#I feel sorry for Vittorio

[canisalbus]

I love how Vittorio looks! As you said he really seems to mirror Machete, and it’s funny to picture how while machete has that general paranoia that he’s one moment from disaster, Vittorio’s nervous outlook while in employ might more be from how his boss looks ready to fall apart like a house of cards at a moments notice from said paranoia x3

.

[bucoliqves]

speaking of novel adaptations, give the french-italian notre dame de paris musical a shot!! its been one of my favs for years

[neproxrezi]

where do i contact mathieu cote to ask he grab ahold of felix richter and maybe recede that hairline a little bit

[foxynez]

For Eternity

Pairing: Vittorio Toscano (Dead by Daylight) x Female Reader

Summary: You're new in the fog and Vittorio takes you under his wings.

Warnings: SMUT! NSFW!

Author's notes: I fell for this silver fox daddy the moment I saw him. I mean, JUST LOOK AT HIM 😩 So yeah of course I had to write for him (even if nobody is interested to read it). So, here we go. I hope some people enjoy this.

"We got a new one."

All the survivors looked up at Dwight's voice and followed his gaze as a young woman stumbled out of the fog. They only gave her a quick glance before returning to staring into the campfire. Vittorio clenched his jaw and stood up, shaking his head as he walked passed the others to greet the new survivor.

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest and your eyes widened in terror, flickering back and forth as you scanned your surroundings. Where the hell were you? The last thing you remembered was getting lost in the fog in the forest, then...then everything went black and the next thing you knew, you were here. Wherever here was. It kind of looked like the forest you got lost in...

"Hey. Are you okay?"

You jumped at the voice and stared up at the man standing in front of you. You found yourself speechless as you looked into the grey eyes of the sexiest man you'd ever seen. His grey hair was cut in a modern style, with shaved sides and long layers on the top. He was wearing a leather jacket and a red shirt that had a few buttons open, revealing a toned chest with tattoos spread across his skin up to his throat. You frowned as your gaze landed on the blue, glowing vein going down the right side of his neck. What the hell was that...

"Hey. You good?" the man repeated and placed his hand on your shoulder. You jerked at the contact and the man quickly removed his hand.

"Sorry!" you burst out and blushed. "I...I am just...where the hell am I?"

The silver fox smiled bitterly. "Welcome to the fog. I'm Vittorio," he said and reached out his hand. You took it, your hand disappearing in his larger one and you could feel the warmth from it spread through your entire body.

"Y/n," you replied and let go of his hand and gave him a nervous smile before looking around. You noticed a couple of people sitting around a campfire and looked back at Vittorio with a confused frown. "Umm...what is the fog?"

Vittorio smiled and gestured you to follow him. "Come. Let's join the others and we tell you all about it."

*

You had a hard time believing them at first. But your first trial pushed you right into the horrific nightmare that now was your life. Luckily, Vittorio was there to guide you through it. Helped you figure out how to fix the generators and protected you against the killer. None of the other survivors seemed to bother teaching you how to survive. They only seemed irritated being stuck with a newbie on their team.

"You can sleep here if you want." Vittorio patted the blanket lying on the ground next to him. Feeling your face heat up, you smiled shyly and sat down next to him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice warm and soft with concern.

You shrugged your shoulders and tears welled up in your eyes. You had no fucking idea how to feel, everything felt so unreal, like it was all a bad dream.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," Vittorio said and swept his arms around you, pulling you softly against his chest. "You'll get the hang of things soon."

Feeling the warmth of his body and the safety of his strong arms and firm chest, you let all your emotions free, crying in his embrace until the darkness of sleep claimed your troubled mind.

Vittorio watched your sleeping form as he laid you down next to him. You were so beautiful. So young and innocent. His gaze traveled down the curves of your body covered in a short skirt and a tight top, awakening something inside him he hadn't felt in centuries. Quickly, he averted his eyes and turned away from you, lying down on the side with his back against you, ignoring the pulsing heat of his swelling cock.

*

You woke up in the morning, covered in a warm blanket. Turning around, you noticed Vittorio was gone and that it was his blanket that was on top of you. You smiled softly and pressed the blanket against your nose, inhaling his sweet scent, before coming to your senses. Fuck, what were you doing? Were you already falling for this guy?

Ignoring your thoughts, you sat up and saw Meg and Nea sitting by the fire.

"Where is Vittorio?"

"In a trial," Nea said shortly.

A surge of panic rushed through your belly before you remembered what he told you yesterday. That nobody really dies in the trials. That you all end up here again. In the same way, you don't get hungry or cold anymore.

"So, what do you guys do around here when you're not in a trial?"

Meg shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing."

"Nothing? You guys just sit here?"

Both Nea and Meg shrugged their shoulders and you sighed. They've been here for so long that they'd become lackadaisical.

"Well, I'm going to take a look around," you said and stood up. There wasn't much to see. Just the campfire and the surrounding forest, which you couldn't explore very deeply. A few minutes in, you found yourself standing in the clearing of the campfire again. You bit your lip, pushing your fear and tears away. So this was your life now? Living trapped in a forest, doomed in a never-ending loop of trials, where your only glimmer of hope was the possibility of escaping alive.

*

Time moved strangely in the fog. You didn't know if it was day or night and slept whenever you were tired.

"What year is it? Out there?" Vittorio asked one day when the two of you sat by a river in the forest, just a few meters away from the border where you would wind up in the campfire again. The two of you often wandered up here, to be away from the others, getting to know each other. Only, you did most of the talking and Vittorio liked to listen, could look at you for hours as you spoke. He hadn't spoken much about himself, only that he was from Italy and that he'd been here for a very, very long time.

"2022," you replied to his question. "At least when I came here."

Vittorio only nodded and a cloak of sadness covered his usual light, grey eyes.

"When did you come here?"

Vittorio was silent for a moment before he began to talk.

"1391. But I've been hiding, wandering through the fog until a while back when the Entity eventually found me and brought me here."

You stared at him as he spoke. He'd been here for that long? For centuries?

"I...I can't imagine what you've been through," you said and placed your hand on his lower arm. "You must have been so scared, so lonely..."

Vittorio looked at you, into your warm, beautiful eyes and he couldn't control himself anymore. Taking your face in his hand, he leaned down and kissed you, feeling a bolt of heat rush through him at the touch of your soft lips against his. How many times hadn't he fantazied about this? This and so much more...

The kiss took you by surprise, your eyes widening when Vittorio pressed his lips against yours. Then, you moaned against his mouth, the feeling of his hand cupping your face and the dominance of his lips melting away all the thoughts you may have.

Then, he suddenly pulled away and you looked at each other with flushed faces and heaving chests.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Shut up," you said and straddled his lap, quickly unbuckling his belt and opening his pants.

Vittorio stared up at you, whimpered when your delicate fingers wrapped around his cock and it twitched in your hand. Fuck, it had been so long since he'd felt the touch of a woman...He was already hard from the kissing, but the touch of your hand threatened to make him explode. Then, you suddenly pushed your panties aside and lowered yourself onto him. Vittorio cried out when his cock slid into your wet and tight, little pussy, his hands gripping your hips desperately as you started to ride him.

Closing your eyes, you threw your head back and allowed yourself to feel every gorgeous, thick girth of his cock fill you up. Fuck, he felt so good inside you. Opening your eyes, you looked down at him and smiled, feeling victorious at the way he looked up at you in so much awe and lust. Lifting your top, you pulled it over your head and smiled anew as Vittorio's gaze fell upon your breasts. His hands moved up and cupped them, kneading the soft flesh in his rough-skinned hands.

Vittorio couldn't take his eyes away from his hands touching your breasts, his cock throbbing inside you every time your tits bounced as you moved on top of him. He bent forward and engulfed a hard nipple with his lips.

Vittorio sucked on your nipple hard, the rough texture of his beard rubbing deliciously against the sensitive skin on your breasts. Fuck. You grabbed the back of his head, moaned as he sucked on your nipple until it became swollen and raw. When he finally released it, he looked up at you with lustful, wild eyes and heaving chest, and you leaned down, kissing him hungrily and needily.

"Fuck me, Vittorio. Make me yours," you whispered against his lips, your nails digging into his neck. Your words awoke something primal inside of him, a dominance longing to be released. Growling, he wrapped his arm around your torso and turned the both of you around so you laid underneath him. Pushing your legs up, he glared into your eyes, his face hard and stern as he started pounding into you like a madman. You stared up at him, your mouth half-open as your moans spilled from your lips, loving the dominance you always knew he had somewhere inside of him. Your back arched at the pleasure and you saw stars as his cock hit the deepest parts of you, again and again...Then, Vittorio wrapped his hand around your throat just below your jawline and that was all it took for you to tumble over the edge. You cried out in pleasure and your pussy clenched around his cock as your orgasm swept through your body like a whirlwind.

"Fuck," Vittorio muttered as your pussy tightened around him and he spilled his seed inside you, his swelling cock filling you up until he was completely drained. His heavy body collapsed on top of you and you smiled, embracing the safe feeling of his body on yours as you played with the long layers of his hair.

"I love you," he mumbled against your neck and your smile widened.

"I love you too."

Maybe your eternity in the fog wouldn't be so horrible after all.

Tag: @noodlecupcakes

[my-midnight-musings-xoxo]

Major spoilers for MadK!

---

As mentioned, it’s J’s turn to be picked apart! It’s not an in-depth analysis either, sorry. It is a ramble about his character design! I apologize in advance if this is obvious or boring!

Alright, we’re starting at the bottom, literally. 

Lions symbolize courage, nobility, royalty, protectiveness specifically in a familial way. What’s intriguing is that lions represent both the devil and Jesus in the bible, befitting of J. (Note this isn’t an assumption of Ryo Suzuri’s religion, purely just speculation on design. I’m not religious but this along with the angel wings made me think of it). 

In 1 Peter 5:8 the devil is likened to a roaring lion: “seeking someone to devour,” referring to his deceptive and destructive nature. On the other hand, in Revelation 5:5, Jesus Christ is referred to as “the Lion of the Tribe of Judah,” epitomizing His divine authority, majesty, and ultimate victory over evil. - The Lion In Biblical Symbolism: A Powerful Emblem of Courage, Majesty, And Justice by Digital Bible

I wouldn’t call him a father figure, but he does take on this caretaker-esque role by bringing them to the brothel to “teach them”, it feels like a twisted sense of raising. He seems to take young people such as Datenshou, who in Vol 3 Chapter 16 was shown to be a young incensate when taken in by J.  The obvious view is young and vulnerable people are easier to mold into what you want. I think this leans into J viewing himself as the mentor Wald was to him, but also finding people similar to him, re-raising himself, or at the least self projection. His younger self in Vol 3 appears in chapter 15, and at one point J refers to himself as Wald’s greatest creation. (As much as I’d love to ramble about the metaphors of owning names, this will already be long)

Both J and Makoto cannot see themselves outside of their creators, with J’s third eye that he gouges out alluded to being Wald’s as J says “It was the eye of someone who cursed me a long, long time ago. Though I guess you could say I went to them to be cursed.” Earlier in the chapter younger J wanted to choose how he died if he couldn’t choose where he started. The only physical difference between Wald and J’s fate is that J fully passed on at the end, but Wald was forever stuck in his mansion. J was trapped mentally and physically for centuries after Wald, taking on the role of nobody led to no one truly knowing him. With Makoto he could finally rest, Vol 2 at the end of Chapter 16 J says while embracing Makoto after he forced him to kill his own father, “Hate me all you like…and quickly climb up here with me.” (The art is stunning here oh my gosh I could gush about it forever!) Once again J is choosing how he wishes to die, but it succeeds. I guess in this way you could argue it’s a metaphor for J killing himself, he’s transferred so much of himself into Makoto, but maybe that’s a reach who knows.

Onto the wings! Obviously, they’re associated with angels (honestly I would’ve loved it if he said ‘be not afraid’ like those biblically accurate angels when Makoto and him first met, it would’ve been beautifully ironic but that’s just me) but they quickly made me think of Lucifer. I highly doubt this was intentional, I just find it interesting that J is called an Archduke and that Archangels (from my research!) are sent to personally oversee and assist humans with a range of issues, do with that what you will. 

Something I appreciate is art seeming touchable. A popular example for me is Vittorio Reggianini, please do yourself a favor and look up his paintings! The way he paints such vivid textures not only shows his understanding of art but also his dedication and skill. 

Not only does Ryo Suzuri draw wings beautifully, but she also draws them in a way where I feel like I could reach through and feel them. The silky feathers, the soft and curved bone. I admit it looks quite nice to be wrapped in those wings, not only do they look soft to the touch they look safe to be embraced within, their size encouraging the appearance of safety, being shielded away from the outside.

Oh and the hair!! I am a sucker for seeing how different artists draw hair, and even more so for curls. I’ll admit part of that is my inability to draw them, but the first thing I thought when I saw J for the first time was, he has great hair! It’s just so luscious! There’s a scene in Vol 1 Chapter One when J is comforting Makoto and I stared at it for at least 30 seconds. He has this devilish angel quality that I mention so frequently because it’s so wonderfully done I refuse to shut up about it. 

The way his hair frames his face almost like smoke as he gazes up at Makoto with eyes full of acceptance and promise, his assured smirk with Makoto in his grasp, ugh! 

What I wouldn’t give for an artbook of this manga, I’ll make my own deal with a demon if I have to.

T_T 

One day I’m just going to gush about my favorite panels, it’ll probably be soon because I have so many thoughts!!

I meant for this to be posted yesterday so I scheduled it, but I must've done something wrong because it never posted. I'm sorry about that!

[mr-ding-dong]

DBD men... And would I blow them?

...

The Trapper - No, I just feel like he'd be way too rough.

The Wraith - Yes yes yes... I will not further explain my reasoning.

The Hillbilly - no, I know he's musty from being in those walls for ages. But I'd give him a hug.

The Doctor - HELL NO... he creeps me tf out, and he's a huge psychopath... Most killers are, but he's on a special level.

The Shape - Probably, like in a really odd circumstance.

The Clown - Nope, I know for a fact he probably has some disease down there. Mungy clown.

The Cannibal - No... But I'd give him a hug and head pats.

The Legion (Frank) -... Maybe, he's a mixed bag for me. Probably not, simply because of Jules.

The Legion (Joey) - Yes, he's hot. Duh.

The Nightmare - Nope, I'd rather kill him.

The Ghost face - Yes, why not, seems like a fun time.

The Demogorgon - IT'S A BEAST ALIEN, WHY WOULD I DO THAT?

The Oni - I'd be down, ngl. Like 👉👈 perhaps I'd go down if my life was spared from his blood rage 👀

The Deathslinger - Nope, notta chance. Sorry... But no.

The Executioner -... Yes, he's definitely musty... But I'm willing to somewhat look past it. Just no damn scarab beetles.

The Blight - Nope, I don't want any of the infection juice he's having. I wouldn't even high five him without ten gloves on.

The Trickster - Nope, I hate him. I don't care if he's hot, he's not getting any, I'd rather kick his ass.

The Cenobite -... Probably. Not in the chatter skin, but if the chains don't go through my skin and just kinda tie... I'd be okay.

The Dredge - Wtf even is it? Does it even have one? No... Ew.

The Mastermind - Nah, I'm good. He doesn't need more of an ego trip. I'll be passing on that even if he's British.

The Nemesis - No... Again... Does it even have one?

The Singularity - Does it even have one #3? And no! I'd rather feed it a bomb and watch it explode, before high fiving Gabriel.

The Knight - Handjob... I feel like something is wrong down there so my mouth ain't touching shit.

The Good Guy - No, he's a married man and a doll. And a father! No... I'm not that type.

Jake Park - Yes, already on knees. No hesitation.

Dwight Fairfield -... Out of pity, sure. But only once.

David King - Nope. Not my type, too rough and weird face... Ngl.

Bill Overbeck - No, he's cool... But like in a badass grandpa type of way.

Ace Visconti - No... I can smell the STDs off of him, I don't trust that man.

Adam Francis - Sure, he seems nice, probably clean too.

Jeff Johansen - Nah... I'll pass. A bit too much like a relative.

Quentin Smith - Sure...if I don't stare at his face for a long time, because they really messed up his face.

Steve Harrington -... Yes. I won't deny it.

Ash Williams - He looks like my father, so no.

David Tapp - Nope, probably married or something and I don't do that.

Felix Richter - I just don't vibe that way, I forget he exists most of the time. So no.

Leon Kennedy - YES. Sorry Ada, but YES.

Jonah Vasquez -Nope, I just don't really... Like the vibes... I'll pass.

Yoichi Asakawa - He's so sweet, so yeah... Plus he's pretty. I'd be down.

Gabriel Soma - 100%, he's definitely traumatized but who isn't from the survivors...and killers.

Vittorio Toscano - I don't usually go for much older men or beards....but I'd be down.

Renato Lyra - I like messy hair, I'm a sicker for it. So as long as he doesn't cut his hair, my knees are on the ground.

Nicholas Cage - No! He is a married man with kids. Nuh uh.

Alan Wake - Nah... No offense but he looks like a cheaper Keanu Reeves. I'll pass.

[deadbydangit]

Hi! If you’re open to taking requests right now could I please ask for how bubba, Jeff, and vittorio would take care of their sick s/o? Tysm!! <3

I can absolutely do that. I'm sorry it's been taking me so long to get to requests. I've been anxious, tired, and kind of depressed. But I'll keep trying to bring everyone at least one thing every day.

Taking Care of a Sick Reader

Jeff, Vittorio, Cannibal

Jeff Johanson

Jeff is a very vigilant person.

He's always been that way.

So when the first sign of you being sick appears, he knows.

You just sneezed though.

"You sneezed three times. Every time that happens you start to get sick."

And he's right.

As an artist and musician, he's trained himself to pick up on tiny little details.

First off, straight to bed.

If you're in the middle of something, he'll finish it for you.

No: ifs, ands, or buts.

You're in bed.

At least when you're sick, you get to have his amazing soup that he only gives you when you're sick.

It's his way of creating a silver lining.

He isn't big on medicines though.

Jeff was in a bad crowd, he had seen people get addicted to drugs from the littlest things.

He just doesn't want to risk that in you.

Instead, he'll go more homeopathic.

You'll be better pretty quick too.

It doesn't matter how much you coughed and sneezed, he won't get sick.

It's like he has super powers.

"I don't have super powers, I just can't be sick. Otherwise, I couldn't be there for you."

Vittorio Toscano

During his time, a cold could mean a death sentence.

So, even if he doesn't show it, he's very worried.

Vittorio is really good at hiding that worry though.

He doesn't want you to panic.

That would only make things so much worse.

Some of the other survivors might have to catch him up on modern medical knowledge.

Once he's assured that you aren't going to die, then he'll be much more helpful.

He'll insist on doing everything for you.

Even carrying you.

Everywhere.

Even if you don't need it.

He doesn't really understand that you don't need that.

Or he does, and just wants to be your hero.

Modern medicine is far from what he knew; pills and other drugs aren't common knowledge to him.

What is common is plants.

He'll be working together with Claudette to use herbs to make you feel better.

It tastes terrible.

But it does have you feeling better.

He doesn't get sick either.

He knows to wash his hands and give you some distance.

"Now that you are feeling well again, I can safely hold you."

Cannibal

This boy is surprisingly calm.

You'd expect him to panic or not know what to do.

But he's very calm.

He had a big family.

Big.

And he would usually take on a very motherly role.

He's taken care of everyone in his family with sicknesses at least once in their life, usually more.

Bubba is super good with helping you when you're sick.

He might not seem like it, but he's very tender and affectionate when he wants to be.

He isn't a fan of showing that side of him to the rest of the world though.

It's only reserved for you.

He might try and cook you some soup.

Do not eat that soup.

Seriously.

Don't eat it.

To spare his feelings, just say that your stomach hurts too much to eat.

He's very gullible.

He knows it's important that you drink plenty of water and get plenty of rest.

He'll frequently check on you throughout the day too.

You'll never have an empty water glass, nor will you never have enough blankets.

He knows exactly what you need, and how much of it you need.

And, as much of a pushover he may be, you aren't getting or doing anything that will make you feel worse.

Your job is to lay in bed and get better.

His job is to take care of you.

And he takes that role very seriously.

[alexlesuagz]

Criminal Case fanfic ideas (because IDK, I’m bored)

[Possible spoilers for all 8 seasons]

{S5} Prequelfic where Amir realizes he’s gay and confides in Rupert about it.

{S5} Rupert having an ace awakening (because yes, I headcanon him as ace) and being extremely confused about his feelings, so he confides in Amir about it. (No seggs, only tea, amirite)

{S3} [TW: SA] Jack finally gaining the courage to tell Lars about Lavinia DeBrils SA’ing him.

{S1} How Chad Whickman and Rose Cassidy first met (because goddamnit, they deserved better).

{S1} AU where Chad managed to calm Joe Stern down, not die, and get the job.

{S2} [TW: Abuse] A day in the life of Duncan Young, living with his mother and sister and having to deal with her emotional abuse.

{S1} Adam Bentley talking with his foster brother at his grave.

{S1} The aftermath of Julian Ramis’s arrest from the perspective of Julian’s parents.

{S2} [TW: Homophobia] The end of Zack and Becky’s friendship.

{S5} James Savage first meets Carter Hayes.

{S4} How Timmy and Bridget Baker first became friends.

{S5} [TW: Implied Sewerslide] Rene Narcisse’s words almost push Julian over the edge until the player and Gabriel show up.

{S2} [TW: Murder] A young Yann Toussaint has an argument with his parents and storms off. That would end up being the biggest mistake of his life.

{S5} Jones accidentally stumbles upon Zoe suddenly using telekinesis.

{S2} [TW: Cults, PTSD, and Implied Abuse] Not even Russell is safe from flashbacks, and surprisingly, the one who helps him out of a PTSD-induced panic attack is Frank.

{S4} The events of Vittorio Cappechi’s murder from Seamus’s point of view.

{S6} One of Amy’s therapy sessions with Marina following Nebet’s betrayal.

{S6} Sirius wonders why Orlando constantly ignores him, so he decides to ask. It doesn’t really go well.

{S6} Sequelfic(?) where Tony meets the player during S1 and tries to recall why they seem so familiar.

{S3} Baxter Fraser goes to therapy.

{S3} AU where Obaasan (IDK how to spell it, sorry) is found dead and Tsukada Hiroshi is alive because he killed her.

{S7} An apology note Dolores wrote to Gwen before her demise.

{S7} Inspired by @katrinahood , a crackshipfic between James Savage and Sam Ellis.

{S5} Crackshipfic between brunette bastard Louis Leroux and Joe Warren.

{S8} Jones and the player bond and catch up after 3 years.

{S8} Hugo Mercier giving love advice to Carrie.

{S5} Jones copes with Tony Marconi’s death.

{S8} Hugo and Jones bond over similar experiences.

{S5} [TW: Sewerslide] Gabriel and Jones talk after Jones’s attempt.

{S2} One of Jupiter’s letters to Russell, apologizing for being a shit dad.

{S5} Jones, Zoe, Alex and Cathy have a double date.

{S7} Larry Zarus goes on a car ride with his friend and business partner, Bernie. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up in a coffin. His own coffin.

{S4} Charlie reveals that he can’t slow dance for the life of him. Maddie decides to teach him.

{S2} [TW: Abuse] Frank confronts Miriam Young about her shit parenting.

{S2} [TW: Abuse] Duncan confronts his mother about her shit parenting. It goes as well as you’d expect.

{S2} [TW: Abuse and Death] The day the Young siblings’ father died was a hellish day indeed.

{S5} [TW: Underage Drug Use] Julian and Vicki smoke weed together and have a chat about life.

{S7} Dolores tries to figure out a way to apologize to Gwen.

{S7} Arthur Darkwood never really enjoyed the small things in life, and he never noticed until he spent time with the Supernatural Hunters.

{S5} Jones is lowkey kinda lonely, so Ramirez decides to set him up on a blind date to cheer him up. Unbeknownst to Ramirez, Jones’ blind date was one of his old college acquaintances — Zoe Kusama.

{S6} The “Altered Present” Arc, but Lars is in it for some reason.

{S7} Zander Stark and Danny Kwame were queerplatonic bros, change my mind— (I hc Zander as bisexual and Danny as omniromantic asexual)

{S8} Cody reminisces on his failed relationship with Eleanora.

{S8} Prequelfic where Jean-Phillipe slow dances with Marguerite.

{S5} After skipping the trial of Rosamund Wilcox, Julian runs into Chelsea Bloom and they have a chat.

{S7} Human AU where Arthur and Reggie decide to have some “brother bonding time”, so they go to a local art museum. Things don’t go well.

{S4} Seamus makes eye contact with Giulietta at Mr. Alastor’s party.

{S2} A series of noteworthy recorded conversations between Bobby Prince and his therapist over the span of a year.

{S3} 5 times Jonah tries to smile and the first time Marina makes him smile.

{S3} [TW: Kidnapping, Torture, and PTSD] Elliot claims that he’s moved on past the whole “Anbu Devanesan” thing. He has not.

{S6} Serap and Roxelana’s love story, starting from their first meet.

{S6} Noah Lowe gets some advice from Ian Devine about love and life and shit (also, Noah lives in this fanfic concept, because bro deserves better).

{S7} AU where Rathimael lives, Arthur lives, and they live a peaceful life together in a small lakeside cottage on the outskirts of Michigan.

{S2} “What happened to the Francis I loved and cared about deeply?!” “He’s dead, and I killed him a long time ago.”

{S2} Bobby Prince’s last thoughts were about the idyllic life he would live with Amy via the virtual reality. (This was inspired by Bojack Horseman btw) (No I do not like Bobby Prince)

{S5} [TW: Attempted Murder] AU where Zoe survives Louis’s attempt on her life.

{S3} [TW: Implied Abuse] Michelle Zuria’s traumatic childhood at the hands of her nanny.

{S5} [TW: Sewerslide] AU where Jones decides to go home after Leroux is arrested, and the player decides to accompany him. Possible alternate endings available.

{S7} Fabien de la Mort chills out and asks Gwen for advice on how to properly swoon a certain someone (*cough*, Luke Fernandez, *cough cough*)

{S7} [TW: Murder] Ruth Wu’s final moments were in utter agony. (Deserved tbh)

{S4} [TW: Murder] Elias Willingham pays local pimp Kristopher Bauer for information about his missing daughter. Like many moments in the Criminal Case universe, things do not end well.

{S7} AU where Arthur Darkwood survives the events of S7 and decides to join the Supernatural Hunters.

{S2} Anjulie Cruz breaks up with Bobby and remembers all the red flags he showed while they were dating.

{S1} AU for “The Rorscach Reaper” where Ramirez arrives just in time to arrest Tess — but too late to save the player.

{S5} Canon divergence after Zoe’s arrest when Jones confronts Marconi and breaks down. Marconi talks him out of doing anything foolish and the two of them just talk while lying down on the grass.

{S7} Arthur never really had a family (besides Reggie, but we don’t talk about Reggie) due to being a demon. One of the Supernatural Hunters (probably Hope Newman) makes an offhand comment about how he’s family to them. (Bro deserved better imo)

{S5} [TW: Attempted Murder] AU where Nathan manages to regain consciousness just before Kit pulls out the snake.

{S6} Series of transcripts from Marina’s therapy sessions with different Criminal Case characters, including Jack, Amy, Jones, Chief Arrow, and Arthur Darkwood.

{S5} Prequelfic where Joe Warren meets his new college roommate, Louis Leroux.

{S2} After the events of “Once Upon a Crime”, Frank decides to call his daughter to tell her what happened.

{S5} [TW: Sewerslide] Either Alex, Grace, or Ramirez get the call about Jones’ attempt on his own life.

(I’m perfectly fine with y’all using these, just please ask first and credit me!)

[alex-the-nonsensologist]

Disney Dreamland - Part 1: World Galleria

I posted about my idea of a Mysteryland a while back and decided to finally post the rest of my ideas for my personal Disney Park (nicknamed Disney Dreamland; may change the name later, who knows). This outline is a mix of ideas and random commentary related to each idea (I tend to blab a lot in my writing. Sorry in advance). Some ideas are half-baked as I only have an idea how I want them to look and feel rather than function, other ideas are intentionally left vague because they are dependent on experts on the subjects (which I am not). Also, I had trouble coming up with nice-sounding names, so that's why you’ll see a lot of names that are just basic descriptions in quotation marks. Would love some feedback wherever possible!

A bit of background, I originally envisioned this park as a Disneyland in New York (it's one of my favorite self-indulgent daydreams), and that led to my park being a sort of homage to the 1964/1965 New York World's Fair by featuring some iteration of all four of the attractions that debuted there, as well as my version of Main Street being a sort of mini World’s Fair. 

Shout-out to @disneylanddilettante , I was inspired to write this after reading her ideal version of Disneyland.

World Galleria

My version of Main Street would be under a lovely glass roof to shield from the weather, and resemble a Victorian arcade. Inspired by Tokyo’s World Bazaar (their equivalent of Main Street), and in homage to similar places throughout Europe’s history, such as The Great Exhibition of 1851, Passage des Panoramas in Paris, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Italy, etc. 

The architecture would be mostly Victorian with a bit of Turn of the 20th Century. To help carry the theme of “World’s Fair”, international restaurants would be featured here; their building exteriors would follow the Victorian look, but their signage, window displays, and interiors would fully reflect their respective cultures (for example, see Restaurant Hokusai in Tokyo’s World Bazaar).

The entire place would have plenty of ventilation, especially in the summer, to prevent it from feeling like a greenhouse. To help traffic flow, the street would have crossroad branches in the middle like Tokyo does, leading out into Adventureland on the left, and Discoveryland on the right. The parade does not run down this route (more on that later). This allows the center crossroads space to have special decorations for seasonal events, again just like Tokyo does. 

The entire avenue would have accessible second stories to make space for everything. I would also love to have at least one little alcove or mini-courtyard somewhere to relax, containing a small garden with a decorative fountain. 

Disney Dreamland Railroad main station: Victorian style with partial glass ceilings. Other stations will be in each of the five lands, all appropriately themed, and with dioramas in the tunnels teasing each land’s theme / attractions. I also think it would be really neat if the park’s entrance ticket booths were underneath this station.

Great Moments in Storytelling: Successor to Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln, one of the four New York World’s Fair attractions. Due to personal reasons, I’m not entirely comfortable making any President, past or present, shown as a celebrity or a friendly buddy. So I decided, how about famous authors instead? Perhaps Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, or all three and more? There would also be a narrative or discussion of some kind, so it’s not just them spouting random popular quotes from their works.

“Mini Disneyland model” : The models of the Storybook Land Canal Boats are a very neat idea, but I personally prefer taking my time to see models up close, not in the blink of an eye from afar. I think it would be really cool to have a scale model of the original Disneyland as an homage, and a learning exhibit.

“Galleria Cinema”: Showcases old Disney shorts, including Steamboat Willie, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, and the Alice Comedies. Maybe on special occasions it could even showcase foreign films, like The Red Balloon.

Penny Arcade: Mutoscopes and other coin-operated games. 

World Emporium shop.

"Snack tin shop": In Asia the parks sell snacks in these absolutely GORGEOUS decorative tins. This shop could sell a variety of international snacks with unique Disney art themed to each region / culture on the tin. 

Wishing You Were Here: Stationary shop and post office. Send postcards to your loved ones. Yearly calendar with exclusive artwork available here (Tokyo’s calendar artwork is ASTOUNDING). 

For restaurants, I would include restaurants with the following cuisines: 

Japanese, as a nod to Tokyo Disney Resort (French and Chinese cuisine will be elsewhere in the park).

Norwegian, Moroccan, and Canadian, as a nod to the remaining countries of EPCOT that won’t have restaurants elsewhere in the park.

Thai, as a nod to Amphibia without specifically being IP themed, though there could be a few hidden references to the show in the decor and menu.

Greek. Interior could be themed to mythology and have a few hidden references in the decor to the animated Hercules.

There won’t be any American cuisine in this area as they can already be found elsewhere in the park.

‘‘ it’s a small world ’’

One of the four New York World’s Fair attractions. In place of the classic Disney castle, here I put "it’s a small world" as my park’s icon. If you think about it, Small World is in its own way a kind of castle, it certainly looks like one, but also a small city. I think it neatly adds on to the theming of World Galleria.  Shout-out to @pureimagineering , who also imagined Small World as a park icon, but for different reasons.

This version’s facade would be castle-sized. Color scheme could be either pastels, or white with various shades of blue, and touches of gold. Entrance and queue would be on the back of the building to leave the front free for live entertainment, and nighttime fireworks and projection shows. The main central garden plaza hub would at least be the size of Tokyo’s, but nowhere near as big as Shanghai's, who only gets away with it because their castle is so dang huge. The hub would be surrounded by a river making it an island, much like Orlando’s hub. Features include a structure inspired by Tower of the Four Winds, and fun topiaries. For my park, the parade would follow a similar route to Tokyo and Shanghai, originating from the west and wrapping around the central hub before exiting eastward. 

There would also be a back garden plaza behind the ride building, with plenty of topiaries, flower gardens, and a little river running through the garden with lovely bridges crossing over it. This area transitions into Fantasyland. There would be an international buffet restaurant and a gift shop placed on the second floor of Small World, above the ride, with the entrance also on the back of the building. The classic clock tower would of course be in front, but there’d also be a smaller version in the back for the people in the queue and the restaurant.

A World of Tastes: International buffet. Interior architecture would resemble the finale room of the ride. Buffet would feature a little bit of something from every single country featured in the ride, with emphasis on cuisine not already featured anywhere else in the park.

‘‘it’s a small world’’ Toy Shop: Does anyone remember the singing Small World Animators’ Dolls that Disney Store released back in 2013 / 2014? I would love to have this store re-release them, as well as mini playset versions (non-singing). The store can of course also sell other Disney character plush, and plush keychains in unique outfits like the ones sold in Tokyo.

The Ride Itself:

I definitely want to have a queue designed by Joey Chou like the one he did for Tokyo’s version’s 2018 renovation. He is pretty much this generation’s Mary Blair. I just love all the kinetic sculptures, the delightful murals, and star-shaped lights dangling from the ceiling. It’s all so adorable and colorful!

For the ride itself, there would be more countries added. For example, Europe could have a few more Eastern European / Slavic countries at the end to transition into Asia. Similar to Hong Kong’s version, the Asia room would also have more dolls and scenes, but rearranged so that the Middle East is in the back to better flow into the Africa room. I would also definitely add the Mandarin and Cantonese versions of the song to Asia’s audio. It would be great if there were more countries represented in Africa, or at least a portion added for the savanna, a marketplace scene, and Mount Kilimanjaro. Maybe also include audio of the song in Swahili and Zulu. I’m not opposed to a North America room, so long as there is decent representation of various Native American tribes, and Canada.

For the ride music, I’d love a version that closely resembled the soundtrack that Paris used to have. I think the instrumentation and vocals from that version is simply top tier joy-inducing. For the finale room I’d use the EPIC orchestral rendition from the Small World finale unit in Tokyo’s Electrical Parade Dreamlights.

While I myself have no problems with the dolls, I am willing for the dolls’ faces to be redesigned to be slightly more cartoony to reduce any uncanny valley.

Controversial opinion, I personally have little issue with most of the Disney character cameos that are in the Hong Kong, California, and Tokyo versions of the ride. Since most of the human characters are portrayed in doll form, and the non-humans match the stylized look of the animals throughout the ride, they tend to blend in rather well and make for a fun Easter Egg game. I will admit, some characters stand out too much, like the Toy Story gang, or had unnecessarily extravagant sets added just for their sake, like Rapunzel who had her whole tower added in Tokyo. As a middle ground, for my version of Small World, I narrowed down the Disney cameos to only 4 specific groups in homage to the movies that Mary Blair had a heavy influence on. 

Alice in Wonderland: I’m a little biased as Lewis Carroll’s Alice is my favorite book. Alice and the White Rabbit fit in well at their current location next to the UK chessboard, and are fine to leave as is. 

Peter Pan: Peter and TinkerBell flying above the audience works just fine as they are decently hidden out of view most of the time. While I think Wendy sitting on the moon is a very cute image, I’ll leave her out to keep the cameos to a minimum.

Cinderella: The current versions stand out a little too much, especially Hong Kong’s where she and Prince Charming have the castle added behind them. For my version, I would only have Gus and Jaq tucked away on the Eiffel Tower (where Mary’s cameo is hanging out), but I would also have the Eiffel Tower rendered in white, blue, and silver in the style of Cinderella Castle.

The Three Caballeros: While Donald, José, and Panchito stand out the most of the four cameos I’ve picked, they were part of a genuine cultural movement as a result of the Good Neighbor policy, not to mention warmly received by Latin America, so they’re perfectly in the spirit of Small World, and I think they’re fine to leave as is.

Starting in the hub, the five themed genre lands of the park, going clockwise, are:

Adventureland

Mysteryland

Fantasyland

Create-It-Land

Discoveryland

[your-goth-sis]

Is it okay if I request Danny Johnson with a daughter reader and she’s also a survivor? The other survivors found out she’s related to him and don’t trust her or bully her. Danny one day witnesses the bullying when he has a trial against her.

HII! Damn I'm actually quite excited to write this one...!! Hope you enjoy ~

Danny Johnson x Daughter! Reader

You were aware of the fact that you were conceived by The GhostFace and your mother . Your mother, (M/N), told you all about your father and his horrendous deeds. You were... In awe. At how HORRIBLE he sounded.

One day in particular, you felt a fog consume your body.

"Moth-" you try to call out for her, but it was too late at this point. You were gone.

~~~~~~~

You woke up in a strange place, with a campfire and many other people. You sat up confused "Who are you people? W-where am I ?" you asked innocently.

"I'm Vittorio, and you are?"

"Y/n"

He proceeds to explain your situation, which baffled you "huh? It can't be..." you feel a little panicked.

"Don't worry, we'll teach you!" Feng smiled. You found new friends! Or so you thought..

TIME SKIP

You were in a trail, your first trail. You were working on a gen, peacefully until you were exposed. Huh?!

You turn around, and to your surprise there he was.

The GhostFace.

"Father stop!" you yelled. The survivors heard your voice, and came to your rescue only to see you in the arms of the killer, him stroking your hair "Y/n.."

"She's teaming with him.." Meg told the survivors.

They made it their mission to sandbag you. To get you killed.

Danny had let you go and you ran off to the other survivors.

"Hey guys, sorry about tha-"

"You traitor!" Meg yelled.

"Huh?!"

"You're teaming with him?! Are you going to get us killed?!" David yelled.

"No! Are you crazy? He's my father you nitwit! That's why he let me go.."

"What a freak! You're the daughter of a monster!" Feng laughed.

Danny, using his stealth ability, krept behind Feng and plunged his knife in her back, and took care of the rest, leaving them slugged on the ground. He took you in his arms "If they ever, EVER bully you again, let me know and I'll tell the Entity, after all, we have a special bond" he said, referring to the bond of his and the Entity's.

"Father... Thank you" this felt so sick and twisted, yet it felt so right.

"As for you people" he looked at your bleeding "friends".

"I will get you killed, PERMANENTLY, if you mess with my daughter ever again.."

[gazanarchive]

Do you have any thoughts on white westerners, who organise in solidarity with Palestine, going on politically-motivated trips to Palestine? Some I have known go to Palestine for self-funded legal training or advocacy training etc. with Palestinian organisations and I can’t help but feel a bit off about how some individuals approach this… feels like from their side of things it is thinly-veiled voluntourism, saviourism etc. but maybe I’m part of the problem if I can’t see a trip to Palestine through the same lens as a trip to some other place for similar training etc… I get the ‘visit Palestine’ rhetoric can support local industries etc. but I don’t think you should have to witness something first hand to care about it and I think there can be this colonially-embedded romanticisation of visiting Palestine and witnessing suffering. Especially considering how many Palestinians cannot visit Palestine, it makes me feel weird. Sorry this has been a load of my opinions but I’m really curious to know what your take is.

I totally agree with you friend! There is no need for such visits at all. Palestinian misery (Like any misery in the world!) is not a study case for these privileged white westerners scholars and students. As a Palestinian I find it a kind of disrespect for my land and for my people, in case you aim to act in solidarity with Palestinians you can do this in many other ways from your place wherever you are around the world. Booking a ticket and traveling to what is called "Isreal" and admiting their legal existance implicitly doesn't go with defending the Palestinins right to exist and have a normal life, What if you are not even interested in that and just visiting to have a training by witnessing this suffering! On the other hand, I fully respect the westerners who try to help Palestinians in the face of the Isreali terrorism and some of them already paid their lives for this such as Rachel Corrie & Vittorio Arrigoni.

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Dark Souls Chain 4

Prompt: The Demon War from the perspective of a black knight @fateoftheundead

There was a lurching feeling in my dreams, my formless dreams, uncomfortable.

 Voices as well- a high drawling one that echoed yet with malice, and another that was deep and resonant, the voice of a burgomeister or aged inquisitor. Their words were unclear, at least until the lurching became more concrete. I felt myself lifting through some dense sand or powder, puffs of it launching off into the darkness that crowded within very close to my vision.

 “Your power, my lord, and your prerogative,” echoed the deep voice.

 “We shall see.”

 I felt lighter, the lurching seeming to taper as I became less solid, owing to leaving the crumbling substance behind and seeming to float in the air.

 I was floating in the air, a feeling of limbs flailing, but of limbs having fallen asleep, heavy and prickly. The light in my eyes increased, marginally so, to reveal a kneeling figure before me. It was clad head to toe in heavy plate armor, blackened by some unknown conflagration and topped with an imposing horned helmet. The lurch returned and I felt myself floating towards the figure, slowly, then faster now, and faster again, until I thought I would collide, but…

For a moment I saw charred bone behind the visor of the helmet, but the moment I touched the figure the world shifted, and I realized that the figure was me.

 With a body now, I felt muscles knit together in mute agony around my bones within their metal coffin. Senses returned. The helmet was claustrophobic, and I could taste now. The powdery stuff- not sand. Ashes. As my protesting muscles cramped and pitched me over sideways, I heaved. Dry, again and again.

 “Are you done, sirrah?” The high voice somehow combined friendliness and contempt. “I have things to do.” On my side I found I could summon the strength to nod silently then attempted to rise.

 The agony persisted but I found something in myself, a hot core of determination, unfamiliar as if it had returned from a long journey. Inch by inch I shifted position and lifted myself, first to my knees, then to one knee. Obeisance. I would rather have saluted but I was not vertical enough. The plates of the armor clattered when I first shifted but they were so finely fitted to my body they were otherwise silent.

I summoned more strength, raw determination, and lifted my head to gaze upon the one who had wrenched me from my sorry state.

 A human! Despite sitting on a low throne seemingly carved from scoria our faces were level, even with my kneeling. Despite my confusion and… tinge of disgust, I still felt the habit to remain at rest before a superior officer.

 The human was garbed in unfamiliar uniform over unfamiliar armor. Both were perfectly fitted, but battered and filthy. The top coat was ripped in a particular way, and I could see that there had been insignia and braid once, now ripped off. Before seeing this I would have guessed the human was some gentleman officer, discharged upon his side losing the war, but now… A deserter. I fought the urge to spit since I still knew very little about this person.

 “Do you have something to say, sirrah? Out with it.”

 “Leftenant Vittorio reporting!” My brain was foggy and yet it knew what to say. Something was bothering me about the situation- beyond everything else that seemed strange.

 “Vittorio?” The human looked to his right and my eyes followed.

 There, looming in the inky dark, was a serpent.

 I had met one before- there were several who had appeared at various times throughout the latter history of this land. They appeared as if some mad demiurge had put a dour mastiff’s head atop a snake’s body the size of a full-grown oak. Its horrid face grinned and I knew it to be the owner of that deep voice from before.

 “A disgraced lineage,” it boomed, “squires from an estate in the far western reaches of Lordran. Of this specimen I know nothing.”

 “More than I needed to know, Prunt. Thank you.” He made a dismissive gesture and leaned forward in his throne. “What do you remember, Leftenant?” I couldn’t tell if he pronounced my rank facetiously.

 I searched my memories and the first that surfaced was from my time as a ghost. Or was I just a memory myself? I had been drifting in a fugue, wandering the ashen ruins in what I now knew was my armor, or the ghost of it. My focus had a short span but I noticed something alarming: the door to Lord Gwyn’s tomb was wide open. The ash crunched as I ran through the doors into the rough-hewn space.

 There was only the briefest glimpse of the Sun God's form dead on the ground, before it faded into a few short-lived sparks, and standing over the vanished corpse was the human who stood before me now, wielding an enormous- for a human- broadsword. Still wielding it, he had turned to the center of the tomb and examined its bonfire. The first bonfire, fruit of linking the sacred flame.The human had gazed upon it, and I had felt a momentary burst of excitement- he was going to do it! He was going to link that universal flame and carry on Lord Gwyn’s legacy.

 Instead, he had kicked it apart in a shower of sparks, putting the fire out like he was breaking camp. At least he hadn’t pissed it out like an irregular.

 The memory ended there. My hesitation seemed to irk him and he rapped impatiently on the arm of his throne. I was grateful for the helmet concealing my slack jaw. “My Lord, I-”

 “I’m no Lord, soldier. Remember that.” He pointed a soot-stained finger at me. “And close your mouth. I meant, what do you remember about your last posting.” The helmet had concealed nothing. And my mind seemed as transparent to him as the metal was.

 “Iodelath Blightwald, sir. The Battle of the Dun Cliffs. We had started calling it that.”

 He nodded. “What was the status of your unit? Did you seize your objective?”

 I clanked a gauntlet against my helmet in salute. “The day was ours. The cliffs were ours. There had been significant casualties among the infantry as we maneuvered through the forest- scampering imps flinging envenomed sherds of flint. When they emerged upon the cliffs the grunts were very nearly overwhelmed by the force of demons- Chuppies and Roarers mostly. Until we showed up, sir.”

 He laughed “That’s what I wanted to hear about! Now that you’ve got your wits back, I need you totell me about your unit. The Blackened Brothers. But first, what happened on the Cliffs?”

 “They were nearly crippled, but at least the infantry had moved the force of demons towards the cliff. Some of us advanced and managed to bait some of the demons into jumping off the cliff. Those of us with shields or halberds pushed most of the rest off, and we even let the infantry kill some of the stragglers.” I held myself slightly more erect. “I remember looking over the cliffs and I could see the deposits of those crystals stretching all the way down the precipice. The reason we were there, sir.”

 “And there was much rejoicing. I expect you held your position?”

 “As long as we could, sir. A contagion had appeared among the infantry, some parting gift from the demons, I bet. By the time the Silver Knights had appeared to relieve us, dysentery had killed almost everyone. The rest of us were nearly incapacitated with runk.”

 “Runk?” He kept leaning in farther. Hopefully he didn’t fall out of the throne.

 “Sorry, sir. An intoxicating liquor. We stole some of the spirits from the wizard lamps, mixed in raisings and red blossoms and left it to brew. Quite potent.”

 Another surprisingly genuine laugh from the strange human. “You might think me a halfling halfwit, Leftenant, but it was not long ago I was a soldier like you. I was a Colonel in the Warlock Corps in an army you’ve never heard of. We took black powder from the petards, mixed it with moon-grass and mucilage, then rolled it into little pills. One or two of those between the cheek and gum was sufficient to keep you up through days of battle. And helped replenish the magic, of course.”

I was a soldier and I wanted there to be a chain of command. Needed. But I was damned if I was going to get chatty with a human usurper and feel better because he had fought in some stupid human war somewhere. “I don’t need sorcery to know you don’t want to get chummy with some human… what is it that they call us, Prunt?”

 “Pygmies. Furtive, Easily forgotten. A miserable pile of-”

 “Enough, enough,” he snapped, standing from the throne. The human stretched, his back popping. Finally, he reached up and removed his helm. The face beneath had clearly been used to hammer pickets into the dirt, more than once. There had been a short military cut and shave once, but it was about as fresh as his tattered uniform. “I also don’t need a hex to do what needs to be done.”

“Hexes, sir?” The perpetually grinning serpent didn’t seem to be in on the joke.

 “Dark sorceries this world isn’t ready for.” He looked at me. “Your descendants are going to love it.” And with a grin that didn’t belong with his battered face, the human launched a prodigious kick at mine.

 My helmet didn’t come off. It might never come off and I hope he didn’t try. As it was my skull rang inside of it like the clapper of a bell. “I don’t need any magic to stomp out insubordination. I don’t need anything!”  A harsh burr modifying the drawling voice. The bark of an NCO, or perhaps of a rogue general. I felt two implacable hands grab the tall horns of my helmet, and pull. Lord Gwyn, please, no. There was a yank and I could feel vertebrae start to pull apart, then… release.

 “Arrrrrckhhh,” I said. I saw stars. Not even sure what I was trying to say.

 The human knelt down beside me, ash fouling his trousers.

 “Does this armor… come off?” He almost sounded concerned. I coughed.

 “Chaos affects everyone differently, sir. Beasts, Lords, men… My unit had tracked a coven of enemy pyromancers, into a steaming caldera we’d just cleared of demon grunts. We should have known better. They wouldn’t have been able to resist a group of sitting duck elites. We weren't the Black Brothers then, but it wouldn’t be long. Everything was fine at first, we advanced and the pyromancers retreated. We were ascending the far slope of the caldera and suddenly there was one pyromancer.” I sighed.

 “Get on with it, soldier.” He wasn’t so concerned now.

 “One of the Queen Bitch’s daughters. She had the simple robes and ball-busting smile of an abbess, but she spread her arms wide and… it wasn’t fire, or lava, or vitriol, just a hot wave of luminous corruption. It burned. Swept us down the slope and we were submerged in it. Boiling  like molten pitch. You’ve seen what it did to our armor. Our flesh, though…” My flesh prickled and seethed as I thought about it. “It wasn’t all bad. Flames can’t hardly hurt us anymore- well, they still hurt. But no injury. Saves time on showers and delousing- just stand in a fire for long enough and all the sweat and vermin burn away.”

 “Along with your sanity, you poor dumb bastard.” He rose, planted himself in the chair again, and shook his head. “But now the armor is permanent. I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”

 What? The soldier in me reacted. “Thank you sir.”

 “Don’t thank me yet, fireneck. Now- what I really want to know is how the chain of command operated. After that- well, we’ll get to it shortly.”

“Even before we wore black, us elites theoretically answered to the Silver Knights. They were from the good families of Lords, and some human janissaries brought into those families. We had control over our operations, though the Silver decided who got credit.”

 “Same song, different verse. That’s war.”

“Yes sir. Above them were the four Captains- more like what the human nation would call a general- who led the really important attacks, when they weren’t on their own initiative. And of course the Lord of Light himself. But something… happened.” I hesitated. “Before we won the war, drove the Demons underground. Everything was going to shit, and something changed in the Silvers. They withdrew from many of the front lines, and didn’t seem to give an argent-smith’s cuss about what was really going on.

 There was a time when we were glad to have the Silver archer knights at our back. A rain of death from behind our backs, mass carnage. But then there were less arrows- seemed like they just didn’t fire, to conserve ammunition. Then we started to get arrows in our backs. One of them clipped Captain Artorias, and boy was that a mistake. He climbed to the parapet the knight was occupying, leaping up like a damned ape. That knight got chopped. Up. Into Catarina-steak.”

 The human laughed. “I’ve fragged an officer or two, when it needed doing. No shame there, but you do have to be careful if you don’t kill them immediately. But I can see your distaste for the silvers. Umbasa, Bohica… it’s always the same.” He turned to the Serpent. “Prunt, I think we’ve learned about as much as we need. Bring our guest’s arms over.”

 The serpent complied, disappearing in the shadows before returning shortly, my sword and shield held gently in its teeth like a newborn kitten, before depositing them in the ash between us. “My lord.”

 “Thank you, Prunt. Now,” he said to me, “this is clearly more than meets the eye. Tell me its secret, and I will tell you why you are here.”

 “One of the generals- a glorified quartermaster- was always trying to reinvent the wheel as far as our tactics were concerned. This actually turned out to be a good idea for once, and I bet it contributed to our inevitable victory. He brought in some grizzled old tinkerer from a city I’d never heard of, who spent a month sequestered in our armory before producing his work. ‘Cunning weapons,’ he called them. Glaives with spinning blades, greatswords with mercury channels inside to increase their heft, and for the shield-bearers, something truly ‘cunning’.”

 “Show me.” He was impatient now, and I scuffled over to the swords and shield in a storm of ash. I took up the shield and twisted a steel rosetted in the center. The shield split in half and I inserted the sheathed sword into the center. The edges of the shield made a passable flanged mace, though one that looked like the anchor of one of those huge ships in the Londo harbor. “An anchor indeed!” I’d already forgotten that his sorceries could ensnare my stray thoughts.

“He assembled it the same way for us, and despite being a frail old human, he was almost as tall and strong as us. ‘Now go forth and crush some demons into pancakes,’ he said. ‘It’s what soldiers do. Should it please you!’ The weapons were effective, I’ll give him that, sir”

The human nodded, and stared at me for some time.

“You’re as alive now as I could make you, Leftenant Vittorio. So you have a choice. Lay down in the dust and ash and die. Make it quick, and I’ll let you fade away to blissful nothing. Otherwise… and maybe this is less a choice than you want, but take up your arms and swear service to me. Live.” He let the silence take over for another long moment. “If there is chaos, or fire, you will snuff it for me. If any Silver Knights remain loyal to a dead king… you’ll snuff them for me as well. Do that, and do whatever else I bid, and we’ll see about getting that armor off you.”

 I nodded. I did want that. Perhaps he could restore the flesh beneath it as well. And beyond that… I wanted to serve again. With distinction, instead of at the whims of weaklings and cowards commanding from luxurious chairs in a fortified city.

 “Very well.” He launched forward and grabbed my wrists, as a mephitic indigo vapor poured from him, gusting darkly from every pleat and tear in his uniform. It felt… wrong. His breath reeked like the greasy ash of a crematorium, as I’m sure mine smelt of bile. At least there was  no pain, but it felt wrong. Wrong. What had I expected… the twin taps of a sunlight blade on my shoulders? The hurrah of my family and friends the last time I ever saw them? I felt it cease as he released my wrists and stood over me. I was oathbound- without swearing anything- to a presumptive human filth.

“My lord.” I would have to be careful of my thoughts still.

 “Don’t worry about those thoughts, he smirked. “I’ll accept some traitorous sentiments, Leftenant, so long as they stay thoughts. I haven’t exactly been kind to you. I will be fair, though, so long as you obey me as you would one of your famed ‘Captains’. But disobey… you can imagine there will be some consequences.”

“It will be so, my lord. You have nothing to worry about from me.”

“Good. Prunt, escort the Leftenant to the barracks.” He strode off into the darkness himself, and I found myself standing and saluting until he disappeared.

 “My apologies, Leftenant. Things are operating a trifle differently under the Dark Lord.”

 The Dark Lord. Holy hell. “That seems plain, ser- Sir, I meant to say. How should I address you?”

“Follow me,” the serpent intoned, as I disassembled my weapon and stowed its components at my back and belt. Then his laughter rang out, muffled strangely by the darkness. “Sir Prunt! Keh heh heh heh. Can you imagine…” I followed him through the drifts of ash. Here and there through the great bowl-shaped ruin I caught glimpses of pathetic phantoms of knights, striding through the space aimlessly.

 That had been me, before I was snatched from the jaws of unlife by the “Dark Lord” and his dark sorcery. It felt strange, as I got a strange feeling of vertigo seeing them. It was as if my memory of a phantasmal state was more real than what I was at the moment.

 “One moment, Prunt.” I smiled beneath my helm, thinking of what kind of rank a Serpent would hold. They had been advisors and oracles to some extent, with no authority to their own. I was glad he didn’t expect titles or salutes. Prunt nodded in response, his leathery ‘ears” flapping along.

 Turning back to whence we came, I got a better sense of the scene we’d left. It was an ancient space, filled with the ruined bones of once-domed structures surrounding the throne and ancient bonfire. The sky was a dim, sickly yellow, hazy with gray clouds and I had an impression that it had been that way for the excruciatingly long time I suffered there as a ghost. Something seemed off, but what was it? After some further study I noticed that the far horizon was tinted a deep indigo, which seemed to be very slowly enveloping the rest of the sky.

 It was the same color as the dark magics that human Dark Lord had wielded. “Let’s go.”

 I followed Prunt again and for the first time noticed that the glistening bulk of his serpentine body was passing through the ash like the prow of a ship through churning water. Curious. At last we had woven around some circular paths of ancient, crumbling stone, to stand before a huge iron gate. It was wide open, and beyond it an altar topped with a golden brazier that blazed with a supernatural flame. Again, it had taken on the faintest indigo where the tongues of flame disappeared into the air.

 This was the Lordvessel, which I recognized from many a midday devotional, back when I was alive. That it still bloomed with holy fire was encouraging but I had a feeling every bright side at the moment had its cost. Prunt did not stop to reflect so I followed close behind him as we left the fire and the gate behind. The path moved along in a very straightforward manner past this point into a shadowy space that was unmarred by ash or dim light beyond the firelight that lay behind us.

 Prunt turned to me and grinned. “Now, young Leftenant, step into my mouth and I shall transport thee out of this dark place and to more comfortable accommodations.”

 “Your… mouth?”

 “I’m teasing, of course.” He looked around theatrically, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “I would not subject you to the ignominy as I have to every chosen fool seeking fame and Flame. Simply close your eyes and we shall leave the abyss.”

 I complied, and for a moment I could see the darkness deepen through my eyelids, and suddenly my eyes flared with an unaccustomed light. Opening them I found myself in a palatial room, one I had not been in though I remembered its like from my first days as a silver knight, guarding the family of one of the satraps who administered Anor Londo for Lord Gwyn. For furnishings there was little but paintings on the wall, dust and scraps of wood.

“What happened here, serpent?”

 “You have slept for many, many years, Leftenant Vittorio. This city is all but deserted, save for the last remnants of the knights and a few mad stragglers. In his sacrifice to save the world, Lord Gwyn’s legacy has faltered and faded. Our new Dark Lord… well, we shall see what happens.” He favored me with a cryptic nod. “Enjoy your accommodations, such as they are. There is a bed in one of these chambers, which I’m sure you shall find. The rooms look much the same to me.”

 “Thank you, I think. What task do I have in his service?”

 “For the moment, wait. I’m sure he will call upon you soon.”

 And with that, he was gone.

 I had rested long enough in that ashen sleep and had no desire to bed down in the dusty fabric on the floor that was scarcely thick enough to merit the term bedroll. Instead, I decided to take stock of my surroundings. The furnishings were a tragedy and I assumed I should ignore them. This was correct- the other two rooms I could immediately glance into were very much desolate and deserted.

 Then- for a moment- I caught a flash of movement as I turned away. The helms of my unit are not good for peripheral vision but for a moment I thought I could see the figure of a human warrior, as if made of steam or smoke. It was gone even quicker and I didn’t know what to make of it.

 I passed into the next room and to my surprise a Silver stood there as if frozen in time. Not frozen, just very still, as he shifted his body only slightly as his head turned towards me. He bore the brass filigree of a leftenant on his gorget- the same filigree on my armor had melted at the first exposure to a pyromantic attack.

“Leftenant Vittorio, brother. How fares it?” I had about as much love for a silver as I did for a human, but they were much more helpful with honey than vinegar.

 There was no answer. No further movement. “How fares it, leftenant? Is your post secure?”

 Nothing in response, but then… a raspy groan and the Silver drew his broadsword.

 “You madman! You dare draw on your fellow?” It took a tentative step forward and I knew that was my sign. I had slept for countless years and felt as if I had fallen down a mountain, but I would never forget how to fight. I took a long step backwards through the doorway of the room I had just left and kicked the door shut in the Silver’s face. That gave me a moment to draw my own sword and insert it into the shield, giving it the specific twist that transformed it from sword-and-board to a huge mace. Just in time.

 The Silver didn’t bother opening the door, and instead just walked through it, its wood simply giving up its structure. Despite the dust and flinders I didn’t hesitate for a moment, swinging my mace up and letting gravity aid me. It crashed into the Silver, pressing him to the stone floor with a terrifyingly loud noise. That groan issued from his helm again but this time followed by a gurgling death rattle.

 I had squashed him flatter than the suncakes taken by the Royal Family at breakfast.

 The armor clattered pitifully as a faint vapor emerged and the body within vanished. I had seen this before- some fiends and cannibals consumed a glut of souls leading to large size or great strength. Even humans could do this, though they tended not to grow, but to increase in density. Of course, cut the thread of life and the souls trapped in bodily tissues boiled away like sun-kissed rain on a marble parapet.

 You’re getting poetic in your old age, Vittorio. I shook my head and left the room. Did I just think that? Or was it… The urge to wander seemed mostly to be my own, but my “random” movement through the rooms of the palace might not be. Eventually I found myself climbing stairs and arriving on a wide roof with a splendid balcony overlooking the vista of Anor Londo and beyond. There, standing up against the railing at parade rest, was the Dark Lord.

“Thank you for answering my summons, Vittorio. Not that you had a choice.”

 I walked over towards him, saluting. I stood there for a moment waiting for him to speak, and tried to follow his gaze. Out in the far distance of the sky, some creatures were circling a thermal current. Winged, clawed humanoids, these semi-demonic servitors were a supplicant’s only way into Anor Londo from the lands below. They had always made me uneasy, though I of course had never had any reason to fear them.

 “My lord.”

 “Disgusting things. How can a creature grin if it has no face? Gives me conniptions. These clutching, tickling night-gaunts have no place here anymore. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course, sir.” I had a momentary vision of my black metal boot kicking the Dark Lord over the railing, presumably to his death. He barked a laugh as soon as the thought passed through my head.

 “Ahh, you are always good for a chuckle, Leftenant. Now, I hope you had a moment to let your thoughts settle before we proceed with the real work. I promise not to get too sentimental, but there is one more thing I want to know. What was the absolute worst you faced during your war with the demons?”

 There was no question, the moment he asked that. It took me more than a few seconds before I was able to answer.

 “My unit was assigned to clearing out one of the demons’ warrens- a maze of cyclopean stone mortared with the writhing roots of living trees. We expected a lot more opposition than we saw- a token force of demons guarding the outer area of the labyrinth. Those we dispatched with no problem. The whole maze seemed like the bastard child of a waste of time and deathtrap dungeon, but the brass wanted us to clean it top to bottom. The corridors of the thing got more and more narrow and soon it was harder for us in the armor to move very quickly.

 “I was cursing every divine name I could think until it seemed like we’d cleared every claustrophobic inch, when I stumbled on a young demon. Demons aren’t born, exactly, more like transformed, but they could be pretty small before they absorbed enough souls. This one hadn’t absorbed many at all, and I could hardly tell what sort of bestial thing it was supposed to be. Like a thrice-damned idiot I hesitated- I had a brief recollection of rescuing a budgerigar as a child- then the young demon produced an object it had been hiding behind its back. It was an urn, which it hucked over my shoulder into the knights behind me.

 “There was no room for us to maneuver, as I said, and we were helpless when the urn shattered and released a blast of sorcerous lightning. It had clearly been handmade and only killed a couple of us, but the lightning wrapped around our metal armor and stunned everyone. Had there been more demons available we would have been cut down where we fell. As it was, with all that happening we considered the location clear and had some sappers take the place down for good.”

 The Dark Lord nodded. “What about that little demon?” I said nothing. “Well?” I’m sure he could read my mind. I wasn’t going to say it.

 He turned and gazed at me.

“Yes, my lord?”

 “Kneel, Leftenant.” I complied. No compulsion necessary. Despite our heads being level to each other, he loomed over me. The indigo vapors began to curl from him again, and he reached out to place his hands on my epaulets. The darkness transferred from him to me and it surged in my peripheral vision, tendrils of it pulsing, and for a moment I could see a vision of the city around us as a dark, silent vista that had never seen the sun. All these faded after only a moment but I felt different. More solid. Stronger.

 Indigo filigree glowed faintly on the black metal of my armor. As I studied it in surprise, the Dark Lord reached out and grabbed the horns of my helmet again. I felt shameful of my corruption and was terrified of revealing it. I would have shit my armor had that been something possible in my not-quite-alive state.

 Instead of a wrenching feeling like before, the helmet came clean off in the Dark Lord’s hands and I felt a sweet breath of wind pass my damp hair and pallid face.

 “You’re a brave woman, and you’ll serve my purposes perfectly. Now rise, Captain Vittorio. It’s time to get to work.” @theschneckenhouse

@dbzespio

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Artorias announced, eyes upon the ceiling. “For Oolacile.”

The man beside him shifted before rolling over to face him, though he could hardly see Artorias there, his eyes bleary with sleep. And when he finally spoke up, his words slurred a little. “Wait. What?”

Artorias repeated himself before turning his gaze to him, and the knight commander smirked, letting loose a little laugh. “Look at you. If it weren’t for me, you’d sleep forever, I bet.”

Reaching for his companion’s face, Artorias pushed away his long, sweeping curls, still in disarray from last night, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Artorias teased, smirking again. “You know it’s true.”

Too tired to come up with a worthy response, the man merely yawned, and Artorias hopped up from bed to search for his clothes. He was already half-dressed before his companion finally found the energy to form a coherent question. “So then… where is this Oolacile?”

“No idea!” Artorias beamed, broad chest bare as he tightened the belt of his breeches. “But I’ll be certain to consult a map or something before I leave.”

With another yawn, the man watched Artorias dress, his armor glistening a little within the weak early morning sun. “What is happening in Oolacile that requires a presence such as yours?”

“Not certain.” The plume upon his helm was proud and tall as he set it upon his head, and it bobbed to the side as he turned to face his partner. “But their messenger was beside himself, practically sick with fear.”

The man finally rose from the bed, hurriedly tossing aside the blankets. “I’m going with you.”

Artorias shook his head, his plume seemingly dancing as it swayed side to side.

“No, your duty lies here…”

He stooped to retrieve his partner’s helm, tossing it to him.

“With Lord Gwyn.”

Frowning, the man placed his hand upon his helm, fingers resting between the dual horns. He hadn’t polished it in a good while, yet it still shone with a glimmer of silver, even within the faint light that barely penetrated their window.

“Don’t worry so much.” Artorias kissed his fingers and waved before turning to leave. “Whatever they need, it won’t be a problem for me; of that, I’m certain.”

And with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. 

~~~

Artorias was a hero. He had conquered the Abyss and saved the township of Oolacile (and thereby, the entire world) by stemming the encroachment of the darkness of the Abyss, and ultimately, he died to the wounds he had sustained.

It was a believable enough story, though entirely a sad one.

But how had Artorias managed to save the day, so to speak, if he had taken so much damage? Wounded so badly that he lost his life? Though improbable (particularly for one as powerful as Artorias), it still was certainly possible, but questions like these continued to nag at him.

Perhaps he was simply unable to cope…

A clipped bark startled him from his thoughts.

Artorias’ wolf seemed to grow larger every day, and now she was baring her teeth at him; evidently he had overstayed his welcome.

“Easy, Sif…”

He tucked his helm under his arm and held up his empty palms before backing away. Yet she still followed him a few paces, growling.

“Enough,” he muttered. “I’m leaving, okay?”

It wasn’t until he left the graveyard entirely that she finally seemed to calm down, though her eyes were still very much watching him, two flashes of light within the growing darkness of the coming night.

He bit his lip as a distinct feeling of unease began to sprout within his chest.

Sif was merely a pup when Artorias had befriended her, so perhaps this newfound aggression of hers simply came with age; but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Artorias. She guarded his grave day and night, it seemed, only allowing him but brief visits now and then. 

He let loose a sigh, replacing his helm, now blackened from flame, upon his head. He removed his sword from his back to balance upon his shoulder, at the ready should he require it.

More often than not, his very presence as an elite knight of Lord Gwyn was enough to discourage any undead, hollow or otherwise, from engaging him in combat, but there was always the occasional fool to deal with. Not that it mattered much to him, either way.

Back to the Kiln with him…

It was a long march, but it was one he was accustomed to by now. Admittedly, visiting Artorias was, no doubt, a distraction from his duty, but he knew he had to do it; it was the only thing that kept him from throwing away his responsibilities entirely.

He didn’t even want to think about what might come of that…

Today he found himself returned to the Kiln unhindered. A good thing too, for he was not quite in the mood for further strife.

At the top of the stone steps leading down to the Kiln, he paused to take a breath before making his way down to his usual post.

Along the way, he passed his fallen brethren, line upon line of ghosts, whispering their truths as they marched, onwards for all eternity. Their bodies would phase right through him if he happened to cross paths with them, a feeling not unlike a slight but very chill breeze. A sensation he was once unnerved by, but now, wholly accustomed to.

Similarly, he was used to their voices, even sometimes recognized several of them as his fellows; others were much too faint for him to decipher.

Chaos Demons, Lord Gwyn, laments for their families, their regrets… All were familiar themes from his fallen comrades.

So when one mentioned Artorias… He froze in place.

Artorias… not… hero…

Helm whipping towards the voice, he nearly dropped his sword. Did he just–?!

Artorias… consumed… Abyss…

The black knight rushed towards the source of the voice, stopping just short of the edge. “What did you say?!”

But the ghost trudged onwards, deeper into the cruel darkness of the Kiln.

A place he could not reach and yet hope to still live.

“Wait!” he hollered, desperate. “Tell me more! About–!”

But the next ghost phased through him then, startling him with the bitter chill.

He sputtered for a few moments, starting a few different sentences before finally settling upon one. “Can any of you tell me about Artorias?!”

He whirled about, examining each of the passing ghosts in turn.

“Please!” he exclaimed, voice breaking. “I need to know what happened to Artorias!”

But none paid any heed to him, let alone answered him. They merely continued marching, muttering and whispering their damn secrets.

He dropped his blade, not caring when it fell to the ground in a loud clatter of noise.

“Please…”

He could feel his eyes begin to wet with tears as he cradled his lowered helm in his hands.

“Artorias…”

~~~

Artorias was not a hero, he had said. Artorias was consumed by the Abyss.

Those words turned about in his mind, replaying, over and over again, while he made his way through the ruins of New Londo.

It was rumored that the Abyss yet lingered here, but he knew that could not be true. For Artorias had conquered the Abyss. Therefore, it simply didn’t exist anymore. And he would prove it.

He would clear Artorias’ name, no matter what it took.

It was the very least he could do, for the hero of Oolacile. His hero.

Before long, he found himself standing atop a literal mound of bodies. He openly shuddered upon the realization, his stomach turning a little at the sounds beneath his feet and the smell.

He had small doubt that the forces of the Abyss had struck upon multiple fronts. New Londo’s demise had most certainly been long underway before Artorias had managed to tame the darkness in Oolacile.

It was a shame then that Artorias had not been alerted to the trouble there sooner... Perhaps then these people might have been spared such a fate.

Gritting his teeth, the black knight of Gwyn inched his way down from the mound, careful not to lose his footing. Eventually he found solid ground, and the dreary tomb opened to fresh air.

However, that path was littered with dwarven dragons, their claws and wings practically sizzling with sparks of electricity.

Without a bow, he wasn’t quite equipped to handle them, so he scanned the rest of the area carefully before deciding upon another route, one which led him through more ruins and rolling hills of corpses.

He had just turned a corner when something rushed at him, seizing his waist, and a burst of light overwhelmed the narrow visor of his helm. The sheer brightness blinding him, he soon lost his balance and fell to the ground, and his attacker, whatever it was, followed him down, firmly pressing on his helm.

He tried to grapple with his foe, but he couldn’t actually see them; so his efforts resulted in naught but a strange sensation overtaking him as the unrelenting light continued to flood his vision.

Finally, with a sickeningly delighted hum, his attacker released him, his touch surprisingly gentle as his thin hands left him.

The black knight staggered to his feet, blinking furiously to clear his eyes.

The man before him was rail-thin and outfitted in a ghastly attire; his armor was practically falling apart, yet its stark, pale streaks, resembling bones, nearly seemed to glow within the dreary dark of the tomb. A ragged hood obscured his face, masked by what appeared to be a skull. The man’s thin fingers, looking not unlike actual bones, continued to caress his seemingly skeletal face, still humming obscenely.

A darkwraith knight.

He had heard of them before. Mere vestiges of the Abyss. Not heralds.

Adrenaline sustaining him, he gripped his blade tightly, perfecting his stance. “To hell with you!”

His foe answered by holding out his palm, his hand now awash with faint red light. His favored arm made ready his own blade, a straight sword that looked to have actual human bones serving as its hilt.

Looking to avoid the eerie glowing mass, the black knight swung his blade to strike the wraith’s side; but the strange red light was apparently larger than he realized, and it blocked the hit. It felt as if he had struck a wall rather than a mere shield.

With a little laugh of delight, the darkwraith rushed forward, leading with his sword. But the black knight didn’t so much as flinch, and now that his foe’s “shield” had dissipated, he struck again, aiming for the heart. The wraith recoiled, and the black knight did not let up, dealing his opponent two more blows; as true to form as if he were battling a mere training dummy rather than the frightening foe he actually faced.

Hissing through his teeth, the darkwraith knight finally made to match his pace, lashing out with a few strikes of his own. But the black knight met them with his shield, a true one of blackened steel. And when the knight moved to attack again, the wraith held up his formless red shield, blocking him again. But the third slash broke his stance, allowing the black knight the opportunity to thrust his blade directly into the man’s chest. He crumpled to the ground soon afterward, dead.

Gwyn’s knight took a moment to catch his breath, unwittingly finding himself staring down at his foe’s lifeless body.

Now that the battle was over, and he had subsequently calmed down a little, he could tell; he did not feel right.

His chest felt hollow, and his body, strangely light. However, his every step felt heavy, as though his greaves were leaden with heavy stones. Even simply lifting a foot was difficult; it was as though the earth was a jealous lover, clinging to him so tightly that he felt it might never relinquish him.

While he didn’t like this strange new feeling, he couldn’t deny that it had certainly helped him with that last encounter. With his arms free to move with such ease, striking down his foe felt as simple as slicing up mere vegetables for dinner. And with his feet grounded so, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for him to lose his stance, much less for anyone to topple him.

Beneath his helm, a smirk pulled at his lip. 

None would stand in his path now; he would see to Artorias’ good name and rid the world of these monstrosities himself. 

It wasn’t long before another darkwraith knight accosted him, placing his newfound abilities to the test yet again. And now he was ready for their tricks; he was careful to avoid the wraith knight’s mysterious left hand. This one fell even faster than the first, and knowing that sent a surge of satisfaction to his still-empty chest.

He wanted more.

Grinning with pride, he hurried onwards, when yet another stepped out from the shadows. The black knight rushed up to meet him, greeting him with a heavy thrust of his blade straight into his gut.

And when yet another attempted to slink up beside him, he licked his lips, his newly powerful arm driving the blade up from his foe’s gut and straight through his shoulder; he delighted in the way he tore through the wraith’s body, muscle and bone and blood and everything giving way to his strength, like a boulder parting even the swiftest of rivers.

The second darkwraith’s head nearly left his shoulders, his opponent only barely managing to hop backwards at the last moment, just as his blade arced to meet him next. The black knight barked out a laugh while the darkwraith openly recoiled, momentarily stepping even further back to reassess the situation.

“What’s wrong?” the black knight demanded to know, swinging his blade through the air to free it of blood and gore. “Is it true then? Can a monster such as yourself know fear? I wonder…”

Seemingly provoked, the wraith knight bolted towards him, snarling, his left hand awash in a blinding light. But the black knight bashed his hand away with a blow from his shield, his sword rising up to cleave him in half.

The blade crushed the wraith’s shoulder as he continued to carve a path down to his heart, the hapless wraith shuddering and shrieking as he went.

“Ah, so you do feel fear…” he breathed, before driving the blade further down, silencing the darkwraith entirely. “That is very good to know…”

The knight of Gwyn was indeed quite pleased to learn this, wrapping his shielded arm about the darkwraith knight in a twisted semblance of an embrace. He inhaled deeply, releasing his sword in favor of caressing the dead wraith’s skeletal face.

He closed his eyes as a nostalgic feeling overtook him, and he began to hum a tune he recalled from long ago… one which…

He startled, immediately backing away from the corpse. What the hell was he doing?!

He stared at the corpse, at his hands, bathed in blood and with his arm still draped about his foe, as though they were lovers… instead of enemies who had just fought one another to the death.

To the death…

Yes, he gazed down at his bloodied hands, suddenly wanting very much to lick them clean.

He had nearly brought his armored finger to his lips when he startled again. What was happening to him?!

He hurriedly backed away from the corpse, fear coursing through his veins.

But this fear only sent a surge of delight through him, and he openly laughed, only stopping once he drew his hands to his heart, feeling it clattering beneath his armor.

Something was not right.

But his chest felt empty.

Oh, so very empty…

He clenched his hands into fists, swallowing his fears with immense difficulty. He stared at his bloody hands, desire pulsing through him, giving his hollowed, empty chest a surge of life.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head furiously.

These last vestiges of the Abyss… Could he be succumbing to them?

Now he understood how Artorias had died. This power… it was so great… So… enticing…

Suddenly he realized he was breathing quite heavily. In… and out…

After he had calmed a bit, he opened his eyes, only to realize he had clenched his hands together so tightly that he was drawing his own blood. The smell sickened him, enough to clear his head.

He needed to destroy these last few remaining monsters. So that the Abyss would be gone forever, and Artorias’ name cleared.

Yes. For Artorias…

Thinking of him spurred the knight to his feet again and off to hunt down the last of his foes. They fell quickly, and easily, so much so that he needed to again take a moment to calm himself before proceeding, his own blood again serving as a sort of smelling salt, pulling him back to reality, and away from his wild urges.

Finally he seemed to have cleared the area of darkwraith knights and naught but stony, spiraling stairs awaited him, leading down. The way ahead faded to darkness, so he peered from the edge, though naught but an eerie, inky blackness lay beyond.

It reminded him of the Kiln, in a way…

Frowning, he kicked a loose bit of stone down into the pit below, and he did not hear it reach the ground. A long fall, should he happen to lose his step.

He crashed his blade to the ground, hoping to lure any lingering darkwraiths out from hiding, for he did not wish to engage them in such a narrow and perilous space.

But none emerged to challenge him.

Swallowing heavily, he tentatively made his way down, wondering what perils he might encounter next. But the stairs were devoid of disturbances, and an eerie calm enveloped him.

And then he reached the end.

The stairs just… ended.

Panic flooding his veins, he wildly looked about, searching for another way.

But there was none.     

Shoving his blade into the ground, he nudged another bit of stone loose and then kicked it, holding his breath so that he might hear its landing.

But he waited. And waited.

No sound…

Chest empty and heart sick with worry, he collapsed to his knees, his upright blade still within the ground the only thing keeping him from folding in on himself.

How would he clear Artorias’ name now?

He failed.

Artorias… his one and only… and he had failed him.

Of course not!

He startled, blinking away the tears that were already filling his eyes. “What?!”

Of course not, sweetheart. You could never fail me.

“Artorias?” He coughed; his own voice sounded hollow and hoarse to him. “Is it… is it really you?”

Who else?

He searched his memories, ashamed to admit to himself that the sound of his beloved’s voice was distant to him, hard to recall. Maybe it was thanks to that damn hollow feeling, that emptiness in his chest.

He took a hardy sniff of his blood, still flowing freely from his palm. That was a little strange, wasn’t it? How was it still bleeding?

No matter. Artorias. Artorias was here, somewhere.

He peered over the edge, searching, searching with his eyes. “Artorias? Where are you?”

Come down here. Let us talk… face to face…

“I… can’t…” he feebly protested, though his body, driven by the need to quell the emptiness within his heart, was already perched upon the edge, ready to plummet down into the depths below. “I’ll… I’ll die if I do that.”

Artorias didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to; for his body jumped down seemingly of its own accord. He barely had the sense to drive his sword down below him, leading him in a plunging attack.

But when he reached the ground, his blade gave way to empty air, and he realized he was somehow aloft, seemingly held up by darkness itself.

And that was all that surrounded him. Darkness.

The Abyss…?

He wildly shook his head. Surely not!

His heart squeezed, seemingly gripped by an invisible hand, crushing it in an oppressive hold.

He couldn’t help but cry out, folding in on himself, his grip on his blade keeping him from collapsing entirely yet again. He began to breathe heavily, suddenly fearful he might perish from this immense pain.

“Artorias?!” he gasped, struggling to speak. “Where are you?!”

Right here…

He looked up, and his breathing evened as he took in the form of his love, slowly drawing closer to him. Artorias was rail-thin; his legs and feet, in particular, seemed as if they might wither away entirely from whatever neglect that plagued him. But worse of all, his left arm was in terrible shape, twisted and hanging there limply, as though he had lost all ability to control it.

He couldn’t see his face beneath his hood, and somehow, a part of him feared to see it.

“Artorias…” he finally managed to whisper. “What’s happened to you? Are you hurt?”

Artorias shook his head, the plume upon his helm trailing after him.

“Artorias…” His breathing quickened as the man continued to approach him. “They told me you were corrupted by the Abyss, and I knew, I knew it couldn’t–!”

Farron…

Artorias reached for him, the fingers of his right arm caressing his jaw. Join me.

Finally, finally… that emptiness in his chest felt satisfied, filled again by the love of his life, and Farron rose to his feet.

“Of course. Anything for you, Artorias.”

@shadowsheik14

@omelevate

The Loyal Knights of Gwyn

Long ago, Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, and his Knights went down to the Kiln of the First Flame. The Flame was choking on its dying breath, a flicker of its former self. Gwyn, out of desperation, threw himself into the flame in hopes of rekindling it, a sacrifice that engulfed the loyal knights that followed him, burning their armor black.

The Black Knights, as they were now known, were harbingers of violence and death. They lingered on, symbols of Gwyn's sacrifice, warped, twisted, Hollowed.

Upon the steps leading up to the Kiln of the First Flame, smoke and ash furled about a Black Knight, one who remained as a stalwart guard amongst several of its kin. Memories drifted about it, smoke swirling around its legs, twisting and warping into visions of its fellow Knights, treading upon the very steps that lead to their doom.

One such vision paused by the Black Knight. The Black Knight glanced over at the memory, a vision of one of its fellows, a ghost of its former self. The phantom lingered, the two staring at one another. Time dragged on, and perhaps to an onlooker, it would appear that the two were lost in memories.

Memories, the bits and pieces of our lives that mold who we are into being. Neither knight nor ephemeral ghost had much of themselves remaining, except what the solid knight's body knew, the memory of how to fight. Perhaps…

...perhaps the knights had trained together. Once as children, wielding what looked to be sticks to an onlooker but were, in fact, the mightiest of swords. How they sparred, laughter mixed with wild yelling, running in the forests around Anor Londo, sticks clacking together, valiantly slaying any dragons (which were really fierce topiary) standing in their way.

There, in that forest, which cradled and nurtured them, they promised one another, an unbreakable assurance, to work together and achieve their goal as friends and allies. It was a simple plan for each of them, to become the knights they dreamed to be. The vow was made with solemn faces, grim as they knew adults could be, before grins overtook their seriousness and, with giggles, they went home to their families with their promise in place.

Years would pass, and the induction as official squires would see the two knights learning the ways of a knight. Their teamwork and ability to coordinate attacks, even as simple trainees, was not lost upon their commanders. In an effort to have the two teach their fellow squires, the two were often separated, much to their annoyance. And, as youth often do under stress, there were fights; between the other squires, many of whom were tossed into this life not of their own will, fights with others who simply had different views of the world and, once, a terrible once, with each other.

The last fight saw one sneak out of the barracks to meet with the other. Together, they left the walls behind, returning to the woods that raised them. Surrounded by lush green, the sharp smell of the pines enveloping them in nostalgic remembrance, they talked. They talked of their fears, their triumphs, their angers and, most of all, of their vow. Free from the eyes of those they were loyal to, free of the pressure to succeed, they shared their tears, safe with each other.

Once all was said and, throats raw from unabashed sobs, they reinstated their vows, their promise. They would be knights, damn the trials and damned be those who thought less of them. While it would not get easier, they vowed, again and again, to be there for one another.

Perhaps...as pure conjecture, they may have even shared a kiss, though this memory, too, is lost to time.

Years, years, years again, the two would achieve their dream. The reality was less wondrous than the dreams they had as children, as they would find; tasks often gruesome and deadly and not at all the heroic, majestic visions they had as youths. Still, they took pride in being able to call themselves Knights of Gwyn, knights who had gone through such rigorous training, knights who refused to fall in battle and knights who always had each other's backs. Their camaraderie led to many of their victories, both knowing one another in such intimacy that their fellows would say they had the same mind, the same heart, the two inseparable and all the stronger for it.

The two knights, once their duties had been attended to, would often sneak out to the forest alone together. Some would say it was for more rigorous training, others that the two took to patrolling for scoundrels, while others would simply give a knowing look and turn a blind eye. For their part, the knights let the rumors flow freely, for each would be met with a laugh and, with a twinkle in their eyes, a...

...perhaps.

The dragons, their fearsome foe, had been destroyed. Naught but lesser cousins existed, and those were hunted with not nearly the determination as their first opponents. However, a darkness crept into the land, rumors of the flame beginning to dwindle taking foothold amongst the populace. Fear oozed into the minds of the people, and into the hearts of the knights; without light, could there be life? Could they live on, or would they fade away, as the embers of their once powerful flame...?

The order was given that the knights would be joining Lord Gwyn on his mission to rekindle the flame. Rumors abounded, but the consensus, spoken quietly and gravely amongst each other, was that this would be a one-way trip, which none would return from. Their loyalty would stand as a symbol to the people, a reassurance that their king, their god, was as mighty as the warriors beside him.

Another night to sneak out to the forest, the forest that had cradled their dream, their childhood, and the hours spent together. Time stolen from their duty, such valuable hours, a lifetime of fears and friendship between them. One such fear, a fear of stepping into the unknown on the morrow, was expressed by one of the pair. A fear that brought into question loyalty, loyalty that they owed their lord and should never be examined nor thrown into doubt.

Not even if it meant throwing their lives away. A break, between the two; one walked away, the crunch of leaves beneath heavy boots. Both held their breaths in their throat, breaths once shared, tight, tight, as though letting it go might…

The heavy crunch of boots followed after, a break in the stillness preceding . With sighs, they marched on, together, knowing they went to their dooms.

 All of these, perhaps, memories of what could have been. Of the time they trained together, fought side by side. Perhaps theirs was a friendship that became something more, something intimate. An intimacy that would lead them both to a tragic end, one guided by a loyalty to a desperate God driven to act against the end of his reign.

Would they have spoken to each other, there, near the heart of the kiln? Whispered their wants, their desires, their misgivings of what had become of them? Would the ghost have pleaded with the other to flee, to leave and explore the world, unbound and untethered from their once lord, now nothing more but a husk?

One could only conjecture at the relationship between the two, if the two were even the knights who had known each other. One, a phantom, a mere memory of what it once was. The other, ravaged by Hollowing, its thoughts and sense of self erased, leaving behind only its body's knowledge of how to fight, to kill.

A moment passed, two, and then the ghost moved away, ash swirling about it, leaving but loneliness in its wake. The Black Knight straightened, gaze looking out over the ash covered distance, its body knowing what its mind did not.

[shoechoe]

Last night, I finished reading Purple Haze Feedback. It was a lot shorter of a read than I was expecting it to be; I probably could've sped through it a lot faster if I didn't limit myself to just reading a chapter or two a day. Despite that, I can definitely see why so many people are obsessed with it; it does a lot in a relatively short amount of time. So, now that I'm finished with it, I'm going to give my overall thoughts of the novel. This will be fairly off-the-cuff, so sorry if it's a bit messy.

I think expanding on and giving a sense of closure to Fugo's character was the main purpose of this novel, and it accomplishes this goal extremely well. Fugo falling off the face of the earth was one of my big criticisms with Vento Aureo- I enjoy the concept of a character that's usually intelligent and level-headed but has an anger problem that renders them totally irrational when set off, but the manga just doesn't do anything with that concept. Because of that, I think a novel focusing on Fugo and where he went after he separated from the group was well-warranted.

I adore what Purple Haze Feedback does with Fugo's character. It explores his sense of regret for leaving the group and having his comrades die without him, he thinks about his actions and his thought processes that led him to this point, it expands upon his backstory that was relegated to just a sentence or two of dialogue in the original manga, and it gives him a character arc as he's made to go on a mission to prove his trustworthiness to the organization and he gains courage and strength he never had before. The second-to-last chapter where he thinks about Narancia and finally has the same breakthrough of why he was so willing to risk his life for a girl he barely met gave me chills down my spine.

Fugo is made into a genuinely great character in Purple Haze Feedback- I can absolutely see his appeal now. To avoid being overly wordy, he feels completed in this novel, and that's really what I wanted to see.

The things going on in the novel outside of Fugo are also interesting. The narcotics team served as the antagonists while also giving more insight onto the way Passione worked before Giorno became the Boss and also functioning as Fugo's "test".

The fights surprised me with how quick they were, but Jojo fights tend to get tedious for me with how dragged out they get, so that's not really a complaint. I imagine translating the manga's style of fights to novel format would be difficult, so I don't blame the fights of the novel for feeling a lot different than typical Jojo fights. A lot of the descriptions of the Stand abilities and the gore actually made me squirm a bit- particularly, Vittorio succumbing to his own Dolly Dagger and Sheila's vocal coords being controlled by Manic Depression were scenes that stood out to me.

As for all of the new characters, I definitely liked quite a few of them. I can't say I cared too much about Murolo himself, but I certainly liked his Stand ability. (Though I'm still a little unclear on how he managed to survive the helicopter crash...? Maybe I just missed something, though.) Sheila E. was a really good character; I loved her ability and her personality. At the same time, she reminded me maybe a little too much of Trish; she wasn't just a clone of her, but one of the biggest roles Sheila plays is to be paralleled with Trish, and I would've liked to see her do more, especially since she's supposed to be a skilled member of Passione instead of the innocent girl that Trish was. Her backstory with her sister Clara was also a little weak.

I felt as though the plot was also less than perfect. The ordeal with the Stone Mask kind of went nowhere- so did Volpe's powerup and desire to transcend his humanity in the final fight. That was the one moment where I felt as though the fight could've been aided by being longer.

The additions to Passione's past, on one hand, made a ton of sense (of course Diavolo pretended to be fighting the drug trade just so he could set up the market for his own drugs- of course he claimed to fight older organizations to gain the trust of his members- Jesus, why wasn't this in the manga?) but on the other, kind of just exacerbated the problems I already had with the original story (why are we still hyperfocusing on how the drug trade is evil and bad when we know that Passione was also doing several other things that would hurt the innocent, including directly murdering children? Also, once again, if Bruno has such a soft spot for kids, why was he okay with torture-interrogating and then attempting to murder Giorno, a middle school boy?)

The part of the novel that I have mixed feelings on the most has to be the way Giorno is treated. He doesn't actually appear until the very last chapter, but until then, he's built up by the characters to be this almost saintly figure that can read everyone perfectly and always makes the right decisions. I understand he's already compared to Jesus in the manga, but PHF feels especially over-the-top with it, comparing his voice to a pipe organ played at church and having Fugo literally bow down to him in the end.

To be brutally honest, for me, Giorno already feels like he has a sanctimonious air to him despite not even really being a good person himself, and in the manga, he really straddles the line between being interestingly set in his flawed beliefs and just being annoying. Seeing all of the characters revering him like this does make me roll my eyes a little. To be charitable, it does make sense that a bunch of criminals with no other hope would turn to their leader and see him as someone to look up to, even if the reality is that he is far from an angel himself, but I find it unclear if that was what the novel was going for. Still, though, this is far from a story-ruiner and the last scene with Fugo swearing his loyalty to Giorno was wonderful.

Overall, I really enjoyed Purple Haze Feedback. I think it's a wonderful addition to canon, and while it doesn't fix all of my problems, I would absolutely recommend reading it. I'm mostly kind of mad at myself for not doing this sooner.

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

I feel like one of the more overlooked things about Goncharov (1973) is its place as yet another near-miss in the Cold War.

The novelist Roberto Saviano, well-regarded in his native Italy but not particularly famous at the time, was certainly unknown outside its borders.  He was free to set his thriller in a 1969 in which the Soviet Union was in the last throes of a shambolic dissolution without anyone in NATO calling his publisher up and asking them to please have a word with him.

The book’s modest European success did nothing to change that.  When director Matteo JWHJ0715, flush off his first successful film--a collaboration with Vittorio De Sica and Lina Wertmüller--was looking for a new project, he felt that the milieu would add a spark of notoriety to the picture without alienating the Cinecittà crowd.

Enter Martin fucking Scorsese, who’d just blown everybody’s tits off with Woodstock and was palling around with Brian De Palma, James Cameron, Francis Ford Coppola, and Steven Spielberg, in addition to having Roger Ebert declaring him the second coming of Movie Christ.  He was also, critically, extremely American.

JWHJ0715 had yet to run into his first political landmine (1975′s La grande abbuffata, which authorities correctly read as a critique of the eucharist and whose broad domestic success resulted in Vatican City closing its gates until JWHJ0715 personally assured the Pope that he hadn’t meant it and was very sorry), and so he was ignorant of what including an American producer and shooting with an American cast would mean for his film. 

(In spite of  JWHJ0715′s position as director, Goncharov was definitely Scorsese’s problem once it was released, since no one in Russia or America knew who the hell JWHJ0715 was yet.)

Once word started getting around of the particulars of Goncharov’s setting, sales of the book ticked up, particularly in quarters that were known to be responsible for disseminating banned Western media in the Soviet bloc.  Scorsese was aware that the ‘dissolving Soviet Union’ part of the script could be a hot button issue, but since they were shooting on a small budget with a cast of nascent but not full-blown stars on location in Italy, he thought that part of things was likely to fly under the radar. 

To hedge their bets, Scorsese talked JWHJ0715 into shooting the scenes where the Soviet Union’s status was most explicit in (extremely bad) Russian, with the rationale that they could just change the subtitles if it caused distribution problems. 

Unfortunately, making the scenes immediately understandable to Russian viewers did not make things better.

By the time shooting wrapped in early 1973, Soviet ministers were already advising Brezhnev to make as much political hay about it as possible.  The film didn’t properly exist yet, but there was an expectation in Russia that the adaptation would stick fairly close to the book’s plot (it... did its best). They felt confident in rushing two domestic films into distribution to answer the decadent capitalist wetdream of Mother Russia’s failure: Mikhail Bogin‘s Looking for a Man (basically Goncharov-the-novel, but some of the United States were seceding again due to the excesses of the capitalists, which comes up once per 8 minutes of run-time with or without on-screen justification) and Vladimir Vajnshtok’s Russo-Cuban take on America’s founding myth, the cowboy.

(Ironically, Vajnshtok’s The Headless Horseman getting fast-tracked past committee review to combat the presumptive anti-communist menace of Goncharov resulted in the responsible officials later being accused of subversion due to Headless Horseman’s now-famous caricature of the Stalin family.)

Low-budget film editing in Italy being what it was in the ‘70s, both of the Soviet answers to Goncharov had come and gone before JWHJ0715 had a copy ready for screening in September.  It generated an immediate interest among both cineastes and critics due to the unusually high production values and the undeniable talent of its crew.  The initial buzz due to its quality was quickly augmented by word that it might get denied a full release for political reasons, guaranteeing the film would shoot to number one at the box office in Italy, Monaco, and Spain the week it dropped for mainstream audiences.

The studio and censors hadn’t requested any changes to the Russian scenes, and so the film’s milieu was untouched.

Unfortunately for all involved, October saw a joint attack by Soviet-armed Egyptian and Syrian forces on America-backed Israel, which sparked a superpower pissing match involving a naval standoff, North Korea, and Henry Kissinger telling Hafez al-Assad to kiss his entire ass on the floor of the UN.  Brezhnev found himself denying requests for Soviet troops in a proxy war with the West just as the American film press began mailing issues celebrating a revolutionary new film in which the Soviet Union had fallen to pieces.

That the alternate-present reality of the film didn’t affect much of the film’s action and barely registered with most of its audience was lost on the diplomats handling an already-tense situation.  The studio pressured Scorsese and JWHJ0715 to cut a new version that was less politically charged.  War-hawks characterized cutting a new version of the film as showing weakness in the face of the enemy.

In spite of continued public interest in the film, the distribution ground to a halt, studio support evaporated, and paid publicity campaigns were cancelled.  Kissinger’s success with shuttle diplomacy meant a return to the nuclear powers’ detente, but the film’s fate as a lost classic had been sealed that first week.  Everybody who knew anything about film had heard about Goncharov, but very few had actually gotten to see it. 

By the time a rushed English-language translation of the novel hit American bookstands, interest had faded in all but the most die-hard Scorsese fans.  As the crew went on to do spectacular, genre-defining work in other films, interest in their time on Goncharov waned. 

Aside from the occasional luck-of-the-draw screening with old copies in arthouse cinemas and private European showrooms (JWHJ0715 was reportedly fond of screening it for new ADs to see if they were artistically a good match), it was effectively a lost film until the bootleg DVD trade of the late ‘90s made it possible to obtain poorly-dubbed and badly transferred editions that still gave movie buffs a taste of what it must have been at its best.

With any luck, current interest in the film will get Scorsese and Criterion to produce a new, fully-restored director’s cut so that everyone can see it as it was meant to be seen, and the world can finally enjoy JWHJ0715′s definitive moment behind the camera.

[deadbydangit]

I was referring to "Getting into an Argument with them" with Vittorio, Feng and Jonah, sorry for not specifying

I believe I can. I'm sorry this one took me so long, I didn't have very many good ideas for it. I still really don't. But, please enjoy anyways.

Getting into an argument with them: Vittorio, Feng, Jonah

Vittorio Toscano

He's pretty mild-mannered in general.

Vittorio tends to be very passive.

He's that, Make Love Not War, type of guy.

And he's able to let most things go.

So would take a lot for you to get into an argument.

Something really bad would have to happen.

Something along the lines of you putting yourself in great danger.

Or you doing something unbelievably cruel for no reason.

If it's the second reason, he wouldn't talk to you for days.

Depending on how cool it was, he might even leave you on the spot.

He's seen enough unnecessary cruelty in his life. He doesn't want to see anymore.

Especially from his partner.

Now if you put yourself in danger, that's a different story.

He doesn't get as mad as he gets hysterical.

He'll make a big deal out of the issue, dragging it on for days and days till you're annoyed with him.

"What were you thinking? Are you insane? Do you know how hurt you could have gotten?"

"What would I do without you? How would I continue to live knowing I let you get hurt like that?"

If anything, he's more upset with himself for not stopping you sooner.

Make sure you give him lots of affection and lots of affirmation.

And a very truthful and honest promise that you'll never do what you did again.

After that, just grab a book and read to him.

Or, just lay in his lap and allow him to keep you close by.

That's a surefire way to help him feel better.

Feng Min

She's usually pretty laid back.

But she has a couple things that will send her into a rage.

But these things are usually easily avoided.

One, if she loses a game in some cheap way.

If that happens, just avoid her for at least 30 minutes.

Or discreetly give her another game to play.

Then she'll go back to her usual self.

Another is if you interrupt her during a game that she can't pause.

If that happens, it's better to back out of the room, quickly apologize, and talk to her after the game.

If you needed her for something, she'll come and get you after her game.

She'll even thank you for waiting.

But there are times when she just gets unbelievably angry.

And during those times all little things set her off.

Her controller isn't where she left it.

Her hair is in her face.

It's too hot in the room.

Things that you can't control, she'll blame on you.

If anything, she acts more like a spoiled brat.

You can say that, but that's only going to make things worse.

She'll yell and stop her feet before just leaving.

In about an hour or so she'll come back.

And it's obvious she's feeling really bad about it.

But, she's too proud to say it out loud.

She'll apologize, but it won't feel like much of an apology.

She'll get you snacks though.

If it was a really bad fight, and she knows it was her fault, she will come back very remorseful.

She's not a big fan of talking about her feelings,but she'll do it this time.

For you.

And only you.

Don't worry, there will still be snacks.

Jonah Vasquez

Jonah can be very high strung.

Considering his past, you can't blame him too much.

However, unless you do something really bad, he isn't one to usually get angry with you.

However, one thing you could do that would anger him the most is scare him on purpose.

Again, considering his past and everything he went through, it's a pretty understanding issue.

Now, if you did it by accident, like you open the door and he wasn't expecting you, that's a different story.

He might be a little shaken up, but he'll brush it off soon after.

If you do it on purpose?

He might start yelling.

But, at the same time he's shaking violently.

And hyperventilating.

And he won't let you touch him.

He might even physically push you away if you try.

He'll want to remove himself from the situation as soon as possible to try and calm himself.

And if you pursue him, he might snap at you.

And his words can be hurtful.

He doesn't mean it, but you did something to him that he's asked you to never do.

If anything, he feels betrayed and it's justified to speak to you like this.

You'll need to give him some space and time.

Depending on how badly you scared him, it might be a couple days before he's ready to talk to you again.

And make sure you make sound when you're near him.

That way he knows you're around.

If you don't, he might think you're trying to scare him again.

Once he's ready to talk he'll sit you down and explain the situation.

He's aware he didn't react as well as he could.

But, in his defense, he's asked you not to do that.

It will be a time for both of you to apologize for what you had done.

He won't cry, but he'll definitely give you a long tight hug and make you promise to never do that again.

[ziracona]

I just want to say though thank you for writing ILM and all your other DBD fics. I don't think i can truly articulate just how spectacular the writing is and the impact they've had on me and countless others. My friends and i joke that ILM changed our brain chemistry, and the truth is that they're right.

The way you write about human emotions and experience even in an uncontested hellscape is unparalleled. The way the fear of pain and death never truly goes away, the knowledge that you know you're going to suffer but still hoping that maybe this time will be different - it is entirely what people are made up of. Of hope and determination and courage.

The moments of levity in a world made to cause the utmost of despair. The care and love, and how persistence can win out.

I also adore how you unabashedly show the killers how they are. They're human - the good ones still have their flaws. Susie is bratty, Joey indecisive, Philip self loathing. On the flip side horrible people can have desirable/good traits. The doctor is genius, the trapper unrelenting, the nightmare (fuck you freddy) creative.

The way the core facets of their personality stay the same no matter what is something so many people (myself included) can struggle with - you may want a character to act a certain way for the plot, but that is not how the character would act. The balancing act of telling a story that you want to portray vs the reality of characters being utmost true to themselves is a harsh one, but one you seamlessly pull off.

How you do things - the prose, the plot, the insights.. it really is like a movie. The emotional high and lows, dealing with such fantastical elements yet remaining so realistic, entrenching your reader so it feels like they are almost living in the characters skin, experiencing what they are. It's incredible dude. It's really, really fucking incredible.

I've only recently gotten back into playing DBD after like a 3 year break from the game, but i still use ILM as canon in my head. I think about how the new characters would fit in there, the dynamics, the jokes - Leon clinging to Tapp as a Familiar Figure (Older Cop), Vittorio depending on Adam to translate for him because while traversing the fog has taught him many things it has not granted him modern language proficiency and Adam is the only one who knows Latin, Feng getting to have a Jane Romero moment with Yun-Jin and Trickster (imagine Justin Timberblake killing you).

Or alternatively their grim faces at the news of certain peoples disappearance knowing that statistically it'll probably be okay - but fuck man, what if it's not? (Felix, Haddie, Mikaela, Zarina, and Nicolas Goddamn Cage would definitely be reported missing. I think the joke 'Nicolas Cage got taken by the entity' conspiracy theory unknowingly being 100% right is hilarious.)

This fic lives in my head rent free and has done so for years, and i cannot thank you enough for writing it. Sorry this is so long, i just really, really appreciate everything you've written and done.

So so extraordinarily sweet of you to say! I don’t know how to respond, except to say it means so much to me you feel that way and joke about it with your friends.

I’m deeply proud of that fic and my others and how they turned out, and that people found them meaningful. I’m a writer, so it’s always good to hear the works was, well, good. Well done. But it means even more to know they meant something to someone.

Also, ‘imagine Justin Timberlake killing you’ shot me like a lame horse absolutely losing it at the metaphor. 🤣 The survivors getting the experience Legion got running into Jane the first time (or, the ones from late enough to know him. Imagine being killed by Justin Timberlake while your best friend goes ‘Who?!??? That guy’s famous???’)