower narrowed her eyes, speechless. Ever since she started dating Fukase, it seemed that those 14-year-olds’ attacks on them would never stop, not even when they were not seen together in public. Sometimes, the snow-haired teen wondered if they liked it when her defensive boyfriend would come running after those gremlins after they let out a few teasing words to them.

In reality, as his girlfriend chuckled to herself (he assumed that she was chuckling about his comment about the Kagamine twins), Fukase could slowly feel a lump slowly forming in his throat. It was this room, he realised; this room was far too familiar to him. The pale walls closing in on his figure, that damn sterile scent of surgical masks and IV drips wafting through his nose, the chilly air that blew by from the vent on the floor, sweeping across his skin and forming trails of goosebumps all over him-

It was probably a miracle that he hadn’t completely succumbed to his memories, that he hadn’t shriveled into the size of a ball while sitting on the hospital chair, that he had not started shaking while reaching out to hold Flower’s left hand that wasn’t wrapped in a cast-

Left hand.

It was… her left hand.

Left hand…

Left hand.

Left hand. Left hand. Left. Left. Left. Left. Left left left left-

“Fukase?”

Her distinctive, powerful voice sent him straight back to reality, his eyes blinking once, twice, before looking over to the person who had called his name. In his mindscape, those words kept repeating themselves, the noises of his past ringing in his ears despite the fact that she pierced through it all with her own voice. Only when he noticed the expression in her violet-hued irises did he realise why she called him.

She had noticed him. Noticed him experiencing a flashback. The redhead felt ashamed.

“You know, I’d ask if you’re okay,” She said sombrely, breaking the momentary silence between the both of them. “But knowing you, I kinda have an idea of how you’d respond. And if I’m right, it’s not really a good thing…” She added, drooping her head a little.

“Flo, I-”

“I know. You don’t like hospitals, right?” The moment she said that was when the boy on the chair finally gave in to the fear creeping on his back, his arms wrapping themselves around his chest as if shielding himself from an attacking foe. Though he kept his gaze on her, Flower knew that he wasn’t really ‘okay’ with this.

“I figured as much,” She sighed softly, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. “I’m really sorry that I had to burden you to visit me while I’m here, Fukase,”

“You don’t have to apologise, Flower,” He hastily replied, though the slight falsetto in his voice spoke volumes of what was going through his head. “I mean, it’s not like you made the accident happen,”

“Yeah, but still,” Seeing her lover look at her with fearful eyes so different from his usual gaze made Flower curse at her predicament; all she wanted to do was to step out of bed and hold the boy in her embrace. Just like last time.

Instead, she only muttered. “If I had been more careful…”

“ … Even if you had, there’s no telling what else could have happened,”

Flower didn’t respond to that, only looking down at her arm wrapped in white, silently cursing at it until she heard the sound of a chair shifting closer to her bed. A quick turn presented her with the sight of the scarred-face boy having his face petted by the living doll from before, its chubby hands threading through the plastic barrier of the hospital bed and patting the human boy’s cheeks as if to make a funny face out of it.

Had Flower not known that this little doll, Point, was sort of a parental figure to her boyfriend, she would have been merely amused at this silly sight.

But since Flower did know about Point, she also could tell that Fukase was really trying to get over his trauma just to make her smile. It was a common trait between the two of them; whenever Fukase had the urge to make anyone happy, he’d usually perform humorous antics with that little white doll. Likewise, in the moments when he was the most vulnerable emotionally, Point would be there to remind Fukase that he was not alone in the world anymore. That he now had someone else to talk to when his mind was a mess.

After their mini-episode of making funny faces in front of her (and inciting a little giggle from her), the red-haired boy sported a small smile, the fear from earlier mostly dissipated from his eyes.

“Flower…” He started, leaning his head against the fencing by the hospital bed, the light from the windows reflecting off of his scarlet eyes. “You know you’re really important to me, right?”

“Y-yeah?”

“So… Don’t worry about me being afraid of… this place…” He slowly declared, his voice building up confidence as he went on. “I know I tend to be dramatic about it, but I promise you; I’ll be okay,”

“Are you sure?” The hesitation in her tone convinced Fukase to up his determination in his reply. “Yeah. I’m not trying to trick you this time; I’ll be fine,”

“Besides, seeing you and having you next to me…” As much as he tried to hide it, the red on his cheeks was obvious. “It helps me deal with the memory, so… don’t be too worried about me, alright?”

‘Seeing you and having you next to me’

They were such simple words and yet… Those alone were enough to wash all of the white-haired girl worries away.

“Oh! That reminds me,” The young boy stood up suddenly, turning to the paper bag he brought with him and pulling out a petite white box with a handle by the top. “Here, I got you something. And don’t worry, I asked Xin Hua about what you couldn’t eat, and this doesn’t qualify as any of your prohibited foods,”

As Fukase placed the box in front of her, he steadily undid the box’s paper lock, revealing a single triangular slice of vanilla cake, its three layers stuck together by white icing filled with red slices of fruit while the top layer was completely covered with another layer of white and three white rosettes. The singular conical red item placed on the top of the cake was the last thing Flower needed to identify what kind of treat her boyfriend had bought for her.

“A strawberry cake,” She noted without any traces of astonishment in her voice. “Why am I not surprised?” Though she was shaking her head, there was a pensive smile inscribed on her lips.

“Oh, well if you don’t want it, more for me-”

“What, no! Of course I want it!”

“Oh, really?” A mischievous grin found its way to the cheeky redhead’s lips as he spoke. “Judging by the look on your face, I was starting to think that you didn’t like it. Or am I wrong?”

His girlfriend was about to facepalm herself with her right hand until she felt a tinge of pain that signalled her to use her left one instead. “You’re ridiculous. You wouldn’t buy that for me and bring it here if you thought that I wouldn’t want it, would you?”

“So you’re saying that I’m a good boyfriend?”

The girl paused, though it didn’t take too much pondering before she arrived at a conclusion. Between him mustering his guts to visit a hospital, the hotspot of his trauma, and pushing aside that trauma to admit how much she meant to him, Flower was convinced that this time, Fukase’s passing joke was true.

Knowing that, she heaved a relaxed sigh, reaching out to touch his bandaged hand briefly. The sudden contact cued him to glance at her, taking in the bright smile that adorned her face. “Yeah,” Flower murmured sweetly. “I think you are. A good boyfriend, I mean,”

Her cheeks turned satin pink as she added the last part of her sentence, an unusually bashful smile slowly creeping up her lips. The redhead could only look on at her, frozen and unmoving, only taking in how adorable she looked under the rays of sunlight seeping through the windows of the ward.

There was no way to stop Fukase from chuckling light-heartedly. “Wow,” He muttered, breathless. “I… didn’t think you’d actually say something so sappy,”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe it’s my meds?” She sheepishly teased. “I guess I’m just feeling a little… affectionate today,”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Fukase teased back with a smirk. “Seeing you trying to flirt is cute too,” Flower didn’t have any time to respond to that before Fukase turned his whole body to the patient lying on the bed, a white plate containing the vanilla-coloured slice of spongy cake in one hand while his other gripped tightly onto a small fork. “Seriously though, you want this cake?”

She beamed at the prospect of eating something sweet. “Of course,”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For the rest of the afternoon, the two teens stayed in that hospital room, sharing bites of a dessert that they both loved. Still, the sweetness from the delicious cake was nothing compared to their relationship.

A gentle, tender bond that was supported by their endless love and support for each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They... They be cute... QwQ

#fukaflower #fukase #vocaloid fukase #vocaloid flower #vflower #shipping #oneshot #hospital visit #flokase #fukase x flower #flower x fukase #fanfic #vocaloid fanfic #vocaloid

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thespianbooks · 4 years

Text

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter One//

(Chapter one) (Chapter two) (Chapter three) (Chapter four) (Chapter five) (Chapter six) (Chapter seven) (Chapter eight) (Chapter nine) (Chapter ten)

I knew it was bound to happen eventually. Surrounded by the new walls in this estate, after growing so familiar with Rhys’s old room—my old room, at the House of Wind; a part of me knew the new surroundings might trigger the nightmares to return. Even if over a decade had passed, a part of me was, and would probably always be haunted by the events that had taken place Under the Mountain. At first, I dreamt of stabbing myself in the heart, as I had the young male and female fae. Over the years the nightmares evolved, sometimes as gory and painful as it had been to actually live through it, and other times an array of images would pass through my mind in a panic—as if I were living through it all at once in a matter of seconds. Images of blood, Amarantha, the knife in my blood-soaked hands—of Rhys. Of Rhys’s pained face as he desperately tried to get to me during Amarantha’s attack, wielding a knife of his own. Tonight, in particular, those flashing images conjured up old and ancient feelings of panic in me that I had not experienced since I was newly Made; since my time in the Spring Court. Since before I learned Rhys was my mate; before I overcame that overwhelming despair that had threatened to drown me. The nightmares hadn’t stirred those emotions in over a decade, but tonight was different.

I jolted awake in a cold sweat, my skin clammy and stomach roiling at the particularly violent images of my blood-soaked hands and Rhys’s panicked and desperate face still lingering as I tried to discern reality from dream. I silently thanked the Cauldron that Rhys wasn’t with me as I made a mad dash for the bathing room attached to our suite. I barely made it to the toilet as I vomited up the dinner, and probably the entirety of my stomach contents from the day before, I had with Mor. My eyes burned as the wave intensified, reminding me of those days in the Spring Court, a couple of sobs escaping between my heaves.

Breathe

You’re free. We’re free. And safe

Just breathe

As the wave of nausea finally began to pass, and the heaving stopped, I took a few deep breaths as Rhys guided me through our bond. Nerves settled, I flushed the toilet and stood slowly. Once I was confident I wouldn’t sway on my feet, I padded over to the sink, rinsing my mouth out thoroughly. Sighing deeply once again, I smiled softly as I felt those familiar dark-shadowed talons caress my mental shields before lowering them and allowing Rhys in.

Hello Feyre darling

My smile widened. I’m alright, just another bad dream

Must have been a bad one. Your nightmares haven’t caused you to puke your guts up in years.

It’s because I’m alone in this big house without you.

I felt his dark laugh reverberate through the bond. I knew I couldn’t blame him for performing his duties as the High Lord of the Night Court, particularly in matters of the Illyrian sort. He, Cassian, and Azriel were duty-bound to attend and oversee the Blood Rite of their novice-warriors. As High Lord, commander of armies, and spymaster, the trio of Illyrians had taken it upon themselves to attend the ceremonies before would-be warriors were sent off to fend for themselves and survive in the mountains. Previously, they had only attended the ceremonies at the beginning and end of the blood rite on the first and last day, but this year they decided to stay the week to welcome, congratulate, and perform all ceremonial rights for the survivors and new Illyrian warriors.

Though it had only been three days since they left, it was the longest Rhys and I had been apart since before the war with Hybern. The first couple of years after the war had been a hard period of adjustment, and while there were still days where I only saw Rhys first thing in the morning and not again until right before bed, over the last decade we had managed to make more time for each other. Especially after our first Winter Solstice together, after coming to the decision that we would try and conceive the firstborn the bone-carver had once shown me, we always found time to spend together—just the two of us. Perhaps that was the real reason why my despairing nightmares had returned. Perhaps it was simply because I missed him, his warmth as we lay entangled in our sheets—our new sheets in this estate I built for us, our family.

The estate Rhys had given me—us, really, had taken a little longer to remodel than I had originally hoped. He had told me to build a painting studio for myself, a room for each member of our inner circle, including my sisters...including the would-be son we had yet to conceive. I worked on the nursery first; once I had officially shifted all my focus on the estate-building project, it was all I could think about. The art studio I opened in the Rainbow, with Ressina, was beginning to flourish and after countless days of watching fae children heal from their trauma the war caused, I wanted nothing more than to prepare the nursery for my future child—as a form of my own healing process.

But as time passed, and my cycles returned at their regular intervals, I shifted my focus from the nursery to the rest of our estate. As an attempt to distract myself from it, I made sure to create the perfect space for every member of our inner circle. Everyone had their own living quarters, allowing them to freely stay or leave at their leisure. Cassian and Azriel were delighted to have their own space; though the former was more vocal about it, I knew Az was glad to have a place of solace—especially since space was so limited at our townhouse. The two Illyrians were especially pleased with the training grounds in the back of the estate, past the gardens. Rhys had the most influence over that aspect of the estate, since the trio used the space so frequently.

Mor was especially ecstatic to have a new room—an upgrade she called it, with an abundance of closet space which allowed her to show off her multiple pieces of fashion from the various courts of Prythian to her heart's content. Even Amren was pleased with not only her luxurious suite; more luxurious than mine and Rhys’s that allowed her to display the fine jewelry and baubles she collected over the years, but also with the two-story library lined with stacks of books that even I couldn’t resist browsing.

Elain had been my biggest help in planning our estate, and when I asked what she wanted, she simply—and shyly, requested a garden. A now wide and expansive garden, with a vast greenhouse, which she tended to with the groundskeeper every day. Her living quarters were combined with Nesta’s, who never admittedly claimed to live in our estate, but over the years settled and even sold the small apartment she once resided in on the other side of the Sidra. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Cassian’s growing influence, but I knew it was mostly due to Elain and Amren. I was only happy to see her on a nearly day-to-day basis.

I had indeed built the house of my dreams—our dreams, filled with family, staff and sentries with their own living quarters, and more than an adequate amount of space for us all. After three years of careful planning and attending to every last detail, along with balancing my shared duties as High Lady; our estate was now a masterpiece with an empty nursery. I pushed away from the thought, reminding myself that fae children—fae babies, were rare. That night on the Winter Solstice when we decided we were ready for them, Rhys had warned me it could take years. At the time, I hadn’t cared, but as the years passed I often wondered if I would ever see the beautiful face of the son the bone-carver had shown me.

I tried not to lose faith, in the Mother, the cauldron, all of it. Every time the disappointment showed in my face when my excruciating cycle would return, Rhys knew and reassured me that it would happen for us. I tried not to think about it with my mental shields down, or shout it down the bond, which I was more efficient at building every year. Not that I actively liked to block Rhys out, I rather enjoyed communicating through our bond, depended on it—especially on a night like this.

I’d rather not worry about you getting sick every night this week. I’ll come home tomorrow

You don’t need to do that, I’m really fine. Maybe it was that big dinner I had.

Funny, I almost believed you for a second Feyre, darling

I sighed audibly, sure that he knew I did. It was just an intense nightmare. They still come and go, you know they do

I do—but still-

Don’t be such a mother hen. I snapped. It was a bad dream and a bad reaction. I’ll be fine in the morning.

Silence followed for longer than I liked, and I felt some remorse for snapping at him. Knowing my feelings, my experience, with overprotective behavior had him reigning it in as much as possible. It was still there from time to time, but I knew my mate. Knew when he was overprotective, it meant he couldn’t help himself but would in no way force me to his will. Still, my feelings of guilt remained. It was true that it had been years since a nightmare caused this reaction, and had the roles been reversed, I would want to be at his side.

I was about to apologize before he sent another warm message down the bond; As you wish, High Lady

I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t exactly an order, you know.

Oh I know, but I also know just how much you love ordering me around

I smiled as I settled in our bed, imagining his cocky grin adorning his handsome face, violet eyes glimmering with mischief. I sighed again, if that were the case, I would actually order you back home.

I still can

No, no I’m alright. I feel better already. Plus you need to be there. Go enjoy your Illyrian rituals and ceremonies and whatnot.

As you wish, High Lady

I snorted before sending him a vulgar gesture down the bond and raising my mental shield of adamant as I closed my eyes, sleep once again starting to claim my body; the timbre of his dark laughter resounding softly in the shadows around me, causing my stomach to flutter delicately as the sound lingered and lulled me into a new sleep.

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 3 years

Text

Back again, with my opinions that no one asked for. This time, it’s my takes on the animated versions of Pyro.

1. X-Men: The Animated Series Pyro

This, this is my boy right here. Look at this dork with his terrible 70′s fluffy hair, hanging out at the bar with his not-so-hetero life-partner Avalanche. This was my first introduction to the character (in fact, the cartoon was my first introduction to X-Men in general, and sent me down the path of reading comics).

This version of Pyro is an established career criminal and professional lackey, usually working for Mystique but not above a bit of robbery or kidnapping on the side if he’s bored. He and Avalanche are presented as buddies who have probably been working together for awhile. They first show up in the episode “The Cure,” hanging out on Muir Island waiting for Mystique to give them orders, then completely screwing up Mystique’s plans when they decide to kidnap the scientist Dr. Adler for extra cash . Apparently Mystique can’t leave them to their own devices for even a day.

Pyro also hilariously tries to flirt with Rogue by setting a chair on fire and making a bad pun. It goes about as well as you’d expect:

Get your hands off of her, Pyro, she is too good for you. (The best part about this is, I don’t think he even used his powers here? He just tried to impress Rogue as “guy with a flamethrower,” rather than “fire-controlling mutant.” No wonder she throws his dumb ass through the wall.)

Pyro and Avalanche both show up again later, alongside Blob, creating a distraction so that Mystique can try to assassinate Senator Kelly in the animated series version of the Days of Future Past storyline. In a much later episode, the same trio cause trouble again to lure the X-Men out so that Mystique can try to win Rogue back to their side. That episode feels out of continuity to the rest of the series, since a flashback shows Rogue previously working with the Brotherhood (alongside Pyro and Avalanche), but none of them recognize each other when they “first meet” in “The Cure.” I can assume that maybe Rogue lost her memories in the trauma of absorbing Ms. Marvel, but I don’t know what Pyro and Avalanche’s excuse is. Frequent head injuries? Maybe they’re both just really dumb?

I am fond of TAS Pyro, and he’s probably the closest to comics Pyro out of the animated adaptations, despite being portrayed as British rather than Australian. He looks fairly similar to his comics counterpart, and fulfills the same role of being a hired pain-in-the-ass that annoys the X-Men, mostly for money, as well as being Avalanche’s BFF. He’s also clearly a full-grown, experienced adult who’s probably somewhere in his thirties at least, which is about the age I estimate for comics Pyro. He’s kinda dumb, but practical. He just wants to commit crimes with Avalanche, get paid, and run away before the X-Men can beat him up. That’s a reasonable dream, right?

X-Men Evolution Pyro:

Well, at least the guy loves his work. I give him an “A” for enthusiasm.

I have mixed feelings about this Pyro. He’s a lot of fun, but not really the Pyro I know and love from the comics. This Pyro is one of Magneto’s Acolytes rather than a member of the Brotherhood, working alongside Gambit, Colossus and Sabretooth. He really, REALLY enjoys setting things on fire, and doesn’t seem to care who gets hurt in the process. Or rather, he seems to also enjoy people getting hurt, and tends to laugh maniacally while torching things, to the point of seeming really unbalanced. I can’t tell if he’s completely detached from reality and is viewing things like a video game, without a real understanding of consequences, or if he knows exactly what he’s doing, and just likes to hurt people. Either way, Evo Pyro seems much less stable than comic book Pyro, who can also be pretty wild and over-the-top in his fights and probably enjoys fire a little too much, but still acts an an overall rational person.

Meanwhile, Evo Pyro repeatedly watches a video of Magneto seeming to die and laughs hysterically at it:

He is delighted when Wolverine shows up looking for a fight (because he was “bored out of his skull,”), and seems disappointed when Wolverine leaves abruptly afterwards. It’s interesting that, after Magneto’s apparent death (not really) in Evolution, the other Acolytes all go off on their own, but Pyro hangs out alone in their base, as if he doesn’t really have a life to go back to, or any real identity outside of being “Pyro.” When the series ends, he is shown in the future as having joined the Brotherhood (with Toad, Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Blob and Avalanche), apparently working for SHIELD in some kind of Freedom Force style team. I’d like to imagine that he’s super cheerful and friendly when he first joins up, and they are all a little bit terrified of him.

The character design is different, but looks pretty good for a re-imagining of the character. They’ve remembered the most important aspects of Pryo, namely “scrawny,” “fire colors,” and “crazy blond hair all over the place.” He also seems to be actually Australian, judging by him using the term “down under” at one point. In fitting with the “teen X-Men” theme of Evolution, this Pyro looks very young. If the Brotherhood are all in high school, Pyro looks like he’s college age, like a couple of years older at most.

Like I said, Evo Pyro is fun, and surprisingly popular (I find a lot of Evo Pyro fan-stuff when I’m looking for comics Pyro), but it kinda feels like he got shafted, story-wise. In both this series and Wolverine and the X-Men, cartoons where the Brotherhood got a bigger role and more development, Pyro didn’t make the cut as a Brotherhood member and wound up in a minor role as an Acolyte. He feels kind of under-developed, and is mostly there to either be menacing or comic relief.

Wait a minute....menacing....comic-relief....under-developed.......laughs hysterically at violence......

Maybe Duggan has actually been writing Evolution Pyro in Marauders this whole time?

I don’t want to take anything away from fans of Evo Pyro, but I kinda wonder what we could have gotten if he’d been a Bayville high school student and part of the more sympathetic teen Brotherhood. Would he have a better developed character? Would they have made him an annoying twerp like Toad (I say that with great affection, Toad is probably my favorite Evo character) or a smug secretly-insecure hot-shot like Quicksilver? Or anger issues like Evo Avalanche? Would they let him keep his original name and nationality, or would he be an American teen with a cutesy on-the-nose name like Ash Embers or Flameo Hotman? We’ll never know!

Wolverine and the X-Men Pyro:

Again an Acolyte rather than a Brotherhood member, this Pyro has even less development than Evo Pyro. He shows up in the first episode being rescued from the Mutant Response Division (along with Boom Boom, Dust, and others). In that scene, he’s clearly meant to be Australian (saying “mate,”), and appears to be on friendly terms with Boom Boom and Dust. Later on Genosha, he seems to be one of Magneto’s guards/lackeys, and doesn’t appear to mind Dust being thrown in prison. He’s either a true believer, or is mercenary and practical-minded like comics Pyro, and has decided that following Magneto is his best chance for survival, Pyro does apologize to Nightcrawler and offer a quick “Nothing personal,” when Magneto sends the Acolytes after him, so maybe he doesn’t revel in his work the same way Evo Pyro does. The only other notable thing he does is get in trouble for telling Lorna news about Wanda going missing (Magneto is pissed enough to throw him into a cell for that), so I assume that this Pyro is also a massive gossip. It’s the best I can do with what very little we get of him. The X-Men don’t seem to have any issue with Pyro (or even recognize him) when they first rescue him, so I’m guessing that he didn’t have any criminal history before joining Magneto in Genosha? Unlike TAS series Pyro, who’s overall attitude is, “Be gay, do crimes! And by crimes, I mean arson and kidnapping!”

I’m not fond of this design. It’s a nice updated look, and really more stylish than what he’s worn in the comics, but the hair is too douche-bag frat-boy for me, and I can’t get past the little soul-patch on his chin. Shave that nonsense, Pyro, you can’t pull off facial hair. He looks older than Evo Pyro but younger than comics Pyro - maybe mid-to-late 20′s?

This Pyro is sadly kinda forgettable. I’m not sure why Pyro got largely skipped over as a Brotherhood member in later X-Men cartoons, but the fact that the character was long dead in the comics by the time the cartoons aired probably had something to do with it. Kinda sad that they wasted the potential they could have gotten out of teen Bobby vs. teen Pyro in Evolution, though.

(Come to think of it, Gambit got similarly shafted in Evolution and Wolverine and the X-Men, since they pushed him into a minor recurring side-character role. At least in the original X-Men TAS, Gambit actually got to be an X-Man and main character.)

Obviously, TAS Pyro is my favorite out of these, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Nothing wrong with being a fan of Evo Pyro or even the barely there WatXM Pyro, they’re all good!

#pyro #st. john allerdyce #animated pyro

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just-absolutely-super · 4 years

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Listen To Your Heartbeat So I Know You're Alive

@soulxmakaweek

I DID IT! I FINISHED SOMA WEEK!

Bonus Day Heartbeat! Enjoy and thanks so much for the support, whether it was here, AO3, or FF.net

Summary: She couldn't exactly explain it, but the steady rhythm comforted her in a way nothing else could. It made her sigh in contentment because he was there. Alive and well…with her.

Warning: There are shades of PTSD and mentions of anxiety/panic attacks. If these themes discomfort you in any way please don’t feel obligated to read this.

FF.net // AO3

It all started after that fateful battle with Crona in Italy.

The trauma was enough to give her nightmares for weeks. She would relive that same moment over and over again. Only the outcome would be different. Instead of Professor Stein and her father coming to their rescue, Maka found herself sitting there with Soul’s lifeless body in her lap. Her hand would be placed over his bleeding chest as she’s forced to feel his pulse fade under it.

Ba-bump………ba-bump……………….ba-bump………………………………….ba-bump…

…………………………………..

It’s enough to wake her in the middle of the night, screaming until her throat was raw and her lungs burned. During those first few days, no one was there to comfort her. Blair often came home well into the night from working at Chupra Cabra to find the young girl sobbing hysterically on her bedroom floor.

“Soul’s gone!” she would cry into the magical cat’s chest, “He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone!”

“Shhh.” Blair would soothe, running her manicured fingers through her ash blonde locks, “He’s fine, Maka. Soul’s fine. He’s in the infirmary at the school, remember?”

It took a long time, but she would remember. And experiencing his death was only a dream.

Despite the reality that her partner was well and alive, the reminder that his heart could stop one day gave her so much panic. There were days this realization would give her an anxiety attack and she’ll begin hyperventilating.

She couldn’t let his heart stop. He was her weapon—her best friend! She had to protect him! Protect his heart!

So she vowed to be stronger for him. Soul rolled his eyes at her and told her she was doing everything backwards—why would you protect the thing that was meant to protect you—but she knew he didn’t understand. He just didn’t get it. But that was okay. Maka would admit she felt somewhat embarrassed with her reasoning why she was so determined to get stronger as a meister.

Her fascination with his beating heart sometimes led to awkward situations. Well, awkward for Soul at least.

There was the moment after Maka declared her resolve to get stronger where she placed her hand on his chest. She would reveal to him later on that she was vowing to face his scar, but truthfully she also wanted to feel his thrumming pulse under her hand.

Then there were those occasional moments, during the quiet of the evening, when Maka and Soul would be sitting on the couch and somehow Maka’s head found its way onto Soul’s shoulder. It was a sweet, tender kind of moment that Maka relished in, especially when she realized she could hear Soul’s heart if she tilted her head just right…

And then there were those times with the nightmares. It didn’t matter who they happened to, once the night terror was over, either Soul or Maka would find themselves in their counterpart’s bed. It wasn’t very “cool” as Soul put it, but neither cared because in their moments of vulnerability, they needed the reassurance that their partner was still alive. Maka especially, as she could hear her scythe’s heart loud and clear in the silence of the night.

Ba-bump…ba-bump…ba-bump…

She couldn’t exactly explain it, but the steady rhythm comforted her in a way nothing else could. It made her sigh in contentment because he was there. Alive and well…with her.

Eventually Soul caught onto what exactly it was about his chest that she was fascinated with, and learned to roll with it when the urge to be close to him took her over. She was thankful he never teased her in these moments. He understood her perfectly.

And he never complained either. Especially not after particularly rough battles.

They were gathering their 72nd soul for the second time around (damn Blair…). It wasn’t a particularly difficult kishin egg—pretty much your typical serial killer type. What Maka and Soul didn’t know, however, was that this evil being had a special talent with pyrotechnics…specifically bombs.

In a last ditch effort to thwart the meister-weapon duo, the pre-kishin threw off his trench coat to reveal an abundance of explosives strapped to his chest. If he was going down he was going to take the DWMA students with him!

Maka yelped as she struggled to scramble away. She managed to get some distance between herself and the evil soul but the amount of bombs he let off would produce such a large explosion there was no way she’d get off scot-free.

Soul knew this, so against Maka’s wishes he transformed into his human form and draped himself over his meister—willing a blade to form from his back in hopes that the metal would shield them from the brunt of the explosion.

Maka screeched as the bombs went off, feeling the ground scrape into her body as the force knocked her back many feet. She’s not sure, but she thought she had blacked out at some point. When she felt the ringing in her ears subside, she groaned and eased her eyes open. After gaining her bearings, she managed to lift herself up.

Examining her body, she saw that her clothes were dirty and tattered. Her gloves were stained red with her blood. She moved her extremities to make sure nothing was broken before prodding her head. She winced at some tenderness, hoping she didn’t have a concussion.

Next, she viewed her surroundings. The ground of the clearing they were in was scorched black; debris of different shapes and sizes surrounding her. Off in the distance she spotted the red floating soul of the pre-kishin, ready to be eaten by Soul.

Soul!

Maka frantically looked around. Didn’t he shield her? Why wasn’t he around? Where was Soul?!

Finally she spotted him a few feet to the left of her. The force of the explosion must have separated him from her. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she saw that his body was prone and it didn’t look like there was any sign of movement from him…

Was he even breathing?!

“Soul!” Maka cried, ignoring her aches and pains in favor of jumping up and sprinting to her fallen partner.

Upon reaching him, she fell to her knees—ignoring the sting from landing onto the hard ground—and turned him over onto his back. Her wide, green eyes looked his figure over.

Like her, he had multiple scrapes and cuts marring his skin, his clothes practically in shambles thanks to the fact he took the brunt of the explosion. There was a flat piece of rock lodged into his left thigh. Maka had a feeling he’ll need stitches for the wound. His face was blank though, his eyes closed and his skin looking a lot paler than Maka remembered.

Maka felt her breathing quicken, “No, no, no, no. Please be okay. Please be okay,” she pleaded as she grasped his shoulders, shaking them.

Bile rose to her throat but she bit it back. She couldn’t lose focus now, she had to help him somehow…

But he wasn’t moving, why wasn’t he moving?!

Panic clouded her brain. In hindsight, soul perception could have been used to indicate whether he was still alive or not, but the intense fear she felt overwhelmed any logic she may have had.

She couldn’t think…she couldn’t focus. All she wanted was for Soul to wake up and smile at her and tell her she was reckless and stubborn and a nerd and…and…

Unable to hold back anymore, a strangled sob tore through Maka’s throat as she fell onto her partner’s chest. She wailed—pleading, bargaining, begging for him to wake up.

“Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!” were her desperate cries. She didn’t know what she’d do if he actually left her. She was faced with that possibility almost a year ago, but since then they’d been fine. They had gotten stronger together. But now here they were, Maka reduced to that of a crying little girl while her best friend lay motionless underneath her.

What good was she?

Was her resolve all that time ago pointless?

She was an awful meister. A better meister wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Soul deserved so much better than her!

She was so caught up in her despondent thoughts, she barely registered that there was a weight on the back of her head.

“’M okay…” came a hoarse voice before a ragged cough was choked out. “Not going…anywhere. J-Just listen, alright?”

Maka stiffened. She didn’t dare look up, afraid that her misery was producing a hallucination. When she registered his request for her to listen, she stopped everything, including breathing, as she strained her ears.

…ba-bump…ba-bump…ba-bump…

A fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes as she sobbed into her partner’s chest. He was alive. He was alive!

“Thank God… Thank God!”

She’s not sure how long they lay there—her crying until she couldn’t anymore while he silently stroked her head—but eventually Sid and Nygus came to retrieve them and took them to the dispensary at the DWMA. There, they shared a room, Soul insisting their beds be moved together so they could easily reach each other if need be.

She knew he only suggested that because she was too embarrassed to voice it. She was thankful though, because it was a good excuse to lie close to him and listen to his heartbeat while they both recovered.

“It’s the same for me.” He told her later, after Nygus left them for the evening.

“Huh?” she asked, on the verge of sleep.

“I like to listen to your heart too.” He confessed. “Reassures me you’re still there. That I did my job and protected you.”

Despite her eyes watering for the umpteenth time that day, she gave a small smile.

“Let’s keep protecting each other’s heartbeats, okay?”

He held her closer, his face burying into her hair.

“Deal.”

#soma #soul x maka #soulxmakaweek #somaweek2020 #somaweek #soul eater evans #maka albarn #soul eater #my writing #feels good to actually participate in the entire ship week #haven't done that since nalu week 2013

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thegreenfairy13 · 4 years

Text

We Only Come Here To Sleep

A new Gobblepot fic cause I need to do something on the weekend.

Summary: Three infants have been murdered and their bodies have been found at various places in Gotham City. The public, as well as the mob, want to see a culprit for different reasons. After everything Jim Gordon has been through, one wouldn't think an ordinary case would take its toll on him. But it does.

Read the first chapter on Ao3 or here:

In the end, it wasn’t one of the Riddler’s elaborate schemes, or one of the Joker’s ludicrous plans. It wasn’t Bruce Wayne and his determination to become a vigilante, or even the Penguin and his golden empire of crime. In the end, it was a usual case, an ordinary crime that did James Gordon in.

Gotham City seems to know only two seasons. Through most of the year, there’s an icy wind sweeping through the city, biting into the grim faces of her inhabitants. Most of her days are dark, giving the impression of an endless night.

But then comes the summer. And for a few weeks, Gotham will be tinged with yellow. But it won’t be a bright summer showing off clear skies painting the city with gentle colors. No, it will be harsh and brutal - like everything in this godforsaken city.

The sun will be beating down, baking pavements and glass-facades until each breath in the overheated air will be painful, until each step will be a battle. And the light! It’s never a bright yellow, but a color reminiscent of piss. It suits this pain-filled place, though.

Jim Gordon curses under his breath as exists his car. When putting his feet on the ground, his soles practically fuse with the ground. A wave of hot air hits his chest, and Jim can instantly feel the sweat covering his chest, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably to his upper-body. Reaching for his sunglasses, he gestures for Harvey to follow him.

The heavier man pulls a face when being ordered to leave the chilled cocoon of his car. Jim ignores him. Sighing heavily, he nods towards the other officers already crowding the scenery.

Despite the buzz, he feels alone. Out here, Gotham is at her worst. For miles and miles, there’s nothing to see but the grey of the concrete and colorless sand. It’s a place where people disappear in the filthy water never to return again. Jim is certain his colleagues will lay him to rest out here one day in the future - he wouldn’t blame them.

After taking a few more hesitant steps, Jim hears the sand crunching beneath his shoes. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could easily pretend to be somewhere else. At a proper beach maybe, under a benevolent sky. Instead, he thinks how annoying it will be to get the sand out of his shoes.

“Where exactly are we?” Harvey asks with a slight growl, startling Jim.

Jim tilts his head. He contemplates giving his partner a snarky reply but thinks better of it. So instead of pointing out that he didn’t spend the car-ride blindfolded and handcuffed, he explains, “Common ground.”

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Harvey tilts his head. “That’s bad.”

Jim doesn’t reply, simply grits his teeth. ‘That’s bad’ doesn’t even start to cover how bad this could be.

One of the younger officers picks up on their conversation. Confusion written all over his face, he addresses Harvey. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Huffing out a humorless laugh, the experienced cop indulges the lad. “That’s the land between the turfs.” Pointing across the river, he elaborates, “That’s the Valeska turf.” He turns slightly to the right, “The Siren’s oasis.” Making a full turn, he points vaguely in the direction Jim is standing, “Tetch’s outdoor amusement park for the hopelessly lunatic, right beside the Scarecrow’s House of Horror.”

At last, he circles his partner fully. “The Narrows,” he says then, ignoring the slight pang of pain on Jim’s face deliberately. “None other than the Queen rules this shitty piece of the city.”

Taking a deep breath, he finishes his quick initiation to Gotham’s inofficial districts. “But they all pay their tribute to the Penguin.” Adjusting his sweat-sodden fedora, Bullock spits on the ground. “And this crap place? That’s no one’s ground. If a body is being dropped here , the rogues passed their judgment. Together.”

The young police-man gulps. He stares at Bullock and then back at the riverbank where the coroner is already busy taking samples. “So they…?”

Pushing the lad aside, Jim steps forward. “So if a body ends up here without permission here, that means the mob will interfere,” he states grimly.

Approaching the riverbank, the Commissioner finally takes a good look at the corpse before him. Despite all the horrors Jim had been through before, nothing could have been able to prepare him for the sight before him.

For a long moment, he merely stares, unmoving. He has seen corpses before, has been the cause of untimely deaths more times than he’d like to admit, but this is new.

No, in fact, it isn’t. Jim has been confronted with this kind of death before, has tried his very best to suppress that memory as best as he can, but given the context, this is new .

Looking up, he nods for the coroner to start elaborating. Never before has Jim missed the previous forensic, Edward Nygma, as much as this very second. For once, he wishes for someone to wrap up harsh truths in distracting riddles. Jim would give up his year’s salary and then some, if the forensic would give his mind an opportunity to wander off, to focus on something else than the task at hand.

What he gets, though, are simple facts. “Infant. Male. Probably not more than a couple of days old. Maybe not even that. Probably strangled. No severe trauma,” he rattles on, unfazed by the tiny body lying on the dirty ground. Maybe she hardens you to this point.

A baby. Just a little, innocent baby. Jim can hardly breathe as he stares down at what has been a living being, if only for a few hours. His skin is already peeling off due to the merciless heat, turning black and blue beneath Gotham’s sun. Jim wonders if it was rosy, once. He stares down, unable to look away, takes in the little knobs of fat on its upper arms and legs, and tries to suppress a sob.

Somebody should hold this little thing in their arms. It should still be alive, making happy noises, as one gently pinches those tiny rolls of fat. It should squeal with delight, and only cry if it’s hungry.

At last, Jim has to turn away. This is not right. Nobody should discard a child as if it was trash. Especially not here, at this godforsaken place.

His fingers itch to pick up the small body, to hold it, if only for a moment, the way it deserves. In another life, he would know exactly how to go about it. He and Lee would have awaited their child’s arrival with excitement. Would have picked out a crib, toys, rompers, and books, maybe. They would have laid in bed, Jim’s hand on Lee’s belly, waiting for their kid to move, knowing full-well it’s still shielded from this city, from her .

This reality never happened, though. Will probably never happen to Jim, for he doesn’t deserve such happiness, he knows that. But still. It’s unfair. This infant lies there on the ground, discarded like trash, and it’s everything someone like Jim has ever wished for.

He bends down, almost touches the tiny cheek before remembering he’s still a cop. Swallowing heavily, he disguises the motion by wiping the sweat from his forehead.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “You alright, partner?” Harvey asks quietly enough that nobody else hears them.

Jim’s chest constricts, he has trouble taking a breath, and still, his jaw is set tight. Nobody but Harvey would ever catch on, would note that anything was wrong. Jim is thankful for the warm hand, the solid weight on his shoulder. He’s grounding him in his pain, forcing him back to reality, when all he wants to do is float away and wallow in his grief.

“Of course I am,” he replies, a tad bit too quickly.

Harvey arches an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t reply. This is neither the place nor the time anyway.

“Won’t you finally pack up the evidence?” he snaps when the coroner gives them both a look that is too curious for Harvey’s taste. The coroner squints in disdain, but does what he’s told. After all, Bullock has a natural authority to him, he’s a character only Jim questioned successfully so far, and today, he’s glad for it.

They get back into their car, where it’s cold and sterile and death is but a memory at a riverbank. He blinks as he tries to wrap his head around what he just saw: an entire life, wasted in the sand. Neither of them talks as Harvey drives back to the city, back to the living.

Finally, Harvey glances over at Jim, now and then beating nervously the devil’s tattoo on the steering wheel. “That’s the third,” he whispers.

“I know,” Jim replies. He’s too exhausted to say anything else. Over the course of the last three weeks, they found three dead infants. All scattered around the city. The first two had been siblings according to their DNA-analysis. Jim wouldn’t be surprised if the third one is related to them, too.

“You want me to drop you off at the weasel’s place?” Harvey asks, and Jim flinches.

“What am I supposed to do there?”

The other man shrugs. “We found it on Common Ground.”

Jim hums in agreement. “Doesn’t look like a mob-job, though.”

Tilting his head, Harvey acknowledges the statement. “He could still know something,” he states petulantly and both men know he’s reaching for straws there.

“This case is getting to you,” he adds after a moment. Jim rolls his eyes but can’t find it in him to disagree. “You could at least get a free drink.”

The blonde snorts. “I think I’m outta favors.”

Harvey scratches his chin. “Still. Maybe one of his goons has seen something.” He clears his throat, looks over at Jim. “And it wouldn’t hurt for you to let off some steam. You always seem to be better off after pushing the Penguin around for a while.”

Jim sputters. “That’s not true!” he protests.

Holding up his hand, Harvey interrupts him. “It is. Go there. See what he knows, rough him up, arrest one or two thugs. You’ll feel better.”

Horrified, Jim stares at his partner’s face. “You make it sound like I’m harassing an innocent citizen for nothing. You’re still aware we’re talking about the Penguin?”

Harvey snorts in response. “That’s exactly why I’m suggesting.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Not accusing , just to be clear.”

Jim falls silent as he clenches his fists. He’s so damn tired, he doesn’t even want to put up a fight.

“He’ll find out anyway,” he demurs. “And he’ll want answers. You don’t simply drop off a body at the riverbank and expect Cobblepot to keep his hooked nose outta your business.”

“This is a police investigation,” Jim snaps back, unfazed, and Harvey’s jaw drops.

“Even after becoming the Commissioner, you still sound like a petulant rookie on some days.

Leaning back against the seat, Jim closes his eyes. Even before today, he had been exhausted to the point of not being able to sleep properly for weeks. This city just won’t let him.

And now there’s a body on Common Ground.

This city doesn’t seem to rest when it comes to her sinisterness. If Gotham doesn’t want to swallow her entire population whole, she now goes for her most vulnerable inhabitants. Jim wishes he could for once simply search for stolen paintings or chase a burglar. But no, there’s always something bigger, or something more diabolical lurking in the shadows.

Jim’s shoulders slump as he gives in. “Let’s do the paperwork first,” he suggests, cause he’s still the commissioner. “And then we’ll inform the Penguin like the good, little cops we are.”

#gobblepot #fanfiction #gobblepotsummer2020

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becomewings · 4 years

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Shadows of My Childhood

Analysis: ON Children + Shadows of the Past (BU/HYYH)

Note: All names herein refer to fictional characters in BU (BTS Universe/HYYH/The Notes). The events described are entirely fictional and not representative of the members' real lives.

Content warning: contains mentions of abuse, abandonment, trauma, and suicide; images of blood

Some of the most compelling aspects of the ON official MV, and indeed most of BTS’s cinematic repertoire, are the multiple layers of meaning and opportunity for interpretation woven throughout the video. While this version of ON has not been confirmed as part of BU canon, it contains enough explicit references to visual material in other BU videos to merit analysis of the deeper thematic connections between the two.

In this post, I will specifically look through the lens of the pairing of child figures with BTS members in ON to address possible implications within the context of their corresponding BU characters. If the children of ON represent the shadows of the characters’ pasts that continue to haunt and shape them, then the relationships and interactions of the video pairings map to each character’s coping mechanism for handling these ghosts: JiMin’s denial of trauma; YoonGi’s self-inflicted destruction; and TaeHyung’s spiral of violence that starts within him yet increasingly splinters outward. But they also shed light on the future’s hope for moving forward and healing.

The blindfolded girl + TaeHyung

The child with the most screen time and arguably the most significance in the unfolding of ON’s cinematic narrative is paired with TaeHyung. But taken in the context of BU, why is the child a girl and why does she wear a blindfold? Blood ties and violence are the roots of TaeHyung’s shadows. Yet it is impossible to address the years of his suffering without acknowledging the individual who bore it alongside him, the person one may interpret as represented by the blindfolded girl: his sister.

This portrayal does not reflect their true age difference. She is depicted as a child because, as a protective brother, he views it as his duty to safeguard her innocence. The blindfold reinforces the symbolism that he is trying to protect her from the atrocities and darkness of the world. In ON, it is the aftermath of a bloody war (a battlefield upon which he possibly fell and was reborn, given the grave marker of gathered objects and the cross-like pose of his awakening). In the BU narrative, the darkness is domestic violence and their father.

As young children, TaeHyung and his sister were abandoned by their mother, who was pushed to terrible extremes by her husband's treatment, and left to fend for themselves in the home of an abusive alcoholic. Violence is perpetuated throughout their childhood and into adulthood. Every time she suffers, he suffers too, whether by his father's hand or the guilt that he is powerless to stop him.

“Then. That night. That night ten years ago when Mom left home. That night when Mom, my sister, and I were beaten to a pulp by Dad and we cried ourselves to sleep. … My sister is weeping quietly. It was even more distressing to hear it today.” — TaeHyung, 24 July Year 22. The Notes 1.

This cycle of violence traps TaeHyung in a private nightmare, making him afraid of his own nature's potential: vengeful fantasies (and half-remembered events from parallel timelines) of killing his father; lashing out physically at his friends in moments of conflict. Perhaps more than anything, he fears turning into his father (20 May Year 22, The Notes: Her). Denial is a disease. The more he withholds the truth of his pain and fear, the deeper the darkness takes root in his heart. The pressure threatens to break outward, consuming the people closest to him, or shatter him from within. At his most desperate, TaeHyung views suicide, an act of violence against oneself, as the only way to break free of this cycle.

“I almost killed Dad who brought me into this world and who beat me every day. I almost killed him. No, I actually killed him. Countless times. I killed him countless times in my head. I want to kill him. I want to die. I don’t know what to do. I’m lost.” — TaeHyung, 20 May Year 22. The Notes 1.

Outside, TaeHyung dons a mask to conceal the circumstances of his home life, even around his closest friends. Despite his grinning and loud-mouthed persona, this mask is cracked. His friends see the signs: bruises on his face and back, the emotional marks that run deeper than skin. They follow his lead and do not speak openly of the abuse. TaeHyung refuses to acknowledge that they can see through his mask. They all skirt the uncomfortable truth:

“TaeHyung laughed sheepishly, taking off his torn shirt. Under the dim light hanging on the trailer box, for a second, I saw his bruised back. HoSeok looked at me in shock. TaeHyung looked at himself in the mirror wearing my T-shirt. And he laughed.” — NamJoon, 11 April Year 22. The Notes: Her (translation credit: KRN - ENG © ktaebwi).

“I couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling when I felt this chilly inside. His heart must’ve felt ripped and torn. Or, does he have a heart left at all? How much anguish has he endured? … I first saw the scar on TaeHyung’s back in NamJoon’s container. I couldn’t bring myself to ask about it when he was smiling so broadly with his new T-shirt present.” — HoSeok, 20 May Year 22. The Notes 1.

He cannot seek help from his friends, because that would admit his powerlessness and give voice to the truth of his suffering. And if his pain is real, then so is his sister's.

TaeHyung cannot protect her from the brutality of their father's abuse. He cannot shield her from the cruel reality of their world. The gateway to healing will never open while he turns a blind eye to the ramifications of the violence committed within his family. In ON, acceptance of these truths is embodied in his removal of the girl's blindfold. She gazes forward, unafraid, at the wall toward which she has been looking the whole time. Standing, he takes her hand and discovers that the once-impenetrable wall is in fact a gate. With open eyes, he can see the blossoming land beyond. The future has hope, if only he can face the reality of his family’s violent history.

The drummer boy + JiMin

This is not the first time a blindfold has been employed as a significant visual symbol in BTS’s MVs. Blindfolds, in the form of silk or other members’ hands, figured prominently in Wings-era BU content, particularly in association with JiMin. Therefore, it is all the more noteworthy that in ON, he is not the one paired with the blindfolded child. However, there are several cuts from TaeHyung and his blindfolded partner to JiMin and the drummer boy, or vice versa, that feel like a deliberate choice to draw attention to this absence and the contrast against previous representations.

In the BU narrative, JiMin suffers from seizures likely caused by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as the result of an as-yet-unspecified traumatic childhood event that he has tried, and often failed, to repress. He is forced into extended hospitalizations by his parents, who seem unwilling to face the reality that something happened to their child and seek to bury his “abnormal behavior” behind doctors and drugs to preserve the family’s appearance of normalcy.

“When I was taken to the hospital after they found me unconscious at the Grass Flower Arboretum, my parents didn’t ask any questions. They ignored the fact that I had blacked out there. It was the same when I developed seizures. They hospitalized me, discharged me after some time, and transferred me to another school. Family reputation was important to them. A son with mental illness was unacceptable.” — JiMin, 11 May Year 22. The Notes 1.

JiMin, for his part, wants to live a normal life by attending school and cultivating friendships. Maintaining both presents challenges that he struggles to overcome, doubting his own fortitude and questioning the lie that he perpetuates to save himself: nothing ever happened to him. When his seizures are triggered by stimuli that resurface memories of the past, he winds up in the hospital again and again. Donning a metaphorical blindfold to deny the truth of his trauma, he attempts to convince the medical staff of the same lie.

“When the doctor asked me about it in a concerned tone, I trembled and apologized at first. I repeatedly said that I was sorry. It was all my fault. Please let me forget all about it. Then, I tried to pretend nothing had happened. I didn’t remember anything.” — JiMin, 11 May Year 22. The Notes 1.

After HoSeok and his friends help break him out of the hospital (15 May Year 22, The Notes 1), JiMin recognizes that in order to keep his freedom, he must prove both to his family and to himself that he is “okay” and will not relapse.

“I had to return to the Grass Flower Arboretum. I had to stop lying about not remembering what I’d seen there. It was time to stop hiding in the hospital and put an end to my seizures. To do that, I had to go back there. But, for days, I went to the shuttle bus stop and failed to get on the bus.

After I watched the third bus of the day pull away, YoonGi suddenly appeared and plunked down next to me. … Then he asked what I was doing here. I kept my head bent low and kicked the ground with the toe of my sneaker. I was sitting there because I didn’t have courage. I wanted to pretend that I was OK now, that I knew enough, and that I could easily overcome this. But I was afraid. I was afraid of not knowing what I was about to face, whether I would be able to endure it, and whether I would have a seizure again.

… The bus stopped and the door opened. The driver stared at me. I asked YoonGi. ‘Will you go with me?’” — JiMin, 19 May Year 22. The Notes 1.

The drummer boy in ON may represent, in part, JiMin’s childhood: his real younger self, the one who experienced an event with long-reaching, traumatic consequences, just as the drummer boy marched into the horrors of war. User @cinnaminsvga points out that the boy’s striped pants (and I will add, shaved head) may refer to the common style of uniform assigned in Holocaust concentration camps, drawing in additional themes of imprisonment and persecution. In JiMin’s case, the violence against his true identity is committed by himself, in the attempted act of self-preservation, and his family, in turning a blind eye and forcing his hospitalization.

JiMin has spent years of his life denying the truth of what happened in the arboretum, hiding behind a blindfold of denial and lies. Embarking on the arboretum shuttle with YoonGi marks his first conscious effort to remove that blindfold. This is paralleled by his interaction with ON’s drummer boy. For the first time, he reaches out to that boy of his past, in a striking visual homage to Blood, Sweat, & Tears. Instead of running away, he chooses to face the reality of his trauma, in the hope of walking a new path toward acceptance and healing.

Later events in the Notes and BU films remind us that the path to recovery is not easy or straightforward. It is riddled with pitfalls and switchbacks, challenges and missteps that threaten to drag oneself into relapse. When JiMin accidentally stumbles into his dance studio partner and they fall, the sight of his own blood once again triggers him.

“The blood reminded me of the Grass Flower Arboretum. I felt suffocated. I couldn’t remember how I got up, ran out of the practice room, and made it to the restroom. I scrubbed and washed the scrape like crazy, becoming more and more frightened at seeing the blood sucked down the drain. I thought I’d overcome this. I thought I was OK. But I wasn’t. I had to flee. I had to wash it off. I had to look the other way.

… On that day, I’d run away from the Grass Flower Arboretum. My body was covered with mud that looked like blood. I hadn’t grown up one bit from that little eight-year-old kid.” — JiMin, 4 July Year 22. The Notes 1.

The road to the future will be paved with hardship and setbacks for JiMin. However, the act of reaching toward the drummer boy in ON may further represent the acceptance that he has more challenges to overcome. Although the young age of military drummers has been exaggerated and romanticized over the years, their role is uncontested: drums helped the formations march in step, and a language of rudiments (basic rhythmic patterns) relayed commands from officers to soldiers. Despite the danger to their lives, they accompanied the troops to war and played on the battlefield. JiMin’s partnership with the drummer boy in ON signifies his willingness to brave the conflicts, personal and external, ahead. Though his private battles to survive his trauma are far from over, if he does not surrender again to denial, he will one day see light breaking through the storm.

The candle girls + YoonGi

In ON, YoonGi is connected with not just one child, but an entire congregation. The scene appears as a kind of candlelight vigil or memorial service, likely composed of girls because all the men and boys have been summoned to the war. Fire has been one of the most significant, recurring elements since the very beginning of BU content, especially in association with YoonGi, so the choice of imagery is impossible to miss. Fire is the root of his obsessions, the heart of his torment, the means to his self-destruction.

YoonGi has never truly come to terms with his mother's death, locking away the suspicion that she was responsible for setting the fire that took her life. His love for music is bound by the painful memories of his mother and the piano. Love and pain are inextricable. His mother's love for him and for music were not enough to save her life. Again and again, in countless timelines, he plays out that same act of self-violence, throwing himself into the flames.

“I tried to imagine what was going on in YoonGi’s head. Once, I followed him secretly for hours. His footsteps were insecure and unpredictable. He staggered through the night streets and tried to fling himself into the fire. He sometimes squatted on the ground and listened to music that flowed out of somewhere inside an underground shopping arcade. … The suffering he must have endured, going from one extreme to the other, were beyond my imagination. All I could do was watch him stagger on.” — SeokJin, 2 May Year 22. The Notes 1.

Like TaeHyung, YoonGi attempts to hide the true depths of his despair from his group of friends: the wildly uncontrolled mood swings from fits of creative passion to destructive tendencies of alcoholism and self-harm. Though he finds a kindred spirit in JungKook, his own internal conflicts and fears repeatedly force him away when they get too close. When they are reunited physically at key moments throughout the BU narrative, he cannot bridge the emotional gap. YoonGi’s mother abandoned him to an inheritance of grief and mental health struggles, neither of which he is capable of working through alone. But he recognizes that his self-destructive habits spin out of control, and he does not want to inflict that pain upon others through their closeness.

“I turned my eyes away. I didn’t want to get involved in someone else’s life. I didn’t want to try to console someone who was lonely. I didn’t want to be important for someone. I wasn’t sure I could protect that someone till the end. I wasn’t confident I could stand by that someone till the end. I didn’t want to hurt that someone. I didn’t want to get hurt. It’s hard enough for us to try to save ourselves when the last moment comes, let alone someone else.” — YoonGi, 7 April Year 22. The Notes 1.

“‘Why didn’t you go see JungKook? Don’t you know what you mean to him?’ Of course I knew. Maybe that was why I couldn’t go into his room. I was distorted and thorny. Anyone who tried to come near me was bound to get hurt.

… I’d inflicted pain on others as I suffered greater pain. I looked away from their wounds. I didn’t want to take any responsibility. I didn’t want to get involved. That was who I was.” — YoonGi, 25 July Year 22. The Notes 1.

YoonGi is eventually driven to understand that he cannot survive alone. When he fears that he pushes away HoSeok, the “one who always pave[s] the way for [him] to come back no matter how far astray” he has gone (28 July Year 22, The Notes 1), for good this time, HoSeok later texts him privately to ask if he is okay. In between those two points of contact, YoonGi discovers a new purpose for living: completing the melody that has nearly driven him to madness, as it haunts him across many parallel timelines in tantalizing and ungraspable fragments.

“I completed the piece several days ago. I changed the version I sent to HoSeok a few more times. I gave it the title ‘Hope.’ To be honest, the title didn’t actually match the piece. It contained my fear, cowardice, and inferiority. It contained all the moments I tried to avoid, get away from, and reprimanded myself for. But I couldn’t think of any other word that could encompass it all.” — YoonGi, 30 August Year 22. The Notes 1.

In sharing this musical representation of his innermost self, YoonGi opens himself to vulnerability. This is a step forward in accepting the turmoil of his heart and allowing others inside to see his true self, too. It is particularly striking to see YoonGi, who has forbidden himself emotional proximity to others for so long, emerging from isolation to participate in ON’s candlelight service. Linking him to a community of children, rather than the solo partners of TaeHyung and JiMin, signifies his progress in growing beyond the shadows of his past and exploring new ways to manage his grief. Even the cuts to him alone in this sacred, ceremonial space reflect his development. He is not torn by anger or despair, but given to reflection. He does not stare obsessively into the flames, but instead gazes outward at a beam of sunlight. Despite the somber undertones, this scene in ON is one of the rare instances of YoonGi associated with fire in a positive light: not one of violence and self-destruction, but reflection and healing through the allowance of both private and shared grief.

Bonus: HoSeok + the bag girl

While all seven characters of the BU narrative are influenced by their pasts, the ones whose lives are most acutely shaped by the ongoing traumas and conflicts that are rooted in their youths are the characters reflected here: TaeHyung, JiMin, YoonGi. And, I am inclined to say at first pass, HoSeok. Like TaeHyung, he was abandoned by his mother, but this left him without any family and he was consigned to an orphanage. He carries the weight of his abandonment with him into adulthood, influencing multiple aspects of his health and manifesting an unconscious obsession with seeing his mother in other women.

So where is his child representation in the ON video? It is entirely plausible that another pairing included was not included for timing reasons. Another possible reason is that he has made considerable progress in his personal growth by the end of the Notes 1, and therefore the shackles of his past have loosened: he confesses to JiMin that his narcolepsy is fake (16 May Year 22, The Notes 1) and in later months recognizes the problematic nature of seeing his mother, whose face he can no longer remember, in other women in his life, strangers and friends alike.

That being said, the presence of the girl with the bright yellow bag in the shot of everyone looking beyond the wall (included in the first photoset) might be a coincidence… or it might be a small nod to the shoulder bag carried on tour by the real-life HoSeok and gifted to a fan during the New York Citi Field performance in October 2018. The one in ON is not red (although the girl standing next to her has one with red embellishments), but the yellow is a surprising pop of color amid the subdued color palette in the rest of the shot. She does not stand near HoSeok (although neither does the drummer boy near JiMin)... But perhaps, if we are inclined to read into it, we may find a dash of hope in the separation of this mother/child reference, as HoSeok gazes forward with the others at the opportunities and dreams promised by the future.

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If you made it this far, I sincerely thank you for coming on this little journey with me. Please do not repost this analysis on other platforms. If you have any questions, comments, or wild theories of your own… send them my way! I would love to hear from you. -- wings

Added Note: This was written before I read actress Rina Johnson’s statement about playing the role of Taehyung’s sister and prior to the release of the ON behind-the-scenes video.

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