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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

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Nature vs Nurture (monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

The new world order - monsters on top, creating the perfect dystopia for humans. You are nothing but a pet to them, a breeding mare for their perverse desires…and now you've finally been claimed by their colonel. Good luck.

Tags and TW: Dub-con, monster fucking, size kink, power imbalance, dumbification, pet play, dystopia, obsessive Konig, tentacle monster Konig, oviposition, breeding. AO3

It was supposed to be a supply run. Fast, quick, stealthy. In and out, the ruins of the abandoned store not so far from your hiding spot. Whatever you could find, some canned food – maybe, but not realistically. Some rubble and garbage that could be exchanged for food for triple the price it was – possible. Realistic.

It was supposed to be a quick supply run. Like a rabbit out of her hole – but not really a rabbit, not even having the courtesy of strong legs and long ears that could spot anyone from a mile away. No, of course not – the universe wasn’t feeling particularly merciful when you were born a human in the age before monsters decided they didn’t want to be servants anymore. You think you remember going to the store like a normal person. Picking up a cart, hauling anything you could afford – not bothering about a lot of things.

There are still stores, you think. Remesances of capitalism, working only for monsters – whatever crude economy they were building, it stayed in the cities. In the military bases, were filled with monsters even before the uprising. Not here, in the wasteland – it belongs to humans, as little as there were left.

It was supposed to be a quick supply run for you and your friends – but you were dumb, but you were careless, but you grew accustomed to being the only one here, you didn’t even spot a patrol. Nasty fuckers, getting humans off the abandoned streets – you tried to fight and it didn’t work. Tried to run, and they were faster. Always faster. You should have been quicker, you shouldn’t have been a human – but you are, your soft self still not hardened by the life on the run, so you weren’t put out of your misery as you saw some other humans who got caught. Monsters took pity on you – or, perhaps, your submissiveness finally paid off. You were shown off the corner of a store – a human store, as you read, the words burning in your mind. You heard the stories about humans – attractive, soft people, mostly weak and obedient – who were snatched off the streets to do god knows what. Monsters can’t breed on their own, you remembered.

You can hear the voices coming somewhere in the hallway, a good few meters away from your cage. You force yourself to stay as far from the bars as possible, not wanting to attract attention. Not even want to bother yourself with trying to see what your captors look like – monsters can take on human appearance and you’d rather live without seeing a human pet trader looking like someone who could have been your neighbor before the uprising. You curl in a ball, hugging your knees. Sobbing softly, quietly – knowing that there is no way out of here now. Not even other humans would help you now. “Just got new batch, colonel. Doesn’t look like a resistance member” “Ja, I heard that the last time. Schlampe killed all the hatchlings the second they were born.” “W…we didn’t know, sir! I promise, it was a…” “You can’t even breed them properly. There wasn’t any new humans in months, wolf” “Humans are…delicate, sir. They don’t want to breed in captivity.” “Make them then.” You hear something heavy shuffling around. You hear heavy footsteps that are making the flimsy flor of your cage shake. Even monsters have their disputes – but you can’t bother with caring when you hear footsteps approaching. Large shadow casting down on you. Making you feel even more small and miserable than you did before. Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. Your everything hurts.

Someone is staring at you. You see…someone. Humanoid silhouette – too big to belong to a human, at least 7 feet tall and broader than the entirety of your cage. You whimper when the creature tilts its head to the side, a surprisingly boyish tone of his voice grasping on your panicking mind. It isn’t the one that captured you but, for some reason, you can sense that he is even more dangerous. There is something on his uniform – some decorations, you think. Soldiers from the age before the uprising are all have quite high ranks in the new society – if they are monsters, that is. Large, droopy red tentacle falls from the guy’s hood. Definitely a monster.

— Come closer, human. You whimper, trying to get up – only to get as far away from him as possible. You’re terrified, but he only hums in acknowledgment. A group of tentacles rising from under his hood, pushing you towards him through the bars. You were never more thankful for being locked away.

— Disobedient. Or just dumb?

— I d…don’t…

You cry, not wanting to give an answer – too disoriented, your nostrils are filled with the smell of sea and blood. You feel light-headed, dizzy, you’re hungry and dehydrated and you don’t know how could you even proceed to resist when one of his tentacles goes through the bars of your cage. Caresses your face, surprisingly gentle. Smearing cold slime around your skin, but even this is a welcoming feeling – you’d take everything that isn’t damp air of the human compound and the old sweat tattering your skin. You’d give anything for a bath right now. At least a few wet wipes, to wash the grime off your face – to stop feeling like an animal even though you know you’re already been reduced to one. — Just dumb, then. Gut. Monster caresses your face for a while, admiring your features. Salty tears feel like heaven on his tentacles – you can’t possibly see him, but he is grinning under that weird hood of his, adoring how obedient you are. It might be just exhaustion, but he missed humans like this – broken and abandoned. Soft and adorable, crying at the brim of a hat. König is going to have a lot of fun breaking you in – you couldn’t possibly be worse than the last wife he took. He wants to see you round and filled with his eggs. He wants you to see you cry for his cock, begging him to fill you up like the dumb, pathetic human you are. He wants to lay in the nest with you, pressing his body against yours – stealing the coolness of your body, covering you with his tentacles like a perfect chewing toy. He wants to… — Ah, sir. This is the new one. Just took her yesterday.

A merchant smiles, slimy face spreading in a wide grin. Tentacles retreat from your face and shoulders immediately, only leaving a small trace of liquid over your features. If you were dumb enough, you could have sworn the monster was affectionate – but you don’t want to be dumb. Can’t survive in this world only on silliness, unfortunately. — I will take this one. — B…but it isn’t properly domesticated yet! You know how wild strays can be, colonel… — I thought you said all pets were properly obedient?

— W…well, of course, sir, but… — I don’t need a trained slut to carry my eggs. This one would do nicely. Consider this your sacrifice to the order, ja? Before you know it, the merchant showed you in the hands of a giant man. Colonel, as you heard – not knowing proper military ranks, you wonder how high it can be. Or low. Monsters only value power and personal strength – and the merchant was fucking terrified of the tentacle creature who was holding you right now. Perhaps, you should have tried your chances of running away and being killed. Perhaps, you should have slowly died of hunger instead of coming out for supplies. `You’re held high in the air – too high for your liking. The monster presses you against his chest like he expects you to run away any second now – and you want to, really, nothing you’d love more but to simply jump off and run for the hills. But you’re too exhausted, the hunger sitting deep in your empty stomach makes you think that, maybe, for whatever reason this monster bought you for, he’d at least feed you. Maybe turn you into a pet – this is why there are stores for captured humans, right? Humans were treating their pets nicely, maybe the monster wouldn’t be too far off. Tentacles are swirling around your legs, around your hands – now you can’t even move your neck properly, cheek squished against a warm chest. This monster is a weird one – it’s like he can’t stop his tentacles from touching you, the cold tips of his tendrils spreading slime on the dryness of your skin. His body is warmer than any human would be, and his tentacles are cold – the contrast against your naked skin, barely covered by your torn clothes, is making you crazy. Making you think about weird things – like the monster reproduction again. Like your empty tummy, like the friends you left at the compound when you were supposed to go for supplies. Not getting captured by one of the monster higher-ups.

— You’re soft for a human. You weren’t even sure he was talking to you at first. You’ve been walking for a couple of minutes before you could finally hear some traces of civilization. Roaring vehicles. Gunfire. Laugh and groans – moans, too, to your surprise, not all of them very pain-induced. Your face is still pressed in his chest, you can’t see anything meaningful – but he stops in some corner, you think, covering you in his arms like a package he needed to deliver. You aren’t sure if you remember what the word “package” means. Something naughty, you think. — Quiet, too.

You still don’t answer, and he hums. Pushes you on the ground, suddenly – you fall on your ass, yelping in pain and surprise as you lay on something softer than a concrete floor. It’s a pile of mattresses, you realize. You’re in a room, you realize – still too dizzy after everything that’s happened, you didn’t even notice when he entered the building and pushed you away from the sounds of life you wanted to hear so much of. You’re sitting on your ass on the pile of soft, rotten mattresses – a faint smell of decay builds up in your nose, but you can’t even concentrate. The tentacles are spreading your legs suddenly – you cry and whimper, your walls breaking down to reveal a soft center because the monster tears away your pants with ease. Your clothes weren’t much, to begin with, dirty and torn after the capture – still, you don’t want to be naked in front of him. You don’t want to be naked in front of anyone.

— Spread your legs, human. You don’t want to, but you obey – you don’t wish to give him an opportunity to pry your legs open, to use force and make your life even more miserable. You know that being so obedient is kind of pathetic but, honestly, you couldn’t care less at this point. If being pathetic would save you from a broken leg, you will spread yourself open. Place each ankle on the side of the rotten mattress, not even caring that the thing fabric of your clothes – whatever little is left there – is slowly whiskered away by the tentacles. His hands are worse, somehow. He pushes your legs a bit wider, making you hiss from the stretch – and then he tears off your underwear. Not even letting you a chance to save your dignity – before you could cover yourself with your hands, at least, he is already launched at your cunt, smaller tendrils swirling around your core. You’re dry, obviously – and the monster tilts his head to the side. Acknowledging. Looking. He isn’t soft in his movements and the prying attention makes you embarrassed – if your legs weren’t in hid hold already, you’d try to close them. To save yourself. His motives are obvious, his intentions are clear – still, you sob and whine i his hold when his hand slowly presses on the button of your clit. The colonel – you try to remember this, it’s probably important – is somewhat slow – he pushes your inner lips, spreads your hole as much as you can with a meager amount of fluid from the slime of his tendrils and, somehow, you find yourself getting aroused. Maybe, it’s his attention – he isn’t laying his eyes off you, and it almost makes you blush too much. He is adorable in this way if a monster of his regard can even be called this – and you’re freaking terrified when he goes closer, looks at you even more.

His hand is making squelching sounds as your cunt becomes wetter by the second – it’s the first time in forever you had this kind of attention, and surviving the monster revolution didn’t exactly help with getting the edge off. You’re desperate for anyone to touch you – and the monster has beautiful hands. Big and burly, with tendrils sometimes running around to add even more lube – you know you’d never get anything like this with a normal human. — Need to check you first, Maus. The merchant keeps sending me infertile ones. You don’t know what he is talking about – but his hand lays flat on your tummy, putting you in place, and the larger tentacle – big, slimy one, with uneven structure with little bumps that made you wonder how it’s even going to fit inside – slowly creps to your sloppy, wet opening. It doesn’t hurt, you’re wet and open – something in the lube he extracted made you dizzy, dumb, you don’t even know when you spread your legs a bit more and welcomed the intrusion. It feels right, it feels wrong, it feels like the thing to die for – it feels like something that could kill you. He laughs and it sends slow rumbles right to the tendril penetrating your pussy. The pressure on your clit is too much – and your brain is to foggy to think that it reminds you more of a medical exam than actual sex. The tentacle inside is vibrating, twisting and turning, pressing on your cervix – it should feel painful, it can’t be this good but, somehow, you welcome the feeling of being this fucking full. You don’t buck your hips, but you cry and moan – and it’s enough of an indication of your pleasure. Monster laughs, his other hand goes to lay on your face – a surprisingly gentle gesture. Short-lived, but you could still feel the warmness lingering on your tattered skin. It’s hot and cold with him – you aren’t sure what comes next, but the tendrils are sliding in and out, probing at the entrance of your womb and, despite everything, you feel the knot in your stomach untying. The orgasm is a quiet one – build up is slow and small, and it doesn’t make you black out – but you whimper nonetheless, the tight embrace of his hands on your body feeling more like a cage than a normal hug. He is too powerful, probably not sure about his strength – you feel him squishing you like a fruit. The slime is leaking from your empty pussy, clenching around nothing. — Obedient. You’d be a good vessel for my eggs, human. You whine, turning away from him. He chuckles, pressing you in his arms again. Like a child with his favorite new toy – you feel squeezed and touched in various places, his tentacles having a mind on their own. Not an inch of flesh getting ungroped. — Ar…are you going to kill me? — Ach. You can talk after all. — Are you going to… — No. Have a much better way to use you. He chuckles in your hair, pressing his face in it. Inhales the scent – if he has nose, of course. This stupid hood conceals everything, not letting you know anything besides his rank. Which makes you think about…

— What is your name?

A stupid question, really. You shouldn’t care about the name of a monster who bought you – still, you don’t want to refer to him as just “a monster”. This dumb part of your brain wants closure. — König. Remember it, little human. Oh. So his name is König. Somehow, it doesn’t make you feel any better.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #monster!konig #yandere cod #tw: monster fucking #cod x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere male #yandere

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astrolovecosmos · 7 months

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Aries - Libra Axis: Tells a story about taking action vs. indecision, inaction, and procrastination. Tells a story about selfishness but also giving to the detriment of self, lack of boundaries, assertion, charm, persuasion, force, peace and war, leadership and cooperation, independence vs. partnerships, passion, romance, self-awareness vs. shallowness and detachment, insensitivity vs. tact, cheating and deception, winning and losing, honesty and bravery. Tells a story about lovers and fighters.

Taurus - Scorpio Axis: Tells a story about control, power, jealousy, resentment, stubbornness, indulgence and sensuality, comfort and thrill, safety and danger, possessive behavior, materialism, emotional strength and influence, inner security or contentment and inner empowerment and passion, willpower, revenge, grudges, manipulation, obsession, seduction, self-destruction, transformation and rebuilding. Tells a story about self-mastery and self-esteem.

Gemini - Sagittarius Axis: Tells a story about communication, learning, knowledge, teaching, exploration of mind, body, and the world, trickery, con artists, betrayal, support, lies and truth, versatility, duality, variety, curiosity, superficiality vs. depth, philosophy, morals, logic, spontaneity and fickleness, symmetry vs. asymmetry, restlessness, carelessness, freedom, exaggeration vs. factual, movement, cunning wit and intellect as well as wisdom, optimism vs. skepticism, dissembling, analyzing, deception, schemes, gossip, boasting, charm vs. tactlessness, and promises. Tells a story about storytelling - lessons and adaptation.

Cancer - Capricorn Axis: Tells a story about protection, self-preservation, endurance, practicality, emotions and rationality, defense vs. offense, vulnerability, attachment, clinging vs. self-reliance, sentiment, nostalgia, home and family, ambition, purpose, clans, tribes, societies, private world vs. external/outer world, moods, cycles, authority, parents/mothers and fathers, caution, responsibility, duty, patience, compassion vs. cruelty, intuition, shrewdness, strategy, contentment vs. dissatisfaction, security vs. insecurity. Tells a story about needs and being uninhibited, as well as control and discipline.

Leo - Aquarius Axis: Tells a story about leadership, charisma, confidence, individuality, self-expression, creativity, innovation, the power of one vs. the power of the many, attention, compulsion, pride, ego, play and discovery, experimentation and rebellion, drama, curiosity, socialization, influence, dignity, generosity, benevolence and/or common good, chaos, destruction, passion vs. dispassion, humanity, divinity, fellowship, organized groups, separation or standing apart, control or tyranny, strangeness and what's rejected vs. what's accepted or even celebrated. Tells a story about the king/queen/politician and anarchist/rebellion/revolutionist.

Virgo - Pisces Axis: Tells a story about the spirit and body, healing, helping others, service, caring for others, listening to your body or your intuition, purity vs. corruption, compassion, sensitivity, impressions, flexibility, logic, imagination, being receptive, mysticism, confusion, illusions, clarity, distillation, categorizing, researching, analyzing - a thorough search for facts/truth. Tells a story about sacrifice, empathy, saving others, discernment, efficiency and productivity vs. procrastination and rest, modesty, free and flowing energy vs. precise and predictable energy, perfectionism vs. admiring flaws, realism or skepticism vs. idealism, details vs. big picture. Tells a story about the dreamer and the worker, the ability to make our dreams come true.

#zodiac #astrology #zodiac signs #polar opposites #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

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bakuhatsufallinlove · 5 months

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Have you seen the latest MHA S7 OP ? The visual are so pretty, bkg has such a soft look! These days hori is drawing Katsuki with such smiling expressions so i wonder if bkg is going to have a change in personality like not being angry 24/7 etc what do you think ? His relation with izuku is definitely going to change but will deku accept this new soft side of kacchan?

Listen, my friend, and hear the gospel: Katsuki has always been soft.

Katsuki is known for bolstering his tough guy, shit-talking side, yes, absolutely. But his tough side and his soft side do not contradict each other, they complement each other. He is not suddenly not the guy who explosively roars or tells people off just because he's more comfortable showing himself to be thoughtful, reliable, considerate, compassionate, loyal, and selfless. He is still ferocious, ambitious, self-confident, and smug--a sore winner if there ever was one.

Hell, you see this on clear display in his fight against AFO. He's mocking that guy. Just utterly shitting on him. And it's fantastic.

Katsuki hasn't been "angry 24/7" since before Deku vs. Kacchan 2. I could quibble about how we're reading his character even earlier, but this point inarguably marks a change for him. We're now on chapter 421; the series is not over, but just those 301 chapters since DvK2 represent over 70% of its length. Even cutting the 40some chapters he was down for the count still allots us at least 60% of the story featuring some softer, more introspective, less combative flavor of Kacchan than what we began with.

I'm not trying to criticize you, anon -- but I do want to point these things out, because I think people underestimate and misread this kid sometimes. Don't buy into his bluster wholesale!

We're seeing Katsuki at his most comfortable, right now. We're seeing his truest self. He is allowing people to see the softness he has always had inside him, and I love it.

But Katsuki has always been and will always be feisty, snarky, and a little contrarian. He's always gonna roast the people he cares about for being thick-headed or careless or making his life hard. And then he's gonna be there for them anyway, which is what he's done for Izuku all this time.

As for how Izuku is gonna receive him, I have no doubt whatsoever that Izuku will beam at him with joy, satisfaction, and the occasional awe. He has accepted Katsuki as he is ever since DvK2, happy to be by his side to watch him better himself and then chase after him. They have been getting more and more comfortable with each other, working together, planning together, talking casually together.

I don't think their relationship is going to change much, other than the ways they are going to let each other in more. And gosh, what a joy that would be to see, huh?

It's all gravy from here on out, man.

Also the opening fucking rocked, and I absolutely yelled when I saw explody boy doing his fourth-wall-breaking gentle gaze at the camera. Izuku is very lucky to be the one those eyes land on more often than not, and he's superfan enough to be grateful even if he's not particularly self-aware!!!

#anon asks #bkdk #mha spoilers #mha season 7 spoilers #mha manga spoilers #Katsuki is a tsundere in many respects #he's also just fucking funny #his explody bullshit is FUNNY #it's entertaining and inspiring and delightful #he's a winner and he knows it now #I love him #I love him explosive and I love him soft #love him tender love him true #Izuku CHERISHES that boy #as he should #I dunno if this is what you were expecting anon but I hope you got something out of it haha #bakuhatsu asks

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slowlypalefire · 8 months

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Harrison vs Victor Event story

Part 1

*The translation are not guaranteed to be entirely accurate, so expected some errors.

The season is February. Valentine's day is getting close.

At the end of my mission, I secretly visited a popular chocolate shop.

(When it comes to Valentine's Day, of course,maybe chocolate?)

(It might be a good idea to give it to the Crown members as a token of your daily gratitude. Also-)

Harrison: "You're so happy even when you're alone. eh"

I heard a voice that made me stifle a laugh. When I looked behind me, Harrison was there.

Kate: "Harry, why are you here,Huh!? We should have separate a while ago..."

Harrison: "Did you think you'd manage to separate from me after the mission?"

Flash back

Harrison: "This is the end of this mission. Kate, from now on-"

Kate: "Ah, that's though! I have something important to do.I just remembered something, so please excuse me. Well then."

Harrison: "Oh, hey…Kate?"

End of flash back

Harrison: "It would bother me if you left in such an awkward manner."

"I thought you might get into trouble again, so I followed you and..."

Pausing, Harrison looked inside the store.

The interior was decorated with enthusiasm for Valentine's Day, and my purpose was completely obvious.

Harrison: "..Sorry about the that."

Kate: "It's okay. It was my fault for being too lax."

I'm trying to prepare for Valentine's Day It was easily discovered that I had done this, and I was relieved of my own naivety./

It was easily discovered that she had been trying to prepare for Valentine's Day, and she was relieved at her own carelessness.

Harry shook his shoulders funny, and said, while he looked into my face.

Harrison: “So, are you going to give it to me? Kate's 'chocolate' "

Kate: "That's-"

Victor: "I also want to receive chocolate from Miss Kate"

Kate: "Victor!"

Harrison: "...Wow"/ "...Uwa"

Victor: "Gokigen yo, Kate, Harrison. I can't believe I ran into you all on my way here!"

"I am lucky enough to be loved today too."

"I’m a lucky boy!"

Harrison: "Guys like you really show up everywhere"

Victor: "It was a coincidence that we met like this.Coincidence! Let’s not be shy and get along."

Harrison: "Stop it, don’t cross your arms,Na. Don't come near me."/

"Stop, don't cross your arms. Don't do it. Don't get close to me."

Victor: "Again, again ~ I'm happy"

(This is how these two argue when they meet face to face.)

Perhaps the problem is that he cares too much, but Harry, who is usually an adult, only dislikes Victor, didn't even try to hide it.

(Is it like a parent and child? No, isn't it too old?)

(Anyway, I smile just looking at it.That's true, isn't it?)

Victor: "Valentine's day is important to both men and women.The fact that you can convey gratitude and love to others.It’s a fantastic event.

"I love Valentine's Day. Let's enjoy it!"/

"I love Valentine's Day. Let's have a lot of fun!"

Harrison:"...When you're like this, your voice is too loud"

Kate: "Fufu... But that's exactly what Victor says.Because it is a great event and i have to enjoy it "./

“Hehe... But Victor is right. It’s a special occasion. I have to enjoy it "

Victor: "I see! I think I'll buy one too.Well then.."

Clerk: "Um,I'm sorry. The product is currently out of stock."

Kate: "It's very popular.Don't you have anymore ingredients?"

Clerk: "The ingredients is out of stock as well.Right now, we are only accepting reservations for products."

Kate: "Eh?"

(It seems strange that there are no products at all even though it's before Valentine's Day and it's a good time for stores to fill out items.)

Harrison: "I knew it"

Kate: "After all, what does that mean?"

Harrison:"Take a close look inside the store.The package is just a decoration and the product is empty."

Kate: "Ah"

Harrison: "And this store smells like chocolate even though no one does not do anything."

"It seems like it's not just today that the chocolates disappeared.Is there a reason?"

Clerk: "That is,the supplier suddenly told me that they could not deliver the chocolate."

"The store manager is hurriedly investigating, but the cause remains unknown."

Kate: "I've never heard of cacao or chocolate being in short supply..."

Clerk: "Yes. It seems like something like this only happened at this store and its affiliated stores."

(Does this mean someone is buying up all the chocolate before it's distributed?)

Harrison: "Hey, Victor. I think it's about time you revealed the truth."

"You're not just passing by,

you came to this store for some reason...

Isn’t that so?"

Victor: "You're still good at seeing through me."/

"you're still good at spotting lies."

Unhaunted by Harrison's piercing gaze, Victor broke the ice.

Harrison frowned at Victor's smile, which was full of compassion, as if he were happy to see his child grow up.

Victor: "Even if you don't have chocolate, you do have tea, right? Can I order three of those?"

We were the only customers on the outside terrace.There was no one there.

It's cold season, but the tea Victor ordered warms my body from the inside out.

Victor: To put it simply, a certain trading company, it seems like the company president is interfering with the distribution of chocolate"

"It seems like they're buying up all the items from this store and its affiliated stores before they even hit the shelves."

Kate:"....No way, Jude"

Harrison: "You've become stained now."

Victor:"Haha, Jude is the president of a trading company, so it's no wonder."

"Of course Jude is not the culprit.This time, he is a good collaborator. "

"Jude told me his information. Of course, the high information fee has been paid."

Kate: "As usual, still demanding rewards i see"

Victor: "His name is Daniel Brown.

He is the president of the Lown Company.”

"Brown is a long -established trading company for three generations."

"Not only does he have trust in the company, but it seems like the people around him have a lot of trust in him as well."

"The best proof of this is that he have never fought with Jude in the past."

Harrison:"That means approaching him and finding out his motives and see if there is nothing else?"

Victor: “That’s right.Currently, there is little chance of an incident,

Normally, this is not an incident that would move the Crown."

"However, there is a possibility that a major incident may be lurking."

"Now that I know, there's no reason to leave it alone."

"And if things continue like this,I'll be in trouble."

His usual smile disappeared and he looked serious. Victor tells me.

Kate: "Is there something wrong, Victor?"

Victor: “If we can’t get the materials back... Kate's chocolate, i wouldn't be able to get it"

"This is a grave situation."

Harrison: "Kate has nothing to give you. You didn’t say anything."

Victor:"Oh, that's right."

"But- I didn't say I wouldn't give anything away."

(.......eh?)

Even though Victor was smiling, he was giving Harry a somewhat combative look.

Victor: “What do you think, Harry? How about compete with me to something like that?

Harrison: "Game?"

Victor: "It would be better if we could solve this case first. Then Kate can give you chocolates."

Harrison: "What if I say I don't want to compete?'' Then?"

Victor: "Those who don't fight are considered losers.Of course, you lose here."

Harrison: "....."

"Okay. I'll ride this battle."

Kate: "What, what?!”

Harrison: "What, that was a surprise?"

Kate: "Yes, Harry always avoids troublesome fights as much as possible in my image"

Harrison: "Well,if it's about you,That's a different story."

"Besides, when I'm provoked like this, I can't afford to keep quiet."

Victor: "I like it. That belligerent look. It gives me chills."

Victor returned to his usual smile and clapped his hands cheerfully.

Victor: "Okay, if that's decided, it's an undercover investigation. "

"I heard that a social club is being held at his mansion tonight.Of course, I have already obtained the invitation card."

Where did Victor lead us? I wonder if he was planning on getting into it.

I decided to leave it aside.

The Queen's Aide is extremely mysterious.

Victor: "However, there are certain conditions to participate ."

Kate & Harry: "Certain conditions?"

#ikemen villains #cybird #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen villians harrison #harrison gray #ikemen harrison #ikevil harrison #ikevil victor #ikemen victor #ikemen villians #ikemen villians viktor #ikevil translations #ikemen translation #ikevil #harry vs victor

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anghraine · 10 months

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While I'm ranting, lol: I really wish people in Fanfiction Discourse would distinguish between trends/norms in the cultures/communities around fanfic and intrinsic qualities of any and all fanfic.

I think this is one of the reasons that the generalizations made about the fundamental nature of fanfic vs Real Literature so easily go awry. You can say something like "because fanfic doesn't need to come up with its own characters, it's weak at introducing and establishing characterization of the cast, in a way that's objectively inferior to original [sometimes just literary] fiction."

And that's essentially conflating an arguable tendency in fanfic (often fanfic produced within particular fandom cultures) with its fundamental nature as fanfic (i.e., the argument assumes that because fanfic doesn't need to establish characters in the same way, not doing so is intrinsic to fanfic as a form, and inferior to Real Literature).

And the thing about absolute statements wrt the intrinsic nature of a type of thing is that any contrary example disproves you. If a single fanfic exists which is good at introducing/establishing character, or even simply on a par with most original fiction, and the story is identifiable as fanfic, then your statement is automatically wrong as far as the inherent nature of fanfic goes.

But if you say, for instance, "modern fanfiction tends to do less introduction and establishment of characterization of the cast compared to original fiction, probably in part because fanfic writers primarily use characters that already exist, and this tendency typically doesn't work well with original fiction," then you've made a much more defensible statement that can actually be engaged with. People don't have to agree! But at least you haven't set yourself up to be immediately disproven.

And it also potentially gets away from "what about Wide Sargasso Sea/retold fairy tales and mythology/King Lear/etc," because if you're going to make the argument that these weaknesses are the direct and intrinsic consequence of using pre-existing characters, it is 100% fair to bring those up.

It doesn't mean the quality of fanfic is broadly on a par with those specific works (the usual dismissive response to bringing them up). But if you make the argument that fanfic has some absolute and essential inferior quality purely as a byproduct of using pre-existing characters, then you're opening the doors for obvious counter-examples.

The distinction between common trends in fanfic and essential qualities of it as a genre may seem kind of pedantic. Not everyone's going to be that careful in their quick takes on it on the Internet.

But ... I mean, if you're going to go into fan spaces and deliver your casual fanfic hot takes, yeah, people are going to argue with you. I don't really care if you totally write fanfic yourself and love reading it and that's why you understand its intrinsic inferiority and why it is the source of all literary evils in this degenerate age. When you conflate trends and fundamental qualities, your arguments are still weak and careless, and that's on you.

#anghraine babbles #anghraine rants #general fanwank #fanfiction #there are plenty of things in fan culture re: fanfic to criticize but the arguments about it as an intrinsically inferior art form #are just incredibly poor reasoned imo #long post

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adrinoir · 3 months

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Headcanon: Adrien Agreste is Trans? (Part 6)

First things first: Happy pride month to everyone in the community!

If you’ve followed my blog for a while or fallen down the rabbit hole of this headcanon at some point, you’ll know I’ve supported it for a long time. Sooo, welcome to part 6 of the Adrien being trans headcanon.

Here are the other parts of this headcanon if you’d like to read those: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Usual disclaimer: this is just for fun! Obviously cis boys can have these same qualities and traits. Don’t take it too seriously. These are all just things I’ve noticed. Also, I use the term "sentibeings" vs "sentimonsters" because I personally feel the canon term has a negative, dehumanizing connotation - please keep that in mind, too!

Sentibeings develop their own lives & identities

I feel like this shouldn't have to be said, but in case anyone feels Adrien being a senti-human debunks the hc, I'm writing this as an important reminder. Although they were developed through a miraculous power, Adrien, Felix, and Kagami are very much still human. Felix has made it clear that people of his kind are dehumanized, seen as "monsters," and taken advantage of which is something that upsets him greatly, and rightfully so.

This in itself is sadly something a lot of trans people can relate to. We're often dehumanized for not being "normal" and having unique/different identities in comparison to cis people who identify with their assigned birth gender.

But, I do want to focus more on the fact that sentibeings who were developed into humans are humans, meaning they develop and function the same way all humans do because this is important when talking about this hc. Adrien can still very much be trans considering he's a human with his own life and identity.

Felix had the dramatic presentation of him and Adrien's life story. Yes, he addressed Adrien being a boy the whole time, but also consider that he's going to respect his cousin's identity if he is trans. If this headcanon was in fact canon, Adrien would very much be closeted, and it isn't up to Felix to reveal his identity to others. Saying Adrien was born and raised a girl would not have added anything to the backstory, anyhow.

Gabriel could be controlling for other reasons, too

As we are all aware, Gabriel is a very controlling parent. We're directly shown that he's this way because Adrien is a sentibeing who he can control through his ring, and he's an evil, narcissistic person who doesn't care about others, including his own son. However, it is very much possible that there are other underlying reasons why he's as controlling as he is, let alone towards his own son. Like, why would he not love his own son?

There could obviously be hundreds of underlying reasons why Gabriel is so careless and controlling, but one of them could be that he may not love his son since he's trans. I briefly mentioned in part 3 of the hc that Gabriel could be unaccepting of Adrien being trans, so I'm going to build off of that.

Gabriel may not have always been quite as controlling and neglectful. Maybe before Adrien transitioned, he was a gentler, more caring father. However, we're shown in Wishmaker (yes, I know I always reference this episode lol) from Adrien's perspective, that his parents have always had certain expectations of him, most of which he's followed. So, if Adrien went against their expectations and transitioned to be their son instead of their daughter, that could've easily set Gabriel off (maybe even Emilee too, for all we know).

Why does Adrien tolerate the way Gabriel treats him?

To build further off of my last section, Adrien is aware of his father's terrible behavior and accepts it for what it is throughout a good portion of the series. But, why does he tolerate and accept it? There could be many reasons why, but I'm going to focus on two particular possibilities.

First of all, I also mentioned in part 3 that Gabriel seems like the type who'd gaslight Adrien, saying things like, “you have it so good here! I didn’t kick you out and I use your right name and pronouns!" If he is like that, that could be what makes Adrien so tolerable of his controlling behavior. He may allow this neglect and control because his father is "accepting" of his identity, enough to use the right name and pronouns.

OR, maybe Adrien thinks his behavior is acceptable due to internalized transphobia. Internalized transphobia is sadly a very common thing trans people experience. If this is something he feels, he may think it's right of his father to be unaccepting because "trans people (like me) are not worthy of others' acceptance."

Adrien's vision of the ideal man

This is another thing I've talked a bit about, but I think it's important to talk about in depth.

We see Adrien in many different identities. The ones I'm going to focus on in particular are himself, Cat Noir, and Cat Walker.

Adrien seems to have this idealistic vision in his mind of what an ideal man is supposed to be like. When he plays his role as Cat Noir, he's very over-the-top: flirtatious, strong, protective, destructive. It doesn't mirror how he acts normally, which as we see is the version of him that conforms to most of his parents' expectations. And, when he plays the role of Cat Walker -since he got the sense that Cat Noir was neither an ideal man nor heroic partner for Ladybug- he tones a lot of that down and acts the way he feels she'd like him best for, very laidback, a bit seductive, and helpful, following her ideas.

Why does he have these odd, idealistic versions of what a man should be and tosses his identity around so much? Let me explain.

Adrien hasn't had a good father figure in his life. So he most likely has had to develop this idealistic version of what a man is and follow that, switching it when he has the ability to live his second life as a hero without needing to conform to his father's standards. Adrien wants to be a man but he has no one to follow for that, especially if one of the main reasons for his father's neglect is due to unacceptance of him being trans, Gabriel will hold back as much as possible on being a good father figure and being a positive influence in his growth into manhood.

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jo-harrington · 1 year

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As Above, So Below - Prologue: Annunciation

Prequels: Heaven - Hell - Purgatory

Summary: Burdened by a centuries-long curse, you must follow the path fate has set for you and defeat evil that roams the Earth. You've left everything your heart desires behind to follow this path, and unfortunately, it still isn't enough. Fate has other plans for you, and for your love, Eddie Munson.

Word Count: 6.9k (nice)

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (Told in 2nd Person POV - you/your)

Warnings/Themes: Violence, Death/Suicide, Torture, Body Horror, Blood, Established Relationship, Romance, Religious Themes, Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Fate vs. Free Will, Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Biblical and Other Literary/Media References

Note: Welcome to As Above, So Below, my take on Kas!Eddie fic and a story inspired by Van Helsing (2004). This story has 3 prequels linked above that I highly recommend you read as this story will reference them.

This story is going to be EXTREMELY HEAVY to write, so I will not be putting out a posting schedule. Chapters will get posted as they are completed, however long that takes.

Please keep in mind, although this is an OC fic, our Knight will not be named or have physical descriptions noted. She is of European/Italian-American descent on her father's side. She was raised Roman Catholic, but her beliefs are very loose and you will see why if you read. You are free to imagine her as you wish. But her cultural identity will be referenced in this story, at least at the beginning and the end.

This series will not be for the faint of heart, nor is it something that was written with a general audience in mind. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

“Do not be afraid […] for you have found favor with God […] With God, nothing will be impossible.” — Luke 1:28-37

March 25th, 1986

In your short time on this earth, you had certainly seen a lot. Mysteries of the universe were made known to you, you'd encountered heroes and villains alike—monsters, even—and been to many places, far and wide.

But you could honestly say that you had never set foot in a lair before today.

And, truly, lair was the only word you could use to describe this place.

Vaulted ceilings, marble floors, velvet curtains. There was an elaborate organ set up on a platform and an ominous set of stairs that descended deeper into the ground at the far end of the room.

Eddie would say this looked like something out of a C-list horror movie or a James Bond film.

You were already deep enough as it was; you'd navigated through an abandoned old mansion and the Los Angeles County sewer system just to get here. To anyone else, it would have seemed as though it took some divine intervention to find this place at all, but the divine is what you knew best.

Archbishop Jinette had given you minimal information to stop the evil that was at play. A ritual to bring forth a River of Life that would flood the San Gabriel Valley and kill millions. More importantly, to Jinette at least, it would create a rift in the fabric of reality that would cause a surge of Heavenly Power to flow freely throughout the Earth.

The Church never cared about the details, didn't care if a sacrifice or two came about, as long as their power remained safe. So the Who's and How's and Why's were left up to you. Thankfully your adversary had been careless with the clues he left behind.

You couldn't tell if it was a coincidence or not. Easter was a few days away so a River of Life made sense but surely a ritual that mirrored the ten plagues of Egypt would be more fitting a little closer to Passover.

"Doctor," you called out, your voice echoed through the cavernous room. You gripped your weapon—a nightstick taken off the body of the police officer that had been swarmed by locusts—and ventured forwards. "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to help."

"You are not here to help," a stiff, croaking, disembodied voice reached your ears, filtered through some sort of unseen sound system. "You're here to stop me."

"Stop you from killing anymore innocent people," you explained.

"One remains," the voice replied. "Nine shall die. Nine eternities in doom."

"It will be a lot more than that if you don't stop whatever it is you have planned." You tried to reason with him, but you were met with silence. "Doctor! Doctor Phibes!"

Music suddenly blasted through the sound system and the room went dark, the only source of light came from whatever lay at the bottom of the stairs.

You knew the doctor wasn't done talking, he was just luring you deeper into his web to tip the playing field in his favor. You both knew there was no time to waste, so you walked into the trap willingly, with swift feet and a brave, but possibly foolish, heart.

Below the cavernous lair was an even bigger cavern still; a half-finished room with the same marble floors that suddenly gave way to rock formations and stalagmites and an underground river that offered a steady roar of rushing water. You didn't know where to rest your eyes, there were too many carefully crafted horrors laid out before you.

An altar with a body carefully placed atop it, a series of nine half-melted wax busts, a four-piece jazz band comprised of mechanical figures, a sterile area with a surgical table, and a ragged man who was elbow deep in another person's chest cavity.

A heavy hand clamped on your shoulder and you jumped to find the elusive Doctor Anton Phibes behind you. He was an imposing man who towered above you, his face sallow, waxy, and sagging. His red-rimmed eyes were bright with lively mischief, although his aura was heavy with the infernal stench of death.

You expected him to speak, but he simply tilted his head forward and urged you towards the altar. Not a question or suggestion, but an order.

You quickly weighed the possibility that if you killed him, struck him down, the ritual would simply end. Of course, then came the equally possible outcome that it would only hasten it.

Phibes pushed you the last bit of distance until you fell against the altar table itself and came face to face with the body resting there. You knew a dead body when you saw one, and generally you disagreed when people said they looked as if they were sleeping....this one however...she was peaceful in her eternal rest.

Face was full and serene, plump lips painted a succulent violet, with long, kohl-laden lashes that kissed her blush-dusted cheeks. Her skin was glowing and her long black hair had been fluffed and haloed around her. Her hands were folded below her chest and a lovely bejeweled ring glinted in the light of the candles that flickered from beside her on the altar.

The woman was preserved perfectly. Unnaturally.

"She's beautiful," you muttered.

"My wife," Phibes' voice croaked from beside you. You glanced over your shoulder to find that he had held a cord that ran from a porthole in the side of his neck to a phonograph-like speaker beside him. "My Rose. Taken from me far too soon, stolen from me."

"My God, please help my son," came an echoed mutter from the sterile area across the room. The surgeon had his bloodied hands folded in prayer as they rested on his patient's chest.

"Murdered!" Phibes voice grew louder and wrathful. "Don't cry upon God, Dr. Vesalius. He is on my side."

"And how do you know He's on your side," you questioned and Phibes' eyes cut back to you.

"He led me here," he explained. "Showed me the way in the quest for vengeance. Showed me the key to resurrection for my beloved and eternal life for us both. I plan to move Heaven and Earth to achieve it."

"Who are you to resurrect her?" you asked. "To bring about devastation for your wife? Is that His plan? The death of millions for the life of one?"

"He told me of you too, little Knight," he ignored your question. "It's how I knew to expect your arrival. He told me that you would appear to stop me."

"You're not only here to enact God's plan but to prophesize as well?"

"He said you would be the last step in bringing me back to my beloved Rose."

"So I must die too?"" You shrugged. "I'm the ninth?"

"No," he croaked. "Vesalius. Or rather, his wretched son. You must complete the ritual."

"I could kill you instead."

"Oh, but virtuous little Knight, I'm already dead." He released the cord and lifted his hands to his face. He peeled the waxy flesh and the tufts of hair on his head to reveal a twisted and burnt husk beneath. He was skeletal, barely a visage left; his nasal cavity shook with each labored breath and his exposed jaw clenched every so often.

Phibes inserted the cord into the porthole once again.

"I lost everything," he explained. "I lost my life, my purpose. And just when I thought it was enough, I lost my love too. I asked myself over and over: what was God's plan in taking it all away from me, in the blink of an eye? All at once? When I decided I would do anything—sacrifice anything—just to bring her back, He showed me the path and I took it. Wouldn't you? If you'd lost your love, what wouldn't you do, give, to get them back?"

A bitterness settled deep in your gut.

What did he know? What didn't he know? What was God's plan?

You'd asked yourself this many times over the course of your life, had become desensitized to the constant lack of an answer. Fate was an answer you couldn't stomach anymore.

So you had tried to run from it, only to collide with it instead. Fate cruelly led you to Eddie, and then away from him again...to protect him from the pain that was your damned life.

Yes, you would have done anything for him, even let him go. Love, for you, had to wait so that Fate wouldn't have been tempted to take him away.

Like it had for Phibes and Rose.

As you turned and stared down at Rose again...you felt for them...you truly did.

"Do you know resurrection takes more than just...some fancy ritual?" you asked Phibes. You could hear his feet shuffling closer to you. "It's unpredictable. The soul...the soul needs to be put back together, and by the time they ascend...or descend..."

"Rose was an angel," Phibes interjected and insisted. "My angel. My muse."

"...sometimes it's too late. How long has it been?"

"4 years."

"The ancient Egyptians had it right," you explained. "The Ka, the Ba...the Ahk...to put her back together after this long...would be impossible. Moving Heaven and Earth? More like breaking the walls between them. We could complete this ritual and resurrect her, but even still I don't think she would be whole ever again. She'd never really be your wife."

"And when would I have had to..."

"24 hours...48, maybe?" you offered.

Phibes' eyes slowly shut and he let out a painful hissing noise you could only attribute to a wail, or whatever equivalent his body could produce.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, hoping to provide some sort of balm on his wounded spirit. "But she's in Heaven...waiting for you."

You moved out of the way as Phibes collapsed on the altar and spoke in garbled tones to Rose's body, the cord pulled out of the porthole. Whatever confession in his mind was just for them.

You immediately ran across the cavern to Dr. Vesalius and his son. The surgeon sobbed his thanks to you as you began to work on the younger man. You didn't get the opportunity to heal others often—you were used more as an instrument of destruction than one of renewal—though the capability was always there. You dug deep into the celestial light within you and slowly his wounds knit back together.

Once Lem regained consciousness, Vesalius tugged at the restraints. Another spark of your power severed the chains and set the boy free and before long, father and son scampered up the steps and out of this pit of despair.

Vesalius had grabbed your hand before they had, though.

"Thank you," he said. "You're a hero."

No...you were nothing of the sort.

You walked back to the altar to check on Phibes, only to find his form still as it lay next to his wife.

"Doctor?" you shook him. "Doctor?"

You pushed him onto his side and a knife clattered to the marble floor; you balked at the needle in his arm and a slash in his wrist that lazily dripped...dripped...dripped...

Tubes ran out from the needle and embalming fluid rapidly replaced blood. It hadn't been that long for you to heal Lem had it? Had this always been Phibes' plan if the ritual failed? He was sure that you would be the one...the last step in reuniting him and Rose.

You touched his chest and closed your eyes.

Eight were dead but the first born son lived. The ritual was unsuccessful. The secrets of what really happened would stay buried deep below the city.

You could feel it...the ambient energy stirring around Phibes...slowly leaking from every pore of this mortal prison as his body died and he began his ascent. Anton and his beloved Rose would spend eternity together.

He was a good man, a loving man, led astray...and God was willing to forgive him and let him into Heaven.

You looked around the room again and felt sick.

For all the money that the Catholic Church had, the best they could afford when they sent their attack dog—you—to save the world for the umpteenth time was a crappy roadside motel off the 101.

You were used to uncomfortable plane and train rides, questionable motels and cots shoved into the corners of storage rooms in monasteries and missions when space could be spared.

This was your life though.

You had run from the safety of your Nonna's home when you turned 18 and then again from your little apartment in Hawkins a little over a year ago after Fate finally caught up to you. The next closest thing to...a base of operations, if you could call it that, was a tiny, unkempt bungalow house in a small suburb in Chicago that you barely set foot in because evil reared its ugly head a little too much.

Home was not a luxury you could afford, and even if it was...for you, it wouldn't have been a place, it would have been a person.

So you took comfort after a trying assignment in crappy gas station food and lumpy beds because it reminded you of the home you wish you didn't have to leave behind.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you exclaimed as you kicked the door to your room open and found an unexpected visitor sitting crosslegged on the bed you hadn't claimed for yourself. He held a stack of palm branches in his hand, a small pile of folded crosses placed neatly beside him.

"Watch the way you talk," he began. "Let nothing foul or dirty come out of your mouth."

"Is it not a little...weird for you to quote the Bible?" you asked.

"I didn't write it," he replied simply.

"Well your boss did." You fell onto the unoccupied bed and sighed. You didn't know if it was just the adrenaline finally wearing off after a successful end to your task—if you could call it successful—or something else. Something within you felt like you were...trapped under water.

"He did not either," he dismissed and went back to folding crosses. "You're planning to visit the cemetery." It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before Easter, if Jinette doesn't have another errand for me to run." You fished a bottle of YooHoo from your bag of snacks and offered one to him. His lips quirked and in a blink, all of the palms were folded into neat crosses and he was on his feet.

"Good." He stared at you blankly, expectantly, and it made you feel claustrophobic.

His presence was greater than what was apparent to the naked eye, and in times like these where he was about to spring something on you, your soul could sense the swell of his being. It never got easier.

"I know this isn't a social call or a job well done for preventing the destruction of the Earth for the hundredth time," you begin and cover your face with your hands. "I'm tired, so if you could please just—"

"You say that a lot," he noted.

"What?"

"That you're tired."

"It happens when you're a human," you retort.

"Then you will do well to listen to me now," he says gravely. You peek through your fingers to look at him. "Something is coming. Something bigger than you've ever encountered before."

"Shit, really?" you asked. "When will I have to go?"

"You won't," he stated with an air of finality. "Or else, you will die."

Your hands fell from your face as your ears started to ring and your pulse pounded in your head.

You'd heard many warnings in the past, throughout your life, from him. Pain, suffering, duty. This was the first time he had ever warned you of your death.

Why now? After all of the other missions you'd been given, after facing Hell on Earth dozens of times...

You always knew it was a possibility...but a guarantee?

"W-when...why...when?"

"Soon."

That was helpful. You couldn't even prepare. It would be sprung on you. The next time you were called into action maybe? Or the time after that?

"So I just...I tell...tell Jinette o-or whatever Bishop that I can—” you stammered and he cut you off.

"This is not something that they will ask you to do," he explained. "This is something you will feel compelled to do. Strongly compelled. But you must heed my warning, young one. For you will perish and damnation will surely await you."

"I don't understand," you squeezed your eyes shut. "Isn't...isn't it already awaiting me? What makes this any different?"

"Because it will hurt. It will destroy you." What would...the task? Or the damnation? There was a rustle of wings and a roar of fire in your ears. "Do not be afraid."

They were words you had never heard from his mouth, but you knew he had said them before.

When you opened your eyes, he was gone, and you were left in the motel room alone.

"Gabriel?" You called for him, like you used to when you were a child and nightmares of monsters and demons plagued you. When you used to look for comfort when your father was off on a quest so similar to your own and your mother had no way to sooth you on her own. "Gabriel!"

March 27th, 1986

You knew from the moment you woke up that morning, something was off. As though you were operating on a different frequency than usual. You felt simultaneously sluggish and as though lightning surged just beneath your skin.

It didn't happen often, if ever really, which is what caused some alarm.

Perhaps when you were much younger and your abilities began to manifest. The holy light within you couldn't be contained by such a young body. It had led to massacres and miracles alike.

You remembered seeing Empire Strikes Back for the first time and feeling a kinship with Luke. "Luminous beings are we, not this cruel matter," a phrase you muttered to yourself often, taking comfort in the Light, when your future could only possibly be shrouded in Darkness.

It had taken years to control it, and you were well past grown now, but somehow you couldn't just shake the feeling that plagued you today. It was as though your fight or flight response was primed and ready, despite no danger in sight.

If Archbishop Jinette was any sort of reliable figure in your life, you would have confided in him. Looked to him for guidance. For help. Instead, you'd sat in his office with him for the past hour as he debriefed and lectured you—reamed you—for your handling of Phibes and the ritual.

"It was, quite frankly, irresponsible," he said for the tenth time. His cassock swished around him as he paced before you. "The number of innocent lives that could have been lost."

You rolled your eyes, fully of the belief that he wouldn't have given a shit about any other lives lost at all. You used to give Jinette—give all of your handlers—the benefit of the doubt, used to believe that they cared about innocents. Maybe they had once, but now it was twisted by the power their positions afforded them.

Once they donned a pectoral cross, guilt no longer affected them. It was only a tool used to bend others to their will.

"How can we rely on you to your duty fully if you take the time to negotiate?" He asked. "If you try to reason with agents of evil?"

"Phibes was not evil. He mentioned that God led him to this path," you interjected, and Jinette stopped in his tracks. "That He led Phibes to the ritual in order to reunite him with his wife."

"They would be reunited in Heaven," Jinette dismissed with a hiss. He turned his judgmental, wet eyes to you and glared pointedly. You knew exactly the warning he was trying to convey and you straightened your shoulders.

"It must have been the devil in disguise. Trickery. You, more than anyone, should know how easy it is to fall for temptation." The burn of his stare became righteous, but it was not what caused you to turn your eyes downward.

Was temptation really so bad if it brought you peace? If it made you feel more whole than you'd ever felt in your life? A year with Eddie and you felt sure in your skin, safe, loved. Was that bad? Did that make you evil?

You had let your pain get the best of you in the moment, but after a few days of clarity...Phibes had been right...

What you wouldn't give right now to be back there? To be anywhere but here?

It was regret.

There was a sharp knock at the office door and Jinette sighed and looked at the clock.

"It is time for Mass," he announced. "Think on your sins and the Lord may offer his forgiveness."

After he vacated the office, you forced yourself to your feet, trudged through the rectory, and into the cathedral where you slid into one of the last pews. You would hardly consider yourself a devout attendee—certainly not as you disassociated through the psalms and readings—but you knew if you missed Mass after your supposed sins, there would be Hell to pay.

"...Jesus knew that his hour had come to pass from this world. He loved his own in this world and he loved them til the end..."

You'd heard this Mass before, the Mass of the Lord's Supper. Not your typical Sunday service, so you couldn’t recite it verbatim, but familiar enough. Your Nonna dragged you to as many masses as she could, in every language offered at the local parish, hoping to spare you of this fate in a way she couldn't spare her son or her husband.

Over the years, her hand shrunk in yours. What was once a healthy, strong hand that guided you became small and weak, shriveled and brittle. Until one day, there was no hand left to hold at all.

"...I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do."

You spotted a group of women further up the aisle. Novitiates, probably. You could sense a tenuous peace about them. One could tell she was being watched and she turned to look at you. She was young, maybe around your age, and her eyes were wide and curious.

You tried to smile at her, encourage her—it was all you could do not to scream, actually—but she rolled her eyes a little and turned back around.

The sound of rustling bodies washed through the Cathedral like a wave as everyone got to their feet—

"Pray my Sisters and Brothers that my sacrifice and yours should be acceptable to God, The Father, Almighty."

—and as you rose, your stomach dropped.

Your body burned.

It felt like a thousand cuts were made along your skin. You gasped for breath but could find no air. Your bones cracked and crunched beneath an invisible weight, and the pressure felt as though your sides would split and your insides spill out through phantom wounds.

You fell to your knees and grasped the back of the pew in front of you. You tried to make a noise, to call for help, but nothing could overcome the rumble of the congregants.

"Lord have Mercy. Christ have Mercy."

The polished wood splintered under your grip before the world went dark.

When your eyes opened, you were met with a muted haze. A dark sky, with clouds that shifted in tandem with the howling wind, sizzled with infernal lightning over and over.

You laid on cold, damp ground. You could feel it seep through your clothes and leech into your skin, deeper and deeper, until it settled uneasily in your bones. An acrimonious rigor that would have overtaken you had you allowed it.

Something deep within your subconscious wanted you to.

You needed to gain control quickly.

Your fingers dug into the thick, unforgiving clay of the earth beneath you, and you pushed yourself upright, only to be met with a chilling sight that made your heart stop in your chest.

His was body was aligned with yours, the soles of his feet just inches away from brushing against you. His skin was pale and smeared with gore, and his ripped clothes belied the true extent of his injuries. He choked on his blood with fit of coughs, too wet for a death rattle. He was practically drowning in his own life's essence.

Eddie Munson lay dying in front of you, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Your mind raced. Was this a vision? A prophecy? The gift of sight had never been one you could tap into before. Why now?

Was this a warning? If you didn't stay on the path He had in store for you, didn't listen to those He tasked to guide you, would this be your future?

You could hear a voice—an ominous, venomous voice—at the very corners of your mind, speaking to Eddie.

They left you behind. Left you to this fate. Left you to me.

What did that mean? You didn't leave Eddie. Not really. A part of you would always be with him.

You struggled and scrambled to get to his side. Your hands were unsure of where to touch him, how you could let him know you would be there without bringing him more pain.

He looked up at you with unseeing eyes.

"Eddie, please, please," you begged. "I'm here, I'm here with you."

His eyes wrenched shut and he cried out, mouth opening in a feral, heartbreaking howl.

To do with you what I please.

You knew it wasn't the Devil's voice. He wouldn't taunt and tease this way. It had to be some other malevolent creature who tried to get an innocent soul in its' clutches.

You closed your eyes and concentrated, tried to pour as much of your light into Eddie as you could, but despite his body being torn open the way that it was, he simply would not receive the help you could give.

You knew you couldn't leave him.

But Eddie was already gone.

And do to you, I shall...

When you came to, mass was over.

The closing hymn, heavy with organ song, rang throughout the cathedral as the procession made its way back up the aisle. You watched as Jinette glared at your prone form, laying on the pew, as he passed, but a light voice offered a distraction.

"Slowly, there you go, wake up," it said. A small, strong hand shook your shoulder then carefully tapped your face. "Sister Margaret went to call an ambulance."

"No," you groaned. "No ambulance. I'm fine." You immediately tried to push yourself upright, but the hands held you down to the pew.

"Don't get up, I don't know if you hit your head."

"I don't think so," you muttered. The pain that had wracked your body was nothing but a memory, a tell tale static that surrounded you, much the same way it would if your foot fell asleep.

You finally got your wits about you and found that your savior was the young woman you spotted earlier. Hell, if she didn't already think you were some creep off the street who'd wandered into the cathedral before...

"You're a part of the Order, right?" she asked disarmingly and pointed down to the small medallion that must have escaped from the confines of your shirt when you collapsed. Your hand immediately went to it and tucked it back into its hiding place; it was a reminder...a shackle. "A Knight of the Holy Order. Mother Superior said to steer clear of you if we ever crossed paths with you. She didn't say much else.

"I never thought I'd see one...just...pass out during mass."

"We're normal people," you sighed. "Not...Gods."

"Saints?"

"Sinners," you clarified and she laughed lightly.

"Yeah, me too" she agreed then frowned again. "Do you feel well enough to sit up?”

"I'm fine, just...tired," you explained and pushed her away from you. "I need to get back..."

"Back home?" she asked eagerly.

"Back to my motel." You got to your feet as the organ music stopped and the last few stragglers left. "Thank you for staying with me..."

"Oh...uh...Mary...Victoria..." she provided her name and you must have made a face. "I'm still working on it. I know I have time. But Victoria was my grandmother's name...so..."

"Well, I think it's a lovely name then," you offered a tight smile and your own name, then shuffled past her to make your escape. "See you around Mary Victoria."

March 30th, 1986

In the days following Holy Thursday, something was still off.

You had woken up the following morning with a sore jaw and a hoarse voice. Sometime later that day, you'd started crying blood. Only for an hour, but there was no controlling it. You were overwhelmed with emotion.

Hopelessness was the most prominent of them all.

You hadn't blacked out again, but something lingered beneath the surface. Given Gabriel's warning, you figured it would be best to lay low.

You knew it was a futile attempt to try and summon Gabriel again; he appeared when he felt like it or when it would best serve God.

The only time you’d ever desperately called for him, as fire almost consumed you and damp earth threatened to bury you alive, it had fallen on indifferent ears. It was then that you realized stories about Guardian Angels were just that: stories.

So instead, you went about your day as you typically would. Unless you were summoned somewhere by the clergy, they generally left you to your own devices. Especially on Holy Days like today.

Your plans for Easter Sunday specifically consisted of visiting the local cemeteries—

You would miss mass at the Cathedral today. Running your hands along the marble headstones and brass nameplates of those long-since-passed-and-forgotten and offering them a thought or two brought you more peace than any prayer or blessing would.

—and getting absolutely hammered.

You weren't a big drinker, really, since you typically were expected to have your wits about you. But it was a Holiday and you were far from home and alone. You made a blind choice at the liquor store on your way back from the cemetery, and it would numb you either to the point of blacking out, or make you give into your temptations to call Eddie.

You'd been thinking about him more lately.

Well...that was a lie, you always thought about him. Thought about calling, about visiting. You knew you couldn't trust yourself, so you did what you could to keep him safe. You skipped the letter M in the phonebook on the off chance he had finally made it out of Hawkins to follow his dream. Made it a point not to drive through Indiana if you could help it.

Maybe you didn't want to help it anymore. Maybe you should...maybe not visit...just call him.

Someone had left behind an honest-to-God glass in your motel room, and after a thorough cleaning, you poured yourself a helping of the nondescript amber liquid. It burned on the way down. Maybe it was a warning about the bad decisions that lay ahead of you.

You'd been tempted to call for his birthday last year, for Christmas...you sent a card. No return address, no name. Just a heart. You hoped he knew it was you because he always said your hearts looked like butts.

Another glass and you stood in front of the nightstand. You stared, transfixed, at the dingy rotary phone as you sipped your drink, savoring the burn this time. As if it had a mind of its own, your hand moved to grab the handset, but it just hovered for a moment.

How would Eddie answer? What would you say? What if it wasn't Eddie at all, what if it was Wayne? What if Wayne told you...that Eddie was spending Easter at a girlfriend's house? What would you do? What could you do? You practically forced him to say that he would wait for you...could you really blame him if he didn't?

Next to the phone was the remote for the television.

You hadn't really left him much hope after all.

You grabbed the remote and mindlessly aimed it behind you to turn the small set on. As it came to life and started bleating a commercial for some local restaurant, you momentarily prayed that it wasn't one of those Biblical epics, like The Greatest Story Ever Told.

Instead, the commercial ended and, as you poured yourself one more glass, the sterile voice of a newscaster reached your ears.

"...currently 68 degrees at the Los Angeles Civic Center. Lovely weather for Easter Sunday. For our top story, we bring you live to our own Robert Gilroy in Roane County, Indiana. Rob?"

You turned in shock and stared, dumbfounded, as the screen flashed to show a severe man in a brown suit. He frowned at the camera while a convoy of cars inched by behind him. You couldn't help but notice plumes of black smoke in the distance and you hoped that it was just a defect with the cheap motel tv.

"Thank you Laura. It's been less than 48 hours since a 7.4 Magnitude Earthquake rocked the quaint town of Hawkins, 80 miles outside of Indianapolis in an event that seismologists are calling a natural disaster of near unprecedented scale."

A wash of colorful stripes rolled across the screen before it showed b-roll of people running and crying, of a team of firefighters desperately trying to extinguish the burning Hawkins Public Library building, that was half rubble anyway, a man in camo bandaging a little girl's leg.

"The death toll now stands at 22, but with hundreds more filling Roane County hospitals and many more still missing, officials expect those numbers to rise."

You immediately dropped your glass and turned back to the phone, fumbling with the rotary dial to input a number you knew by heart.

"Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up." You listened as the ringing went on and on and on. You hung up and dialed again, and you desperately hoped you just got the number wrong. You screamed as it didn't even ring, but blared a taunting busy signal. "No! No! Who are you talking to? Pick up!"

"This is only the latest tragedy to befall this once safe town. Most recently, a string of high school students were killed in a series of ritualistic murders which have been linked to a local Satanic cult known as Hellfire."

Your blood ran cold at the word Hellfire and you refused to look at the television.

There was more b-roll, some chitter chatter saying how the Hellfire boys were always up to no good. How some upstanding students were killed, taken too soon.

Your breathing got heavy, enough that you started becoming lightheaded. The alcohol didn't help at all.

You tried to savor the last few minutes of ignorance as you wrenched your eyes shut, because if you didn't see it. It wasn't real.

"Eddie Munson, the leader of this cult and prime suspect in the murders..."

But you knew. You knew that this was the moment. You knew that this was what Gabriel meant. If you went to Hawkins, if you had to fight for Eddie, you would do it in a heartbeat and you wouldn't stop until you died.

"...has been missing since the earthquake..."

Those seconds that the reporter needed to take his dramatic breath were an eternity, one you would savor. Because it was easier to pretend that the only thing you had to do was just stop yourself from going to Hawkins, stop yourself from being selfish and wrathful, to punish those who would accuse the sweet, dumb, foolish, clumsy, trustworthy innocent love of your life.

It was just easier if you still lived in a world where you didn't have to hear what you knew was coming next.

"...and is presumed dead."

People often mistook the power of heaven to be one of peace, of hope, of new beginnings. And it could be. It usually was. But they forgot that the beginning of one thing was also the end of something else.

Divine retribution, a burning smiting wrath, the like of which had leveled Sodom and Gomorrah, flowed freely with your grief. It was illogical and irrational and inexplicable to any mortal, including you.

You remembered screaming.

Remembered the pain of the bones in your fingers splintering as you dug them into your skull. Your nails cut deep into the flesh of your scalp as you peeled the hair and flesh, as you opened the top of yourself to release the pressure that had suddenly and violently built up in your core.

Glass disintegrated into sand, furniture turned to ash, even the frame of the building began to buckle.

But there was a voice that called your name. A soft, sobbing voice that pulled you back from the edge of whatever precipice you subconsciously teetered on.

"It’ll be ok. I’m here."

You could practically feel arms slither around you, the phantom weight of them pressed into your skin. Dextrous fingers wove together with yours, soothed them, healed them. They caressed your wounds and the broken flesh stitched itself back together.

A cool breath grazed your ear and the screams that ripped from you began to subside. It shushed you and said unascertainable words of comfort as your fury subsided into woe.

"Close your eyes. It'll all go away if you don't look."

"But you're gone," you wept. The tears rolled down your cheeks and over your lips. You sniffled and licked at them; blood, again. "Why?"

There was no answer. You were about to open your eyes, eager to see and not just to feel, but the fingers glided over your face again. Over your cheeks to wipe the blood from them, over your lips to play with the softness of them, then over your eyelids.

Places he liked to kiss...places you wished you could feel lips instead...wished you could know that he was there.

"I'll never really leave. Even if you can't see me. I’m here.”

Every fiber of your being wanted to go, would have walked to Hawkins, run til your feet bled, to find his body. To clear his name. To say goodbye.

To die a most miserable death. Like Phibes and his Rose.

You would leave this world, happily, if it meant you could be by his side. But there was no guarantee. You could toil for a lifetime and hope to join him, and still be denied access to Heaven.

“I’ll be waiting for you. As long as it takes. I’ll be here.”

You heard the lovely whisper of your name, over and over as you sunk to your knees and you curled in on yourself. Every second it faded into the depths of your mind, and you couldn't help but crack your eyes open.

Lightning struck, the firefighters would explain to you later, on a clear day. The building went ablaze and was destroyed, but all the rooms were empty except for yours. The paramedics said it was a miracle you weren't injured. They touched you lightly, almost reverently.

"Hallelujah."

You were alone again.

It was a disquieting procession.

The creatures moved in a way that seemed unnatural, unfamiliar to them. Their feet shuffled across the barren waste and they dragged a hulking beast behind them. It was a large and ominous and twitching thing, and although the formality of this event it felt like a funeral, you knew that you were witnessing a birth instead.

The wings conjured images of Beelzebub...but Asmodeus felt like a more fitting comparison given how familiar you were with the inner workings of its mind.

Thinking of him as Beast or It was wrong. It felt sinewy and astringent. A bite you were reluctant to take.

You bore witness for three days.

It took two to break him, but images would haunt your mind and your heart for eternity. You tried to protect him, tried to undo what was done. You offered him comfort and a place to hide when he desperately needed a break he would never get.

How he had survived it, you would never know? But he was always stronger than you; if not in body, then in spirit. You never lasted long before you were forced to pull him back in. If you had remained, given him a longer rest, you knew you would have broken before he did.

He finally begged for mercy. He finally relinquished his soul.

You would stay beside him. No matter what they did to him. No matter what he did to himself.

They dragged him to their pit to put him back together again, and you forced yourself to watch, to listen, and to pray that every addition and alteration would stick. That he wouldn't have gone through the torture only to perish so close to the end of it.

You wondered where prayers went when they were made in Hell. Did they reach God's ears? Were they intercepted by Lucifer and his court? Or did they just...float in the void of oblivion?

He muttered words, you'd even heard your name escape his lips several times before they filled his mouth with too many teeth to speak.

By the end of the third day, he rose again.

And you sobbed in relief because somehow the sight of him complete, the sight of him rising and blinking and roaring brought you more comfort and warmth and joy than you had ever felt in your cursed existence.

It didn't matter how grim of vision he was. There was a beauty in that too. The beauty existed...simply because he still did.

Whatever they did to him, he was alive, and he would always be your Eddie. And that meant you had a chance to save him.

“When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own. No matter how inconceivable those needs were; no matter how fucked up; no matter how much it made you feel like you were ripping yourself into pieces.” — Jodi Picoult, The Pact

Special thanks to @big-ope-vibes and @pastel-pillows who can read even though she says she does not. And @fracturedarkness who I am determined to destroy/delight with this story.

Next Chapter: Illumination

#vampire eddie munson #vampire!eddie #kas!eddie #Eddie Munson fic #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: religious themes #stranger things fic #tw: suicide

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dysansohmin · 3 months

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I am actually dying for some conversation about how the writing team is approaching american history, culture, colonialism, ESPECIALLY having gotten to Shaaloani now. Because I can see places where they're trying, I can see places where they're. Doing something. 😬 The first half seems to have more thought put into it than I'd expect from their marketing, which has all been focused on how exotic tural is and this consumptive tourism thing. they stopped short of putting rhys darby in a pith helmet, I guess

like, fantasy is a hard genre for this, there are some baked-in assumptions when one of your starting premises is World Where Race Is Real, and we have years and years and years of careless Fantasy X Country material. How do I feel about the Mamool Ja in a media landscape shaped by Warhammer's lizardmen? Better than I did about TESO's Argonians I guess, but for totally subjective reasons! I walked away from Mamook with a (albeit very simplified) story about cultural trauma and survival, but it is also a story about miscegenation as a eugenics project

Unfortunately I am only just starting level 96 MSQ, so I can't get into this until I have the bigger picture, and also all of the active discussion I've seen about this game has been inane. "It's slow" "I'm not the main character" "I don't like Wuk Lamat" "I'm bored" vs "You should like Wuk Lamat and structurally the game needs to slow down sometimes"

if we can talk about this game from an actual critical perspective that does tie things together here. why so much of the audience is saying things like "I'm not bothering to learn names" or "I don't care about anything but the cyberpunk ascian lore." why they might be so vocal about how the game is boring and their total lack of empathy for the protagonist

#dawntrail #dawntrail spoilers #ffxiv

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juni-ravenhall · 9 months

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"i hate capitalism" vs my favourite game star stable having their owners and management taking out lots of money while running the company into the ground due to carelessness and bad planning and not giving a shit about the largely little girl audience they take their money from (a/b pricing. stable care and login punishment. bad quality game with tons of bugs always. changing the story ppl were invested in. SUPPORT EMAILS THAT TELL PPL THEY WONT GET REFUNDED FOR BUGS/MISLEADING INFO. SUPPORT EMAILS THAT SAY LOL IDC TO ANTISEMITISM)

its really time to understand what hating capitalism and recognising exploitative and unethical behaviour from companies means in reality and not just in words. even when its your favourite ah slay feminism queer game studio (the one run by random men who clearly dont care about the game or the players, the one that cancelled the books and comics without telling anyone, the one that said horsegirl is a slur, that one)

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imnots-things · 10 months

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MK stuff #1

*This is my first time posting MK stuff, there will be a lot of mistakes. *English is not my native language. I'm still in the process of learning and using translation tools. *The story below is inspired by the intro Sub-Zero vs Sindel and Sub-Zero vs Noob Saibot in MK11

BiHanzo

From the moment Kuai Liang became conscious of the world around him, he recognized that his brother was a cold person.

Kuai Liang looked at his brother paralyzed on the bed. For a moment, he felt like he was back in his childhood, when his brother, who was always strong, suddenly fell silent in the infirmary.

"Brother.."

His heart ached again, his distant black eyes returned to reality, he gently held his brother's hand, unconsciously stroking his brother's pinky finger.

Cryomancers are people with the power of ice, they freeze everything; cold-blooded with everything; All the thorns of ice express the personalities of those who bring this cold death. They’re vain, and also proud of their abilities - the abilities that got them banished from their homeland.

“Why were we banished?”

“That's not called banishment, that's being weak and unable to defend yourself against dangers, and the price to pay is having to flee.”

Cryomancers are very closely related by blood, unlike their ice-cold appearance, they actually care about each other.

"That's hurt…"

"Shut up! That's because of your carelessness. One more word and I'll throw you to the Grandmaster's place" - Bi-han shouted at his brother who was 6 years younger than him, clumsily treating his brother's wound.

Is it true that winter runs through their blood, so they are not allowed to express their emotions? Or to put it in a slightly more demanding way, that is, they are not allowed to feel and bring warmth to others.?

"Brother! He's injured! We can't leave him alone."

“Leave it alone, there's no place for the weak here. And we'll miss dinner if we worry about this kid.”

And that was the first time he disobeyed his brother's words. Ignoring the harsh words, he still gradually helped the grey-haired boy towards the infirmary…

—

Bi-Han's finger twitched slightly as a sign of regaining consciousness. This so startled Kuai Liang that he snatched his hand out of his grasp.

Heavily, Bi-Han opened his eyes, the black pupils of a living person appearing in his once-white eyes. He looked at his younger brother, and for a moment, he felt a lot of things flow through him as if a storm of emotions were pouring into him.

"Welcome back… brother..." - Kuai Liang looked at him, his eyes became more emotional than ever.

“I’m back…”

Kuai Liang watched Raiden "purify" his brother, hearing his brother's cries of pain as the thunder god little by little pulled out the darkness from his body. A shiver swiftly ran down his spine, his childhood memories suddenly and strangely coincided with his current situation. It's just that these things are good for his brother now, unlike the horrifying experiments on his brother when they were both still in the old Lin Kuei.

He remembered that, at that time, he and Tomas secretly looked through the door. There were a lot of people in the room, they were going back and forth, wearing white clothes, covering their faces, and his brother was there, stripped naked and having different drugs injected into him. As for the others, they simply recorded his brother's reactions in the report, discussing among themselves the cryomancer's abilities.

He was very shocked, and also cried when he heard his brother's pitiful screams when the medicine began to react on him. He and Tomas hugged each other and cried for a long time. Both children did not understand why their family treated their closest person like that. They returned to their room together, covered themselves with blankets in fear. Terrified and exhausted, they fell asleep.

When he woke up the next day, he was frightened to see Bi-Han toddling back to the room with a baggy surgical gown stained with blood on his body. He frantically rushed towards his brother, and what he received was cold eyes.

"I have failed in my mission. If you want to be punished like me, then keep slacking off,” - his brother's voice was hoarse, like someone who had just come out of the dead.

In the following days, the frequency of Bi-han's disappearance increased, his viciousness and insensitivity became more and more out of control. The climax was when he killed his opponent during a practice match even though that person had surrendered his weapon.

Kuai Liang still remembers his brother's face at that time. The terror under his eyes and the fake inhuman smile on his face..

—

Bi-Han woke up again in the Lin Kuei infirmary...

Looking around, he realized there was no one, not even a guard. He looked down at his hands, his hands looked more like a living person than ever.

He wanted to sit up, but the pain in the middle of his body suddenly went straight to his brain, causing him to lie still in pain. He began to reminisce about the days when he was still a Noob, when he was at the peak of his power, physical wounds or weapons stuck to his body did not even cause him to feel pain; he is free to do whatever he wants..

But now he is no longer Noob...and not Sub-Zero either. Now he is Bi-Han - a weak mortal.

He tried creating an ice blade in his hand, and what he got were sharp pieces of ice protruding from his flesh that weren't cold enough. The skin on his hand cracked open to make room for those pieces of ice to take shape. He still has the ability of a cryomancer, the only honor he feels he can keep for himself is to create a perfect ice blade, no matter how much pain he feels.

“Bi-han! Stop!"

Fragments of unfinished ice shattered, as if all his efforts and honor were also shattered into pieces...

Kuai stood at the door, receiving indignant looks from his brother. He didn't leave but also raised his voice at him.

"Do you know what you're doing?!"

"Whatever I do will affect you?!" - His right hand was bleeding, the red that once disgusted and haunted him was now flowing down his forearm.

Kuai did not speak anymore, it acted in a way that he never expected.

His brother hugged him.

“Don't, brother. Just don't.."

His younger brother's voice whispered in his ear, full of pain and sadness. Kuai let go of him and looked straight into his eyes. After a moment of surprise, he realized one thing, how much his younger brother had grown up...

---

Cryomancers can “feel” each other whenever they are in danger; Or simply sadness, something hard to say, or silence.

“Kuai..come here…”

Startled, he turned his head towards the slightly open window, and indeed there was a figure sitting there, hugging himself and silent.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you…”

“Take off your armor and come here.”

Kuai quickly did as his brother said, and then he was also cautious when approaching his brother - who was almost completely hidden in the darkness with his black clothes on.

“What's the matter?”

Sit down, careful to keep your distance from your brother. Kuai felt that Bi-Han's day was a bit different from usual. He knew he hadn't done well enough in the training area, and he was also ready to hear his brother scold him.

Bi-Han still silently looked out the window, the blinding snowstorm covered his vision.

Surprise flashed across his younger brother's face when Bi-Han pulled him into his arms, and this made him truly bewildered.. He raised one hand to his younger brother's head, stroking his messy hairs after practice, he began to speak in a quiet voice, as if this were a secret between two brothers.

"I almost died today... that person has the ability to use pryomancy..." - the calloused hand gently stroked his head, while his eyes remained distantly looking out the window.

“-I didn't know death could be so warm..” - he whispered, as if talking to himself.

He continued to silently stroke his head, his originally cruel hand suddenly became gentle, Kuai felt like he had been comforted by someone like this before.

“Don't die..Kuai Liang…at least don't die while I'm still alive..”

Suddenly, a strange feeling passed through him. It is gentle and pleasant, but also contains a lot of sadness, fear and hope. Kuai slightly looked up at his brother - his always frowning, serious and determined face was now uncertain...with tears forming in the corners of his eyes...

“It's time to take your medicine, brother.”

Bi-Han had been lying there for a few days, and other than being uncomfortable and wanting to move around soon, his brother had been silent most of the time.

Kuai Liang carefully fed his brother the medicine. The bitter medicine made him wince, but he still tried to swallow every mouthful his brother fed him.

“We have a guest coming today, it’s Grandmaster Hasashi.”

“Hanzo Hasashi?”

The slight surprise that flashed through his brother's eyes made Kuai Liang wonder what made his brother become like that. Besides the questions about that "fateful day", he almost knew quite well. As for his brother's relationship with the Grandmaster of Shirai Ryu, they don't seem to like each other very much. No one would have sympathy for the person who killed them, but somehow, Kuai felt a little "weird" emotionally in some way. Something secret, hard to say,...from his brother.

…

Kuai Liang had never seen his brother smile so tenderly, and that smile was for the person who killed him.

Kuai stood from afar and observed his brother and the Grandmaster of Shirai Ryu, it would not have been worth mentioning if Bi-Han did not try to sit up and reach out towards that person. Somehow he found his brother strangely "gentle", he was happy, but also sad because such gentle things were never for him.

The Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster pondered, he watched his brother nestle into his nemesis's arms and let him pat his head.

For a moment, Kuai remembered his old friend, he had died, and what he left behind was an empty void.

—

“Thank you Hanzo, one day we will visit you when my brother's condition is better.”

“It's okay… and I think it would be better if you would listen to your brother.”

Hanzo teleported away before Kuai could say "What—?", he stood thoughtfully for a moment then returned to his brother, just as Bi-Han was clinging to the bed frame and trying to stand up. It looked like Bi-han was having a hard time standing on his feet, but he still tried to walk without noticing his little brother standing in front of the door.

"Brother.."

"Don't stop me, Kuai Liang" - his voice was raucous, his wobbly legs looked like they could fall at any moment.

And this time he didn't stop him, at least maybe this is what Hanzo wanted to tell him. Kuai moved forward to catch his brother when he stumbled. He helped him stand up, and continued to help him walk.

“Let me help you.”

#bi han #hanzo hasashi #kuai liang #mk11 #mortal kombat #sub zero #noob saibot #mk scorpion #bihanzo

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willothewispwisteriadawn · 1 year

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I'm intrigued by your comparison of tsh, the great gatsby, and heathers, would you care to share some points?

Golly gee! I’m glad you asked, Anon!

(Obvious major spoilers for the three of these things. Also, I’m using the 1988 film for Heathers. I like the musical, but I like the movie a bit more, and it better suits my points here. There are a few differences in tone between film and musical especially regarding J.D.)

(This talks about triggering topics seen in each of these stories.)

/Opening/

All three of these stories provide critical looks at certain communities, and all of them focus on at least one character whose goal is to reach a particular worldly ideal, to achieve a certain aesthetic lifestyle. Gatsby goes about this in a very reflective and melancholy way. Heathers uses humor and satire. The Secret History uses elements of both.

I really like Joseph Campbell and Thomas C. Foster who analyze character archetypes and tropes. Their points are not that this is necessarily copying or unoriginal but that human storytellers often get attracted to the same concerns, ideals, and concepts— we end up revisiting frameworks such as the hero’s journey or the “vampire” archetype for characters. But what is enriching is the author’s own way of commenting on these things. If we look at, say, Henry, Gatsby, and J.D, they are all wildly different people but the same character type. So let’s go though how the stories are all saying the same thing but exploring it differently.

/Great Gatsby vs Secret History/

Let’s start with TGG and TSH. Richard mentions early on that he identifies with Gatsby, and that this is his favorite novel. I’ve seen a few people question this because Richard is much closer to Nick Carraway. And, from a POV perspective, he is. They’re both outsiders attracted to the mystique of another character. And they’re just neutral enough that different characters can approach them about things. But Richard seeing himself as Jay Gatsby is also accurate, because Gatsby has a similar internal struggle to Richard himself. Richard’s flaws and goals are exactly Gatsby’s. Both men resent the lives they were born into, viewing them as dull and not a reflection of how they see their own identities. They take matters into their own hands to achieve their ideal regardless of the methods. They both become liars who slowly work at making their lies more truthful. Richard finds himself attracted to the Greek class, and particularly awestruck by Henry, because Henry is a Gatsby-type too. And it’s more Henry who functions as Gatsby in a POV way. Henry does what he must to achieve his desired Hellenistic lifestyle, just as Gatsby chases after the American dream.

The stories also make similar points about the effect of this behavior on other people, particularly women. A big reoccurring topic of TGG is carelessness. It’s seen through the symbolism of cars. The characters are reckless with their vehicles. Cars are stylish and exciting, but also linked to violence. We see this general concept with Julian who is careless with his teaching methods. Him leaving at the end, with dead and broken people in his dust, reminds me of Daisy and Tom at the end of Gatsby, and Nick saying: “They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up people and things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made…” Julian does something similar.

Obviously, Camilla and Daisy fill similar roles. They’re women who aesthetically match the lifestyle the male characters want. Daisy is a stunning American socialite. Camilla is a pretty classics student who plays the roles of big name Greek ladies (notably Clytemnestra) in the class’s readings. Gatsby, Henry, and Richard seem to have varying levels of love for these women. But the idea is the same: “In order to fully complete my own self-transformation, I need to have a woman emblematic of my ideals.” Even Charles fits into this because his views of Camilla get twisted by his toxic and Romanesque concept of what it means to be a male head of household. Both Camilla and Daisy are aware of their own lack of agency. Daisy’s famous line saying the best thing a girl can be is “a pretty little fool” isn’t meant to be taken as the author’s own opinion, it’s Daisy saying she wishes her daughter will be too stupid to realize what an awful situation she’s been born into due to her gender. Camilla and Daisy know that they eventually just need make a plan and go with the man that will make their life easiest. For Daisy, that ends up being Tom. For Camilla, it’s Henry.

As a side note, I saw someone drawing Gatsby comparisons from TSH, mentioning that Charles is Tom. I do understand the connection made here (Charles becomes an antagonistic figure for Henry, and they fight over a woman), but it seemed slightly off to me, and I realized it’s because I view Charles way more like George Wilson. Wilson is incredibly impacted by the immorality going on around him, and views the eyes of T.J. Eckleburg as a constant reminder that God is watching them all. In the end, he has a mental breakdown, victimizes his wife Myrtle and then loses her. Wilson and Charles come to the same conclusion at the end: which is to attack and kill Gatsby/Henry with a firearm. There are obvious differences. For example, Wilson is wrong that Gatbsy killed Myrtle (that was Daisy) and wrong that Gatsby cheated with her (that was Tom). But the backbone is there: a man is haunted by the existence of objective morality. He then concludes that he must violently seize control and kill the one he sees as responsible for his misfortunes.

/Heathers vs. Secret History/

While Gatsby focuses on a desire to be part of an American upper class and TSH focuses on a desire to be part of an erudite class, Heathers focuses on what I’m going to call teenage politics. Jocks, mean girls, bad boys, etc. The cliques of high school. Veronica is a member of the popular girl group at school and is mistreated by her clique. What she craves is to be part of what J.D. represents. He’s a mysterious outsider who is intimidating but also recites poetry and likes Bach. The way he’s introduced is very “Hey look at this guy. He’s not shallow like the Heathers, Kurt, and Ram. He’s layered.” Veronica very much falls into the trap of believing a damaged, edgy boy is somehow deeper than everyone else. She wants to be dangerous and above the other high school cliques. Veronica is exactly like Richard because she knows J.D. is excessively violent the day she meets him when he threatens the football players with a gun, but she believes there’s something cool and beautiful in that. She sees that his opinions are more cultured than her friends, but doesn’t stop to analyze what kind of person would fire blanks at people during school. Well, surprise, it turns out the bad boy is… well, literally just an awful person. There’s no hidden heart of gold like in the movies. Heather Chandler was terrible, but her death shows that people like J.D. are worse.

The situation with Bunny and Henry is similar. Both protagonists go along with the killing (I say this because Veronica was kind of sucked into it more than a premeditated accomplice like Richard), because they were abused by the victim and want to avoid jail time. But it’s also noteworthy that that victim represents a type of person who is opposite of the protagonist’s ideal. Bunny is an uncultured slob; Richard wants sleek intellectualism. Heather Chandler is a shallow mean girl; Veronica wants cool people of substance. Both protagonists eventually realize that the person they’ve partnered with is the bigger threat.

Heathers and TSH also unfold similarly. Both the Hampden and the Sherwood (Westerburg) communities react to the murder in a way that is absurdly off-the-mark. The Sherwood community mistakes Heather’s death as a suicide then proceeds to project deep feelings onto her and rationalize her rude behavior (sometimes in hysterical ways), because tortured souls are deep. They hold all these suicide prevention spectacles that the viewer can see are not really about preventing suicide at all. They’re about showing that people are feeling things; they paint Westerburg High as a place full of psychologically complex people. Bunny’s death gets mistaken as drug usage and similar circuses ensue. There are people projecting onto Bunny because he died young. The whole section in TSH where they do the national drug trivia competition to raise awareness, and Hampden College dominated was HILARIOUS in its irony, and I though, “This is so the tone of Heathers” when I read it.

The way the stories handle the “idealism” character is similar too. Henry and J.D. come across as so wise and above worldly nonsense at the start. You’re distracted by their language and finer tastes. Then, you see that they’re clever when they are able to get away with murder. But the story starts to show you that they’re actually quite one-note in ways. Henry and J.D. both become almost embarrassing to watch, because you start to see how horribly unaware they are. Henry is focused on what book to bring to his FBI meeting—as if that matters—and he seriously thinks the psychic lady might catch them. J.D. starts to come across as so silly because you see how often he speaks in trite little poetic statements that are stupid in context, but that he clearly thinks sound good (“People will look at Westerburg and say there’s a school that self destructed not because society didn’t care, but because that school WAS society. Pretty deep, huh?”). Both Henry and J.D. meet their downfalls because they’re after random, insubstantial “profound” things. Henry goes out with a suicide tied to a tender kiss with a woman, to prove that he could become the perfect Hellenistic figure Julian wasn’t. J.D.’s suicide was a similar thing: a message to Veronica about how complex and world-rejecting he is. (This is a part that differs in the musical. J.D. is actually self sacrificial there. I respect that the musical had to make J.D. softer to accommodate his songs, but the film character’s actions stick more firmly to the point of the story).

Heathers is more of a comedy than TSH is, but they both poke fun then take steps back. Bunny’s funeral is a complete clown show, but there are moments of genuine sadness. Richard acknowledges how evil the thing he did was. There’s a funeral in Heathers where Veronica and J.D. are giggling because they know the things being said about their victim are stupid. Then Veronica catches sight of a crying little girl and stops, shocked by the sudden reality of what she’s done.

Both stories also comment on group mentality. The Hampden community and Westerburg community are prone to ridiculous conclusions and nonsensical actions because of how quickly stupid ideas get latched onto. The Greek class murders Bunny because they’re all downplaying each others’ best traits and drawing out the worst. I listened to an interview with Tartt where she points this out and states that nobody in the class would have become a murder on his or her own. There’s a well-written scene in Heathers where Heather McNamara attempts suicide because she’s depressed but also influenced by what she thinks were her friends’ suicide. Veronica stops her and says “If everybody jumped off a bridge, would you do it?” McNamara gives a very honest and defeated, “Probably.” Both stories explore how people can and often do go against rational judgment due to the infields of the group.

/Tying it all together/

At their core, these stories are all doing the same thing: they’re showing how easily humans can be influenced by romantic ideals, and how easily they lose control of their moral judgment. The works all show that people can so dearly love the aesthetic of a person and what he or she represents that they create an illusion that masks the person’s flaws. Gatsby goes about this in a very respectful, dignified way. Heathers is full of dark humor and moments that are meant to be shocking and hilarious rather than realistic. The Secret History does a bit of both. It’s not as formal as Gatsby but not as outwardly making fun of itself and all is characters as Heathers is. It’s also partially satire but not at the level of Heathers. Heathers is literally making fun of its own genre (teen romance films). It presents itself as a cliche movie then just swerves violently into insanity and a tone that mocks all its character archetypes. TSH and Gatsby are both much more up front. As a result, there are some scenes in TSH that strike me as very Gatsby (scenes where Richard is being more reflective and philosophical) but there are also scenes that are so wild they seem to be working how moments from Heathers did.

Back to archetypes and tropes: While these stories have the same skeleton (a character facing reality after being caught up in romantic ideals), they explore things differently due to different social constructs and narrators of different backgrounds. We have an 30-year-old upper class man whom everyone treats as a secret-keeper. We have a new adult who desperately wants to put his lackluster and abusive childhood behind him. Then we have a teen girl who lacks a perspective outside the drama of high school. These narrators have personality differences and varying levels of culpability in the violence, with Richard having the most since he was a knowing participant in a murder. Veronica is next because she was part of a murder. She stuck with J.D. longer than she should have, and she covered things up, but she was also repeatedly tricked into killing when she didn’t want to. Nick rocked the boat but wasn’t a direct part of any death. It’s Veronica whotakes back the most control at the end. She lights her cigarette on the explosion that killed J.D. (which, wow, metal). She tells J.D. she wants “cool guys” out of her life then goes to get new friends and move past what happened, as arguably unrealistic as that is. Richard ends up with the least control, because he CAN’T move on; the events of the story have permanently damaged his psyche. These endings lean into different concepts: Heathers lets the protagonist triumph and embrace her lesson. TSH focuses on how immorality has lasting effects on the soul. TGG ends by showing pity for people like Gatsby.

This is the same for J.D., Gatsby, and Henry. They’re very different kinds of people which provides variation to the concept they represent. TGG doesn’t present Gatsby as evil, just tragic and wrong. He did hurt others with his shady dealings, but he’s painted as a man who still has his soul. J.D. and Henry actually have pretty intense evil in them and a clear lack of concern for human life. Nick and Richard still hold love for Gatsby and Henry, even after all that happened. Veronica completely denounces J.D.

I mentioned this in the previous post, but I just love stories like this. I love characters who get these kinds of reality checks, and I love characters who have such strong passions that they have to struggle with. All three of these stories are sharply crafted and oh so clever. They’re each so unique in the presentation of these similar ideas that none of them feel like a discount version of another. Their methods of story-telling are different, and their focuses, allusions, settings, tones, and motifs vary as well.

Wow, this is not even all I had to talk about. I could genuinely write a 40 page paper on this.

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