#also original owner gave up her body on purpose they probably had a thing going on. like hal and dave

[oedonchapeldweller]

this little crybaby bitch is ALWAYS ruining their fucking mascara

[haissitall]

Season 2 of DSMP as a wonder tale

So I’ve read Morphology of the Tale and Historical Roots of the Wonder Tale by Propp and thought, hey, why not analyse DSMP S2 as one would analyse a wonder tale based on the theories of this author? The results are under the cut.

Disclaimer: Read this through an ironic lens. I know that season 2 was (probably) not intended to be a wonder tale. However, connecting dots which weren’t meant to be connected is my passion.

1. THE BEGINNING

The tale begins with the introduction of the hero (Tommy) and his home (L’manburg and its’ inhabitants). Tommy goes out (a function of absentation, he leaves his home) and goes against an interdiction, a rule of. Uh. Not burning other people’s houses. Which, coincidentally, is exactly what the villain lurking in the shadows, Dream, needs. Dream applies trickery with the purpose of kidnapping Tommy. What happens is, quote, “He [the villain] demands or lures out his victim. Sometimes this form is a consequence of a deceptive contract.” As we all remember, the contract is exactly what took place.

This leads to Dream taking Tommy with him, or a departure.

2. THE EXILE

Here we have to talk a bit about Historical Roots. Propp suggests that the root of such a tale lies in the ritual of initiation, which in itself is based on the idea that the initiated goes through death, being in the world of the dead and returning, resurrecting, being born anew. Such rituals were practiced in secret, children were taken to a small hut, usually in the woods, and had to go through some trials, sometimes purely ceremonial, sometimes actually quite cruel, to make them believe that they are going through death. After such a ritual they were meant to become adults and receive some kind of magic powers, usually connected to the powers of talking/luring/becoming like the animals. In fairytales it is represented by the hero encountering some kind of a small structure and meeting a character, a donor, who puts the hero through some kind of a trial (sometimes just giving them a question and waiting for the correct answer) and, after that, giving the hero a magical object/entity/ability, the helper. But, as the rituals became more and more obsolete, people’s opinions of them started to change, they stopped seeing them as necessary, as good. Thus the witch in the hut becomes stricktly evil, a hostile donor, the trial with fire - burning in the stove, and the children are meant to escape and punish her.

With all that said, let’s look at the exile and its attributes.

1) Dream takes Tommy on a long journey by water. Only Ghostbur, a dead man, can come with him. It is obviously meant to represent that Tommy starts crossing the line between the world of the dead and the living. The forest is replaced by an ocean, not an unusual occurance in tales. 2) They settle on a shore. Tommy is not completely in the land of the dead yet - he is at the entrance. Dream only guards this land. 3) As the first order of business, Dream builds a small dirt hut. Nuff said. 4) Dream tortures Tommy, positioning himself as a hostile donor who wants to destroy the hero. So far Dream played both the role of The Villain and The (hostile) Donor (guardian of the land of the dead), which, while unusual in the actual fairytales, is possible. 5) Dream wears a mask. Clear indication of this being picked up from a ritual. 6) Dream turns into a woman (mamacita). While it is a weird episode, with the help of The Historical Roots it is easy to explain - sometimes men who performed the ritual dressed as women. 7) Tommy goes through temporary insanity (doubting if he sees Tubbo or not) - another aspect of this stage sometimes seen in tales, connected to the mental distress children went through because of the violence and/or drugs during the ritual. 8) Dream gifts him a trident. Sadly, only temporarily. It would’ve been a perfect fit if Tommy kept it - a magic method of flying, something a donor like Dream gifts/is stolen from very often in tales. 9) Tommy “dies”. At the end of the exile Tommy actually performs a ritual, metaphorical death by jumping of off the pillar into the water. It is worthy to note that everyone thinks he is actually dead after that, which we will see come into play later. 10) Tommy leaves dirty, in rags. Usually it happens when a character returns to the land of the living, but here it can be considered as a metaphor of learning how to turn into an animal and escape Dream via such means. Quote: “In a tale, it is hard to distinguish between a dirty and an animal-like character.” Tommy, of course, calls himself a racoon. It is possible to assume that Dream somehow gave him this ability unknowingly, by giving him/making him wear dirty clothes, although there is no proof of this in the text. 11) Tommy has difficulty talking about the exile. A hero not being able to talk, especially about what happened in the magical forest, is a common occurance in tales, connected to the secrecy of the rituals. 12) Dream chases Tommy. Not immediately, but there definetely is an element of the chase. Usually this trope happens closer to the end of the tale, but it is possible to see it this early too.

3. TECHNOBLADE

We turn our gaze to Historical Roots again. Besides the witch’s hut, there is another structure a hero can see in the woods - a big house. Its attributes are usually: large size, riches/a lot of food inside, no one is home at the moment, is inhabited by men (usually several who are like brothers to each other), a secret basement. Propp explains this as reminiscent of men’s houses, somewhere where men usually lived as brothers after the ritual described above. They were still in this forbidden territory, not quite “alive”, only doing hunting. The newcomers were to serve the rest of men at first.

Now let’s look at the encounter.

1) Tommy finds Techno’s house empty. Inside, he sees riches, particularly food. He proceeds to hide there. 2) Tommy finds golden apples and golden blocks. Gold always indicates things from the beyond, and sometimes it indicates the object the hero searches for. 3) Technoblade is half-man half-pig. Being an animal/having animalistic traits is very common for all inhabitants of the land of the dead, the owners of the big house included (in some tales they are bears, for example). 4) Technoblade finds Tommy and asks to serve him for a certain amount of time. A classic trope, where Techno is clearly The Donor asking for a favor in return to which the hero should get The Helper. 5) After Tommy agrees, Techno shows him the secret basement. In tales, the basement usually contains one or both of these things: a magical object (The Helper) and dead, dismembered bodies (think Bluebeard). In our case, it’s both: the magic armour which Tommy shortly gets and the skulls. The skulls are, of course, of the people Techno’s killed, and, since he big house’s inhabitants in certain cases can be associated with cannibalism (and since Techno is a pig, a gluttonous animal), he’s probably eaten his victims as well. That’s why Tommy is so horrified when he sees them. 6) Techno hides Tommy from Dream chasing him. In this case he takes on the role of the Helper. We can also make an assumption that he grants Tommy invisibility (another very common fairytale gift). Now, was the armor Tommy got from the basement making him invisible? There is no proof in the text, but it seems logical. 7) Tommy performs Techno’s tasks, all very fairytale-like. Get him a pack of wolves, get him lost magical objects. 8) In gratitude, Techno gives the final gift - the magical axe, fulfilling his duty as The Grateful Donor. 9) Tommy returns home invisible, unrecognisable, everyone thinks that he is dead. This completely fits the trope which stems from the original meaning of the ritual - the initiated died and returned a new person. Him being invisible means him still belonging to the world of the dead.

4. TWO PHASES

This is the point where we start facing complications. After Tommy runs away from Dream and seemingly returns home, the cycle begins anew - Tommy’s home gets destroyed, he gets helpers, has to seek Dream out etc. The fairytale having two “phases” is not uncommon. Propp: “Development from Villany or Lacking to Wedding or any other resolution can be called a tale. The resolution can be <...> escape from a pursuer. Such a development can be called an act (a phase). Each new Villainy, each new Lacking creates a new phase. One tale can have several phases. <...> One phase can follow another, but they can intertwine as well, the first phase can halt, a new phase gets inserted.” I presume that this is what we’re dealing with here. While there is not a lot of connecting tissue between the phases in our fairytale, there is proof that they are parts of the whole. For example, a tale can be considered whole if “a magical object, received in the first phase, gets used in the second”, which, in our case, is the axe.

So let’s look at how the second phase begins.

1) Tommy gets accused of something he hasn’t done. In tales the second phase usually begins with the hero being unrecognised while a false hero claims the reward. Here we see a very different form, but the motif of a certain substitution and of the hero having to prove himself again is still here. 2) Dream is, again, the Villain, tricking Tubbo into giving away a magic object, the discs. The discs are seemingly a talisman, providing the city of L’Manburg with protection. Without them, the city is open for an attack.

5. THE DRAGON

The dragon, according to Propp, is a very complex character with a lot of meanings. Firstly, it needs to be said that the dragon can be any animal. Usually it is, of course, a serpent, but in a lot of cases it is a fish or something else. So, the dragon is someone who swallows, thus, in come cases, taking the hero to the land of the dead in his belly or having the land of the dead right inside of him. Inside, the hero can find riches/magical objects. This is, again, connected to the initiation ritual, with the hut sometimes being seen as an animal, swallowing the initiated. As the public opinion about such rituals changed, the dragon morphed: a good guy who gratiously spits you out > you have to make him spit you out > having to cut your way out > someone else cutting you out > just killing him with the threat of swallowing being only a threat. The dragon has a lot of attributes, sometimes all of them at the same time. The dragon is associated with water (he’s a fish or controls the rivers or the rain etc), with mountains (caves), fire (breathes fire, guards a river of fire) and being able to fly. The dragon sometimes has a lot of heads, multiplying his ability to swallow.

With this said, let’s look at who destroys L’Manburg.

- Technoblade can fire rockets. He wears red. He has a golden crown and an intrinsic connection to gold with his simularity to a piglin (gold, according to Propp, is a metal of the sun, of fire). In addition to that, Propp has an example of a fairytale where the serpent turns into a giant pig. Also, let’s not forget that Techno can float while firing rockets. - Philza has a flying element to him. - Dream has a connection to water (took Tommy to exile by water), has a connection to the land of the dead (see exile), and mountains (first met Techno on the cliff near the sea, again, water). In the first season, Wilbur called him a lizard. Later you will, of course, see that Dream has even more simularities with the dragon.

But who is the dragon? The answer is simple: all of them are part of the same creature. Three heads of one body, all representing certain aspects of the dragon. Usually the dragon is a hybrid between a serpent and a bird, but here we see an addition of a pig. I don’t see why not.

6. THE SECOND JOURNEY

After an act of villainy (the destruction of L’Manburg), thus, another exile, Tommy has to embark on another journey to the beyond to prove himself. Now he has more of a purpose, he has to search for the magical disks, a very fairytale motivation, and, supposedly, slay the dragon as revenge. Tubbo also somehow plays into all of this. I would say that Tubbo is very close to being The Princess. Dream doesn’t kidnap Tubbo, but he later holds him hostage and threatens his life. It is not accidental that the season ends with Tommy and Tubbo sitting on the bench together - not like Tubbo was the second main character; Tubbo is Tommy’s prize along with the discs.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. With typical for the second phase swifteness, we go through:

1) Tommy getting a crossbow from Ghostbur. Ghostbur is a classic Donor, he is the grateful dead realtive, a very common trope for Donors. 2) Tommy acquires Punz as his Helper by bribing him.

7. THE FINAL BATTLE

During the final, we see all the previous elements, repeating in perfect harmony.

1) Tommy has to get to Dream by boat. See getting to the place of the exile. He’s returning to the land of the dead. 2) He has to have a magical object, a compass, to lead him there. Dream again becomes a Hostile Donor when giving it to Tommy. 3) Dream is on the giant mountain, guarding the entrance to where the discs, the searched object, are. A classic place for a dragon to be. 4) Tommy uses the axe and the crossbow to fight Dream, utilizing his Helpers. 5) However, he wins with neither: Dream leads him to the cave deep underground. I would suggest that this can be interpreted as dragon Dream swallowing him. 6) Inside Tommy finds himself deeper in the afterlife. Here he sees the disks on the golden blocks (remember what gold means? the beyond and the searched object) and dead animals, Henry and Friend, just in case you still haven’t realised that this place is where the dead go. 7) Only the third (three - a magic number in tales) Helper, Punz, cuts Tommy out of the beast’s belly in complete compliance to tales’ canon. Usually the one to win is not even the hero, but his helpers. However, the helpers act on the hero’s will, are continuations of him and his virtues, are him in a way. 8) Tommy hears dead Wilbur afterwards. Why? Because Tommy himself just returned from the land of the dead, of course. 9) Tommy slayed the dragon, got the searched objects and Tubbo. And they lived happily every after. Or, at least, in this fairytale.

8. THE CONCLUSION

There is none. Make of this mess what you will.

It is interesting, however, that season 2 so heavily foreshadowed: Dream standing between the lands of the dead and the living (driving the boat, guarding the cave, later - conducting the train and literally resurrecting people); Tommy dying and being ressurected.

Tommy’s prison visit is a perfect miniature of the initiation/the tale actually. 1) The Prison stands on water, but to get there you have to get into a small house on the land. You have to go through the portal, wait, and then get through it again - a very magic-esque procedure. 2) The Prison is massive, much like all the castles in the beyond. 3) The guard has to let you inside. The guard is not human. The guard wears a golden crown. 4) You have to go through trials to get inside, including the trial by water (swimming through the tube) and fire (walking through lava). 5) In the end, Tommy dies, gets resurrected and walks out. Everyone looks at him differently now. The only thing in this which doesn’t fit the unsual tale format, is that Tommy gets nothing out of this. No rewards, no money, no princess :(

Cheers, thanks for reading! uwu

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

Thoughts about OFA and AFO

DEKU'S ROLE

After reading the official translation of chapter 304, things started to settle a lil bit better. My thoughts about Deku being the perfect vessel for OFA are still not positive, because I don't really see the need to impose this element on the narration. Yes, it's interesting to note that Deku is going to be the last user of OFA, but Horikoshi could've made this a fact even without transforming him into the perfect wielder by definition. OFA is a deeply problematic power after all... It literally sucks the life out of its user and requires a lot of training to be employed without risks. It was cultivated with the sole purpose of defeating AFO, which is coincidentally responsible of its creation. A power birthed by the personification of evil, that can easily kill its owner and carries multiple personalities within itself. I don't really see what's so beautiful or desirable about it. It's almost a parasitic entity that wants to destroy its swore enemy at all costs. OFA is more of a burden than a blessing, it even forced the fourth to live in hiding (he was already an ermit, but he had to make sure AFO didn't find him so he completely left all civilization) and literally cracked his body until he died of old age at 40!

So, I think it's perfectly legit to wish for the end of OFA's legacy. If Deku defeats AFO, there's no need for such an insanely powerful weapon to exist. Once it extinguishes its purpose, it has to disappear, because it's too dangerous and too difficult too control.

I find a wasted opportunity stating that Deku will be that last user only because he was born quirkless. It'd have been way more interesting if Deku himself understood the implications of such power and by his own free will decided to put an end to this cycle of violence.

The premise of the main fight in my hero academia is basically a feud between brothers, a family affair, that has been blown out of proportion by the mere existence of quirks/super powers. Two people didn't get along and literally made the whole japan their playground... It's not fair for all the generations that got involved and apparently Deku is the symbol of the "new" that needs to adjust the "old" way of things. However, if Deku is still so linked to the past, mainly because he has multiple past users within his consciousness that constantly tell him what to do, I don't really see how he's going to take his own path, to actually embrace his own agency. Nana's request to kill Shigaraki is probably a way to show us (the readers) where Deku wants to take all this. He's not capable of just go and kill Shigaraki and he also apparently decided to "save" him. So, I think the point will be to "kill Shigaraki Tomura" while "saving Tenko Shimura". I don't know if Deku, as he is right now, can accomplish such a thing, but we'll see.

SHIGARAKI AND AFO

There are still a lot of things that cannot be easily explained, especially if we think about Shigaraki and AFO's encounter.

Is it really plausible that AFO just happened to find Nana's nephew wandering the streets after he killed his whole family? Isn't it too convenient that AFO managed to get his hands on the perfect child to exploit and manipulate, a child with the most useful family background and trauma? Even if I think it's possible this is another parallel between Deku and Shigaraki, as they apparently are just born for their respective role and have been chosen by faith, I still don't see how AFO's actions can be ruled as a simple struck of luck. He's canonically a master manipulator after all, and he had to chose the next vessel for not only his power, but his concience too.

So I think he knew Nana abandoned her son. He observed the family for a long time and he probably had something to do with the sudden awakening of Tenko's power. The boy was five, a little older than any child with a manifesting quirk and this fact alone is suspicious. I will not be surprised if AFO actually gave him his power (remember the suit-guy who accompanied Tenko home?) and stirred the pot waiting for the tragedy to unfold.

At this point in the story Shigaraki is already not so fond of his master anymore. He knows he has been used and he doesn't like this situation at all. He wants to be free and in control of his own actions, but he knows his body is still recovering and he can't do much to oppose AFO's will. I wonder what would happen if Shigaraki knew AFO was partially responsible of his past suffering... That would probably be the drop that breaks the camel back for their struggling relationship.

This could lead to a team up between heros and villains to defeat AFO, but still Deku has to deal with Shigaraki himself too, sooner or later.

THE VESSELS

Everyone is speculating about 2nd and 3rd user, aka the time out boys. Some theories intrigue me more than others, but I want to say this right now: if the time travel bullshit turns out to be true and the two guys are actually Bakugou and Kirishima from the future I will seriously drop this manga. Time travel is tricky to deal with per se, but if you try to trivialize it to make it suitable for a shonen manga which is already full to the brim, it's basically the recipe for a disaster. I will not talk about this, but there is one theory that picked my interest:

All Might said OFA cannot be taken by force, but it can be given without the consent of the receiving part.

So what if the 2nd user gave the power to the 3rd without his approval, condemning him to a life of running and fighting against an insuperable evil force?

This could explain why they are facing the wall and aren't partecipating to the meeting. The 2nd is shunned by the others for his actions and the 3rd just doesn't want to have anything to do with OFA and AFO. He couldn't chose in life, but he can chose now not to take part to this.

Another possibility I think could be fun is:

What if one of the anonymous vestiges (probably the bakugou look alike) is a fragment of AFO's consciousness?

We know AFO gave the stockpiling quirk to his brother and we also know AFO's quirk is the capability of taking and landing quirks as he sees fit. When Tomura got the original AFO quirk, his master's personality came with it. I know it might be far fetched, but since AFO gave his brother the stockpiling quirk, it's possible a fragment of his own personality came with it.

This is actually the hypothesis that convince me more:

One of the vestiges might be the residual personality of the stockpiling quirk original owner

Presumably AFO took the stockpiling quirk from someone else... So when he gave it to his brother, the consciousness of its past user was left attached to it.

So that's everything from now. Feel free to interact, I'm all about conspiracy theories and confrontation

[abbydramarambles]

The REAL Ending CLOY

This is my headcanon and you can’t tell me otherwise. The epilogue in Switzerland is set a few years after the events of that piano concert. They have already found a way to be together more permanently. To me the house doesn’t seem like a vacation house, it seems like a home home. 

There is that photo of Se-ri on the bridge, not something one would frame for themselves. RJH definitely lives there. Check out the north Korean coffee kettle and other souvenirs as well. This is the sort of stuff one would have in their home.

The only thing holding RJH to North Korean is his parents, the fact that they could be killed if he were to defect. After they die, he has no reason to stay. We’ve already been shown that he is resourceful and would know exactly how to get out. Not to mention that everything in north Korean runs on money, if you have connections like Se-ri and RJH do....anything is possible. And to me these two people with all their power, well they would find a way.

Dan’s mother travels out of the country a lot as well for business. I think the 2 weeks is the longest trip Se-ri takes while RJH’s parents are alive. It’s not the only trip of the year. I doubt her employees would be saying “you’re going to Switzerland again??” if it was a once a year sort of deal they wouldn’t think she had a man. They even say “it’s lasting a while this time”. Come on who in the world would think it’s a relationship if their boss goes to switzerland for 2 weeks a year. It’s her favorite 2 weeks of the year because of it being uninterrupted time. 

Well with her wealth and his determination, and connections via his family, I'm sure they'll find a way eventually, either it is his parents passing away (since it has been about 6 years between him going back to NK and the epilogue meetup), or him somehow getting a long term mentoring position at Switzerland. You’re telling me Dan’s mom a department store owner can swing to Europe anytime, and Se-ri who created a whole scholarship for her man can’t swing something in collaboration with Papa Ri?

I got the impression the student performing his song on stage was a full-time student in Switzerland. RJH is not studying abroad but is teaching NK scholarship winners. Seri has been traveling back and forth a lot but these two weeks are the longest continual time they have together. 

When Seri first sees him in Switzerland she asks how dangerous his journey was, and he didn’t answer, just said he got on the wrong train but reached his destination. “Destination” implies a final location to me, not just a two-week stay. For two people who find it torturous to be apart for even a moment, destination would not have been thrown around like that. It could’ve taken his Dad some time to manage the politics to make a permanent teaching position with the National Symphony. He did see his son cry in the car after leaving her. That man is powerful, the 3rd most powerful man in North Korean. A political manipulation genius, a man always one step ahead of the others. He got his son and 5 people in and out of South Korea. You best believe he can make it happen. He’s not going to sit back and leave his only son living without his only dream. Plus RJH was never a flag waving patriotic North Korean anyway. He already expressed that he wanted to stay with SeRi in South Korea, have a child that looks just like her. It’s kdrama script writing 101 to not have your lead character mention a deep desire such as this one unless its foreshadowing or serves a larger purpose. And Park Ji Eun is no noob writer. 

Let’s look at the way the show itself references fate and destiny. Regardless of how impossible it may seem, these two always managed to find each other again. Fate is pushing them together and is on their side. I don’t think fate wants them to meet 2 weeks a year. Fate didn’t make them meet in Switzerland, in North Korea, in South Korea, and in Switzerland again for 2 weeks a year for the rest of their lives. I can’t entertain that.  A lot of people think that the epilogue on the hill and when she meets him for the first time again in Switzerland with the parachute are the same time frame. I don’t think so. I really do think the piano concert is the ending and the picnic is the epilogue. It’s years from then, when everything has been sorted about how to be together permanently and it’s a window in to happy every after. Just look at their body language and expressions in the last scene, they are totally at peace and seem to have gotten everything they wanted. Even the music radiates peace. Listen to the lyrics of Sigriswil that play as the camera pans out “wandering this strange night, won’t you be here by me? now I hold your hands, with you I’ll be alright...how does it feel, my friend? It’s been a long day and night” THEY ARE NO LONGER WANDERING ALONE THAT IS THE POINT. period. It was a “long day and night, but now I hold your hand” ... how does it finally feel to have your happy ever after....my friend. IT REEKS OF OPTIMISM and closure. In film making the atmosphere says everything about what is unsaid in the script. 

You best believe he won’t leave a stone unturned to be with her, see her grow old and live in the house of dreams with their twins. Just the fact that he vocalized this thought in the show leads me to believe that it did indeed happen. 

Believe in what the show is telling us to believe. What it’s showing us, not telling us even. That love will always find a way. 

Cloy’s ending also reminds me of  very heavily of (spoiler) that of “my love from the stars”. It was written by Park Ji-eun, the same writer as CLOY. So yes they are forced to be apart in that show too, but he finds his way back and each time they meet its for longer and longer and its implied that one day it will be forever. If an alien could find a wormhole to make it back to his love interest, north korea isn’t looking too bad. Same thing with her other star crossed lovers show “legend of the blue sea”. The mermaid finds him again against all odds and they live happily ever (plus a baby). Hey I’m just saying that the precedent has been set on how this seperation works through our writers own works. Having seen all of Park Ji Eun I know exactly how she structures her endings. It’s almost always the same. The mermaid made it back, the alien made it back...north korea is where we draw the line? They’re only apart for awhile till they figure it out, and they work hard to do so.

Whatever this image is from TVN left it unaired. They shot something they had to pull back. My crack theory brain says she looks a bit pregnant. Actually, that ain’t even a crack theory, I stand behind it. Son yejin is so slim, and judging by the material of the dress it just wouldn’t fall like that unless they were trying to make her look pregnant. Like LISTEN, just LISTEN to me. They put in the effort to get the actors in these outfits we have never seen before, they even gave seri flowers...whY?? There are no other purely promo shots that didn’t have footage attached. The only ones I can think of are the ones they took in front of a greenscreen for the photoframes inside their house. THIS WAS A REAL SCENE THAT WAS DELETED.  South Korean dramas pre-film certain scenes (like the swiss ones) and live film the others to make slight changes to the storyline based on audience reaction. During airing there was quite a lot of political backlash a la north korea. 

There are some stills TVN released that weren’t screencaps. But ALL of them were in outfits relating to scenes we have seen, such as this one.  It just would make no sense for them to go out of there way to get this image on the jam packed expensive swiss schedule and not just do greenscreen in korea like they did for all the other promo material UNLESS it was a real scene. 

So you want more evidence for plot points that indicated the original, unaired, together forever in Switzerland ending?

Let’s look at some details, at one point in Episode 14 when Jeong Hyeok's father is meeting with the bad guy Senior Colonel who tries to use photos of Jeong Hyeok in Korea as a bargaining chip, he says "You should retire quietly. Using your health as an excuse won't raise any suspicions." now whilst this may be a casual reference to him being old and that health issues are plausible, it's also possible Jeong Hyeok's father has had some long term illness they've not mentioned which would add to why it wouldn't raise suspicions.

The main reason I thought of this is it would sort of line up with some other details, in the finale when they're deciding whether to send them back or not, at the NIS briefing they mention how the North has requested keeping it quiet and confidential, they mention "They want the confidentiality term to be five years. They're being sensitive about it because one of them is a high-ranking officers son". Then if we fast forward toward the end when Se-ri is receiving the timed messages, a year passes after her birthday message from Jeong Hyeok, after that scene we see Jeong Hyeok having his farewell meal with the townspeople and preparing to leave after being accepted as a pianist for the National Symphony Orchestra, presumably around the same time as Se-ris birthday given that scene was right before. Se-ri then comes up with her Switzerland Music academy idea probably a few weeks or month or so after she read RJH's text about meeting and then it tells as it's one year later, Se-ri waits but doesn't meet him and returns home, her mum says "It breaks my heart to see you return in disappointment every time" which if that's a correct translation it means it's been more than once by this point. Add up this entire timeline....guess what it comes out to. FIVE YEARS. That’s how long it takes them to sort out a permanent solution for their problem.

When he chooses to defect it will be much easier for him considering he’s making trips to Switzerland already. All he would have to do is walk into a South Korean embassy in Zurich. They have an open door policy for North Koreans, he doesn’t even need to cross the DMZ again. 

You want even MORE proof? Okay my friend, I’ll bite. Why are there photos of a couple with children?? Honestly come on I really don’t have to say more.

They had to leave the ending open. Due to the political situation, they couldn’t exactly show RJH, a North Korean, defecting. Pretty sure our buddy Kim Jong-un would not be chill with that.  However ridiculous it is, the show had multiple attacks on it while it was running by political parties saying it violated the “national security act”.

The ending was clearly cleverly re-edited to be less explicit so the viewer can read between the lines but the show-runners can protect themselves from lawsuits and public sentiment regarding a sort of maybe illegal situation. If you believe they met for two weeks a year for the rest of their lives, you don’t know RiRi Ri-eally well ;) 

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Chanyeol x Reader: a day from humble slave’s life. [+18]

Word count: ~5k 

Warnings: s*xual themes, slavery, objectification, minor fat shaming. Please, don’t mistake this with non-con, for it’s not, but if you feel like an impression may trigger you too, simply don’t read it.

This is a fantasy. As much as I tried to portray Chanyeol’s personality accordingly, it has little to do with how I see him as a person, and - especially - with who he really is. Nonetheless, this is NOT meant to insult anyone.

The story was originally a birthday gift for my friend, and therefore, Reader’s age is specified and it’s also mentioned to be her birthday - forgive me that ^_^

7 A.M.

Even before your eyes open, the first streak of consciousness is how you welcome the world.

It’s not going to be a good morning, you think at first; your eyes are sticky as soon as you try to pry them open, your muscles ache, your hair is a mess. How disgraceful, you think. You can’t show yourself to the world like this. Thank God for the attached bathroom.

Look pretty, you were once told, that’s all you can do well.

The words, back then, didn’t sound half as appreciative as you considered them now. But with time, they became a motto, a goal, a purpose. They did say that you’re not good for anything else, but they also said you’re good at this one thing.

Look pretty for the one who deserves it. Whatever your Owner shall want to do with your body, you shall obey.

And if He doesn’t say anything, if He doesn’t even look at you, living His life as if you didn’t exist, then the least you can do is be pretty as to not offend Him: you owe Him your best quality, after all.

The shower is over, the make-up done, the clothes, selected carefully, wrapped around your silhouette as to expose what’s the best in it. The corset is so tight it hurts. But it’s worth it if that’s what He wants.

Off to eat a breakfast. The corset’s gonna get even worse after you eat, but that’s also the price you agree to pay. Eat, to stay healthy: not stuff yourself, not pleasure yourself with sweets. Eat to stay healthy and not cause Him any problems, so that your body stays in the best shape. He expects no less.

He’s there, you realize with surprise. He doesn’t stay around too often and usually doesn’t eat the breakfast at home. But He’s there, sitting in the dining room. Someone is serving Him a breakfast: one of many others, men and women, that He owns. They’re useful, you think. They can cook, they can keep the house clean.

All you can do, is to look pretty.

So you bow deeply as soon as you see Him, and when His gaze finally meets yours, you kneel on the floor next to the door, eyes on the ground as to not annoy Him, letting Him enjoy the sight of what He owns. It probably looks weird, you think, a woman kneeling on the floor with other people around, not an intimate situation at all – she’s not His lover, after all, just a property.

You don’t know if He looks at you, but your posture is perfect as if He did.

When He stands up and goes to the door, you dare not to look up.

When He’s right next to you, His fingers find your lips and put a small chocolate on your tongue, a token of approval; the chocolate is so, so good that you melt in its taste, and you take as much of it as you can, playing with it in your mouth long after He leaves without a word.

*

10 A.M.

Everyone knows, more or less, what’s His job: the exact crimes remain unknown, though, and His secrets stay safe: no one in the house would ever dare to spread them around. And it’s not like it’d be easy to do, either – only some of you are allowed to leave the house in the first place, and you’re not one of these. There’s no reason for you to leave, anyway, since everything you’d need: cosmetics, clothes – there’s nothing more you’d need, right? – other people only give you, and you’re given the exact things that suit His taste, no room for you to do wrong. There’s no reason to give Him surprises, either: you’re like a product, a window’s curtains that are changed to their owner’s liking, not picked randomly in a shop, but chosen by what he likes and what suits the rest of the house.

Your dress now is made of the same purple fabric as sofas in the living room when you’re called over and enter the spacious room with huge windows; a few familiar faces sit in various places all around – not your friends by any means, but people you just saw here before.

“Are you, for real?” one of them says. Your Owner laughs in response.

“See for yourself, Xing” He answers and motions you over.

A small movement of His fingers, a signal you’ve been taught long ago.

On your knees, it says, and you instantly catch the cue, a bit nervous at first, glancing at the stranger’s face just to make sure he’s alright with it: out of pure politeness, because you know that even if he didn’t like it, you’d still do it – it’s not him you’re here to obey, after all.

You don’t ask questions as you unzip his jeans, all the modesty gone as your lips wrap around his cock, as casually as it’d be to hand him a glass of water, no objections: you’re so good, so obedient.

You glance to your side with your eyes slightly blurry from tears. You see an amused, but content smile on your Owner’s face and that’s all the motivation you need to grow bolder, to suck harder. Your throat is not so good just yet, it still needs to get better, you realize, and you choke yourself on the man’s length, punishing yourself for not being good enough. It amuses them. You feel their eyes on you, a quiet sound of someone taking a photo, tears run down your face, your makeup smudged, your hair messy from where the man grabbed it, holding onto it as he set a righter pace for you to follow.

When he cums, you hold still. You swallow what you’re given.

“Thank you, sir” you say in a rough voice, your throat strained. The man smiles at you kindly, and you can’t help but smile back.

You know better than to ignore your Owner any longer though, and you turn to face Him, still on your knees of course, eyes on His shoes.

“Look at me” He instructs. You obey.

He stares at you with a smirk.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir” you reply honestly.

“You can go. Don’t interrupt us.”

Your duty is fulfilled. It feels so good to be useful.

*

1 P.M.

You’ve been sitting in your bathtub for what feels like hours, but it’s okay, it feels good, the water stays warm, your bathroom is so luxurious you can’t help but savor every minute of having access to it: not owning it, of course, but it’s nice nonetheless.

Everything in this room belongs to Him: the tub with heating system, the thick walls, the expensive cosmetics and the softest towels, and, of course, you.

How much do you love to be owned? He asked you once: do you like where you are, what you are?

Yes, sir.

Don’t you just say that to please me?

I mean it, sir.

Do you, really? Come here, then. Show me how grateful you are. Let your mouth convince me, but not with words.

It felt intimate, to be allowed so close to the one you looked up to. Being allowed to please Him was a blessing, and you wished you’d do it more often, but never dared to ask: you’re too low to demand His attention, so even if He was to say no, it’d be a waste of His precious time to consider your plea in the first place.

So instead, you savored every moment He allowed you, as much as you savored the memory of His small groans, the way He relaxed under your fingers, leaning back in His armchair and not even looking at you, but clearly enjoying this little paradise His humble slave served Him. Oh, how well He trained you, you know just what to do to make Him feel good. He deserves the best of you for He’s the one who gave it to you in the first place.

The memory sends a pleasant tingling down to your core and your fingers instinctively reach down, willing to relieve yourself.

But you stop yourself halfway.

You’re not meant for receiving pleasure, stupid, you remind yourself. There’s a smile on your lips at the thought. You’re good, you won’t do this, it’s not something He’d enjoy knowing of, and therefore there’s no reason to do it.

You choose to stay desperate and you’re proud of this choice.

There’s knocking on your room’s door.

“[F/n]? You’ve been sitting there for ages. Come out, I have something for you!”

“Ah, five minutes!” you call back.

“I’ll wait, then!”

You choose to rest just a little bit longer. She can wait, you decide. The water is just too warm.

*

1:30 P.M.

“Seriously, I thought you died in there” are the first words you hear upon leaving the bathroom. Your friend seems annoyed and it’s, truthfully, justified. But then her face brightens up. “Ah, look, I’ve got something good!”

She has boxes with various types of food sprawled over your bed, variety of tastes, mostly healthy, but some sweets as well, and these are mainly things you haven’t tasted in ages since you didn’t really consider yourself worthy of such luxury.

But then, you haven’t seen her lately, you missed her: she always brings something good to share, either be it food or jewelry you can wear for some time before returning it. These are little breaks in your routine, small pieces of something different than you usually experience. It’s good to recall how usual, human life looks like, even if you’re back to your own usual self soon later.

You notice a new, leather collar wrapped around her neck. You feel like you’d look good in one if you had it, too. Your Owner just never thought of idea as such, but who knows, maybe He’ll see her and decide it’s a good one? You can always hope for it.

“What’s that?” you ask, picking a random box. It smells good, sea-like.

“I have completely no idea, but it tastes good” she replies, stuffing her face with some vegetables she holds with sticks. You learned already that as much as she likes food, she never uses her brain to memorize any dish names. It’s not like she has too much brain to begin with, so who cares, anyway. She’s not a cook, but a slave like you, a different kind, but just as devoted and happy with her place. “Ah, try this.” She fetches some sort of candy and puts it by your lips, reminding you briefly of what happened this morning. You take the candy, it melts in your mouth almost instantly.

A few seconds later, her lips are on yours instead, and you taste the pepper with cinnamon she just ate; it’s a strange connection, but it tastes good, and, somehow, it suits the candy’s flavor still present on your tongue.

You feel stiff at first, but quickly melt into the sensation. You weren’t caressed like this in ages, your mouth has only one purpose on daily basis; it feels nice. Her hand is soon on your breast, squeezing it through the thin fabric of your silk bathrobe. She doesn’t wait long before pushing the fabric off you, your fresh and clean body, exposed to the air, getting still hotter with every passing second.

The door creaks and you two finally part; your eyes are on the man that stands in the door frame, his eyebrows raised at your friend as she lets out an awkward laugh.

He rolls his eyes, only half-amused with what he just saw.

“We’re going home” he says sternly. Then, without bidding you a good-bye, she gets off the bed and runs to him, and soon, you’re left alone. You didn’t even notice that your robe was off all this time.

But at least you get to keep the food, right?

*

5 P.M.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He doesn’t invite you over for dinner often, so you try to enjoy it as much as possible. Yet, your stomach is still full – it wasn’t a wise choice to eat that much at once. You feel like you will blow up if you eat a gram more of the pork in front of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m not hungry, I ate earlier” you explain yourself. It’s not a reply that satisfies Him, but He doesn’t pry, and you hope that He will just brush it off.

“Eat.”

You don’t object, you know you can’t. Your stomach is so full you want to throw up. You take a bit of the pork and slowly munch on the meat, hoping that it’ll become more bearable with time. You don’t want to stretch your stomach like this, you’ll feel hungry more often, and what will He say if you gain weight?

You have to endure.

“What did you eat?” He asks.

“Quinoa with vegetables, fish, oats with milk, candy” you answer truthfully. There were some other funny combinations that you consumed, but you decide these are the essentials.

“Hmm, that sounds like a lot. What if you get fat?” He asks calmly.

“I, uh… I don’t think it’s possible if it’s just one time” you try to state so as humbly as possible, but you feel like no matter what you said, it wouldn’t sound good. Maybe you should have apologized instead? Asked Him to be merciful?

“Are you trying to argue with me?”

“No, sir” you answer instantly, your face showing fear at the thought; you wouldn’t dare, no, never. He seems to see it, the way you shiver at the accusation, and He smiles. You’re relieved. You know that He may punish you, that He may use it as opportunity to give you pain, and even tell you that you deserve it – to not feel bad about doing it to you. However, knowing that it’ll give Him satisfaction, that He won’t do it because He’s authentically mad at you, but just wants to play with His toy, is what makes you happy and excited for what’s to come.

For now, at least.

“I thought so” He just says and goes back to His meal.

Just as He told you to, you continue to eat your portion, trying to stuff yourself as much as possible, knowing that your stomach will hurt even more, and thanking God for not wearing the corset any longer.

“On your knees” He suddenly says when you’re almost done. You don’t object, you do as you’re told. “Crawl there” He motions you to sit nearby, not too close to him, off the rug and on the cold panels, hard under your knees.

He leans chin on His hand, watching you, almost bored.

“Make yourself vomit.”

You swallow your saliva nervously and glance up at Him, hoping that He’s just joking, testing your reactions. His face doesn’t change though, and, as you hesitate, His eyebrows raise in doubt. Will you do it? Will you humiliate yourself as a punishment? Will you ruin yourself once again, not through sex, but through being genuinely disgusting in front of Him?

Will He even like it? How could He enjoy such sight? Won’t He feel sick, since He barely just ate? Is it really what He wants?

“What are you waiting for? Did you not understand me? Or should I go over there and push my own fingers down your throat? That’d be so gross. You don’t want me to dirty my hands, do you?”

You quickly shake your head. Of course, no, He doesn’t need to do something that disgusting. You’ll do it, you can do it.

You push your fingers into your throat until you feel the food go back, and you close your eyes tightly, throwing up all over the floor, sensing it dirty your legs, but refusing to look at it. It feels disgusting, painful, the acidic sensation in your mouth making you want to throw up again.

“Look at me.”

You obey. Your face is still twisted in disgust and He watches you, almost unmoved with the scene that just unfolded.

“Gross. Wash the floor, and yourself. Can’t keep it clean today, can you?” He snorts. “I’m not hungry anymore” He announces suddenly, then stands up and exits the room, leaving you on your knees among your own vomit, allowing you to dwell on your pathetic, miserable self.

You sit there, breathing heavily for what feels like an hour at least.

Then you stand up, still dirty, and still disgusting, probably stinking, too.

And for some reason, it feels good, because you just did what He told you to, and there’s nothing more fulfilling than listening to your Owner’s commands, no matter how destructive and unpleasant would they be, and how unwanted and unattractive they would make you seem.

*

8 P.M.

You lie in your bed, exhausted. Your skin feels dry from all the washing today, especially since you spent so long in the tub earlier. You have your thin robe back on, and your eyes are getting sticky from how tired you are, so you close them and let your body relax. That’s so good, that’s so comfortable.

You don’t know how long you lie there, drifting off despite the early hour, before something rouses you out of the blissful state. You open your eyes and look around: the room is empty, lamps still off, but some of the street light entering through the windows allows you to see the surroundings rather clearly, especially since your eyes already accustomed with the darkness.

And said surroundings are quiet and empty, but your instinct tells you that you should get up just because, and you choose to listen to it: you’re not that tired anymore, you got a bit of rest and this day is far from over.

You stand up and turn on the lamp on your bedside table, its soft light brightening up the whole room, although not too intensely.

The door suddenly opens and a woman speaks to you from the corridor.

“Master wants to see you. Go to his room. Hurry.”

With that, she leaves, and you’re dumbstruck for a few seconds. You quickly realize your mistake: it’s not the time for you to be slow or hesitate. Whatever He wants, you’re here to deliver. It surprises you, though, He never makes requests like such. You wish to know if you should change into something more elegant, more suitable, just in case He’s not alone – the bathing robe exposes a bit too much and you’re worried that He wouldn’t appreciate it right now. Yes, more precise instructions would be appreciated.

But with what you’ve got, all you know is that you should hurry. You don’t take nor change anything, then, only making sure your hair looks presentable – the makeup is already gone, but it will have to stay this way – you fix the belt of your robe, too, not wanting it to slip by accident since you have nothing underneath.

You get up and go. You know where to go, although His room and yours are a few corridors apart – the mansion is big and you need to pass through all the most important places to get there, including the door to one of the living rooms and other servants’ bedrooms.

You knock on the door after a short hesitation: not too quiet, not too loud – it’s hard to measure, you rarely ever knock on any door, not to mention the door to His very bedroom.

“Come in.”

You open the door.

The bedroom is not that much larger than yours, but it seems more personal – there are souvenirs, ornaments, belongings that you don’t get to own, things that prove He owns this place.

And then He’s there: in sweatpants and nothing else, droplets of water randomly running down His back where He didn’t dry them with a towel, or where they slipped from His wet hair. You don’t get to enjoy the sight for long though, because He grabs a shirt and pulls it over His head, and you lower your gaze, realizing that staring probably wouldn’t be approved.

“Bend over the table” He instructs, still not looking at you. He walks around the room and enters the attached bathroom, doing all these small evening things: skincare routine, perfumes that seem to help Him sleep and so on. You stand where you were told to, trying to stop yourself from peeking curiously; it takes Him a few minutes of completely ignoring your presence before He finally sighs and turns to you.

He stands behind you, out of your sight. There’s a silence for a few moments before He suddenly pulls on your robe and throws its lower part over your upper back, exposing your behind. His hand pushes on your shoulder, forcing you lower, pressing you against the table’s surface. You don’t flinch.

“Spread your ass” He says, and you obediently move your hands to your cheeks; it feels awkward at first, the air hitting your most private parts, although you know already, there’s no private, and all of you belongs to Him only, all of you is for Him to see, judge and use. “More.”

It almost hurts and you wish you knew what exactly He sees back there; but you don’t. He doesn’t touch you, and a part of you wishes He did – you crave His touch, but you’re aware of your place, you learned to act accordingly.

You jump slightly when He unceremoniously pries your pussy open with His fingers, your hands tremble slightly – it feels so good, His fingers feel so good you could come just from feeling them on you, no matter where, really.

“I heard it’s your birthday today” He says suddenly. His two fingers dive into you and you struggle to keep your composure; your thoughts fly away before you manage to form them into an answer. He pulls His fingers out, spreading your apparent wetness all over your folds. “Is it true?” The touch disappears for a moment and you finally get a chance to breathe.

“Y-yes, sir” you force out.

“I see.”

His fingers are back there, rubbing you slowly a few times, as if checking for any deformations – of course there are none, but He checks nonetheless.

“What’s your age now?” He asks. You wonder if He really doesn’t know, it’s not like He has a reason to care.

“T-twenty one” you mumble in a strained voice.

“Twenty one. In centimeters, that’s how high heels you can only wear from tomorrow on, understood?”

“Y… Yes, sir.”

His hand must be stained with natural lubricant, you realize, as He moves it higher, smoothly pushing one finger into your ass. It’s a miracle you manage to stay still. He doesn’t dwell much on that place though; instead, He pulls out and neatly puts the robe back into place.

“Up and face me.”

Sometimes, you wish to be roughed up – to have your hair pulled roughly, to be manhandled. But He never does that. You know your place. His word is enough to make you do whatever He wants, so why be rough? He’d get unnecessarily tired, and you’re not worth of His sweat, are you?

You stand in front of Him, eyes down, His breath on top of your head, you almost feel His body warmth – you didn’t notice He’s so close, but He is, if you just reached out…

He doesn’t hesitate before pushing the robe open, exposing your front. His hand wraps around one of your breasts, squeezing it so hard and so suddenly you almost scream, your knees trembling. You force yourself to stand straight, but God, does it hurt. He pinches your nipple, no gentler, but at least doesn’t keep it for so long. He does the same on the other side, and you swear you’ll have them all purple tomorrow, and it lasted less than a minute. They hurt so much.

As soon as He loses interest in your breasts, you wrap your arms around your chest, trying to soothe it. His hand moves to your chin instead, forcing it up.

“Open” is all He says and you obey. “Wider.” You try to, but it’s not enough. Pushing fingers into your mouth, He pushes your jaws even further, to the point it hurts and you feel like it will soon break. But you don’t object. He pulls on your tongue – it’s hard not to pull back. You gag as He pushes His fingers deep, but – thank God – takes them out before you can repeat your act from earlier.

You pant when He finally retreats and the contact breaks.

“When was the last time you came?” He asks as soon as He decides you’re in the state to provide an answer.

“T… three weeks ago, sir” you mumble.

“That’s not too long ago, is it?”

“Not too long…” You whimper slightly, confirming.

He doesn’t really hold you accountable of this on usual – only when He, for some reason, feels like making you a bit more desperate, a bit more pathetic. But it’s not something that happens often. On most days, He doesn’t even care for your presence, so even if He – or anyone else He approved of – decided, on rare occasions, to use your pussy for a change, He couldn’t care less if you came, as long as you didn’t make His own experience any worse.

But then sometimes, just sometimes, He wanted to see you struggle.

“What’s the longest you went for?”

“A-a month, sir…”

“Well then, what about we make it two?”

You gulp.

“If you wish so, sir…”

“But that’s starting from tomorrow. You will come today.”

Your eyes snap up at Him as He turns around and sits back on His bed, crossing His legs leisurely. You don’t dare to move from your spot – a good choice.

“Kneel down and touch yourself. Leave the robe on, but don’t cover yourself.”

He watches you with a small smirk as you get down. Your pussy is already exposed; you spread your legs as far as you can and lean slightly forward on one hand, the other finding the most aching spots.

Your Owner watches as you start to rub yourself – and you’re shook about how little it takes for you to find yourself on edge.

“Stop.”

You press your lips together, holding back a whine that tries to push through your lips. It hurts, you wish you could just make yourself come, you’re so needy, so starved for it, it’s been so long…

“Give me your robe.”

You don’t ask. You take the fabric off, fold it neatly and stand up, head low, reaching out with your both hands. The man takes it without care, throwing it onto the floor, far from you.

“Go to your room now.”

“Yes, sir…”

You glance briefly at the clock on the wall – it’s almost nine. And you only wonder, how many people will you pass by, going through the cold corridors, with your pussy leaking and your breasts slowly turning blue.

*

11:49 P.M.

You’re asleep when the door opens again – the sound waking you up slowly, your sleepy movements incoherent as you try to turn the light on. You stop though, as, in the darkness slowly dissolving in front of your eyes, you recognize the silhouette that just welcomed you. Your hazy mind doesn’t proceed it fully though, yet, and you don’t know, what would be the right way to react – stand up? Kneel down? Out of no cue, you stay where you are, watching with wide eyes as the man approaches your bed and sits on the mattress.

His hand finds the edge of your sheets and pulls them away from your naked frame – you often slept naked, and now that he rid you off your usual evening attire, it feels like an even righter thing to do.

“S… sir…?”

“Don’t move. Don’t talk.”

You stay in your place, your eyes following every movement, and when his hand cups your sex, your breath hitches and you struggle to stay still – of course you struggle; you want to grind down, to prove how needy you are, like a bitch in heat.

But he said, don’t move. So you don’t.

He spreads your legs a bit and teases you, stretching your entrance a little just for the sake of his entertainment, like most of the things he does to you, anyway. But then he suddenly stops and starts to gently rub your clit. You press your lips together. It feels so good, so hot, you wish you could moan, scream for him.

But he said, don’t talk. So you don’t.

His other hand is soon on your hair and he pulls you up, not too gently, but not unnecessarily roughly either. His face is so close, his eyes boring into yours. What did you ever do, to deserve a proximity like this? To deserve that much attention? To deserve his hand pleasing you so well, so good?

Nothing, is the answer. You’re not worthy of it, yet he gives it to you: how generous of him, isn’t it? To be touching the filthy animal you are. He’s so good. He feels so good, and you struggle even more, trying to keep yourself together and hold back for the sake of feeling it just a little longer.

“You may come, if you want.”

“Sh… should I?”

He smirks.

“Do you want to?”

You hesitate, a second too long.

His hand disappears and you’re left panting, writhing, squeezing your legs together for friction, but feeling as though nothing can satiate you as well as his fingers did, and you finally let out a cry. How vulnerable.

When you come back to your senses, you feel his eyes on you and quickly return the gaze – you don’t want him to think you’re ignoring him, never. You may have lost your mind for a few moments, but it’s back there – figuratively, for you’re just a dumb whore, there’s no much mind left in you.

“I told you, that you will come today, but you didn’t listen.” You quickly glance at the clock – it’s 00:02. Oh, God. Oh, no. “And now that your birthday is over, I don’t need to hold back, do I?”

You want to say that he shouldn’t hold back regardless of the day, but you soon realize it probably wouldn’t be in your best favor.

And that he doesn’t really need your approval.

Please, reblog if you enjoyed!

[fabulouspotatosister]

Sugar, Yes Please

Summary: You first meet the Doctor standing in your kitchen, opening jars of sugar.

A/N: This fic was inspired by this prompt by @drink-it-write-it​ on tumblr! Originally I was going to follow this prompt to the letter, and then it went in a different direction, but that is definitely still where I got the inspiration from. Enjoy the fic!

Word Count (bc man this got LONG): 6,991

Here’s a link to the AO3 version in case you vibe with that more

The café, for all intents and purposes, was your home.

With its old polished wood floors and pastel blue walls, it was probably someone’s aesthetic dream. You could look back fondly on the long hours you spent wiping down counters and delivering coffee to the college students that frequented the place. Every round table held a wealth of memories – if you looked between the cracks in the wood, you’d find conversations, sweet words exchanged over a pastry or bitter stares over glasses of cold iced tea, each time a microcosm of human interaction. Whole lives had been lived in the Heaven Café – people came and people went, each time leaving the place a little different.

After the original owner – a lady who wore predominantly pink frocks and frilly aprons and was very young at heart – moved out of the café after she got married, she gave you the keys to the second floor of the building.

They used to call her “Miss Baker”, and insisted the nickname be passed to you when you got put in charge.

The second floor was a nice apartment with a pretty balcony and big windows that let in a lot of sunlight and/or moonlight. It was strange for the first few nights, sleeping in a bed clearly made for two, but after a few weeks, it was second nature to fall into the cozy patchwork sheets after a long day.

The Heaven Café was your home. And wouldn’t you be mad if someone broke into your home?

The moon was high in the sky that night, and its light spilled into your bedroom, illuminating all the corners of the room and bathing everything in a silver light. There was nothing but the sound of passing cars and crickets. It looked like a good night to watch the stars and fall asleep looking out the window – until you heard a strange noise from outside the window.

You sat up. It was a wheezing, groaning noise, that faded in and out, growing to a crescendo until it finally disappeared. The building was an old one. You were no stranger to strange noises in the night, it came with the territory. But that was something you had never heard before. Pushing yourself off your bed, you leaned out the window to look at the street below.

It was still the same street, save for a police box that was placed further down. Weren’t those things really old? Did anyone still use those?

There was another noise from downstairs. Something metal, clattering to the ground, perhaps a pan or a tray. And then – panicked muttering. It sounded like it was from a young man, with a British accent… What was going on down there?

You tried to make sure that your brain didn’t go to the worst possible situation – that you were being robbed. Throwing on a jacket that you had draped over a chair and turning on the flashlight on your phone with trembling hands, you opened the creaky door out of your bedroom and headed down the stairs into the café’s kitchen. Why would anyone rob you? You didn’t earn much, just enough to pay utility bills and buy groceries; you didn’t even have any jewelry! And if you had anything of value it was probably just stuff that looked expensive, like a large apple sculpture that was just plastic.

The rooms downstairs, unlike the upstairs apartments, didn’t have big windows, just windows that were enough to keep the place cool and ventilated when it got a bit too hot inside. This had the unintended side effect of making the place dark as hell when it was nighttime.

The light from your phone’s flashlight was the only thing that pierced through the darkness, your phone’s case suddenly feeling very slippery as your hands started to sweat. It’s not a robber, you thought, trying to calm the panic that was rising up your throat. It’s probably just a rat, or something. But that didn’t explain the young man’s voice, unless rats could talk now. Which was stupid, since rats couldn’t talk…

You let your rambling thoughts keep you company as your bare feet stepped against wooden floorboards. At least it wasn’t frighteningly quiet anymore – you heard the sound of something being pushed against a counter, and then more muttering. After that was the sound of someone rummaging through utensils, the clink clank of metal against metal echoing against the quiet halls of the building.

The kitchen door was closed, but light spilled out of the gap between the door and the floor.

Turning off the flashlight on your phone, you turned the device over in your hands. Would it hurt someone if you hit them over the head with it? What were you even going to say? Who are you? What are you doing here? Don’t move? You weren’t intimidating. You were dressed in loose clothes and a jacket. The worst you could do was cry for help, which would only work if anyone was still awake at this hour.

Now that you were closer you could hear shuffling, and you could hear the voice that you had heard before a little clearer – saying something about sugar.

You took in a deep breath, releasing it through your nose. Holding your phone above your head like a makeshift weapon, you reached for the handle of the kitchen door, letting your fingers curl around the old metal.

Okay. Three… two… one -!

You flung the door open – but the sight before you was enough to shock the words out of you.

You were right about the clattering noise. There was indeed a tray that had fallen on the kitchen’s tiled floor, one of the muffin trays. The rest of the room was in disarray. Most of the cupboards had been opened and ransacked, bags of flour had been laid out on the floor and someone had broken into your sugar supply, the various jars of all the different sugars laid out on a counter. And in the middle of all that, behind the counter opening one of the sugar jars, was a young man in a tweed jacket with floppy hair and a bowtie.

You stood frozen in the doorway, phone still held aloft like you were going to bring it down over his head – the young man had frozen in his tracks, his finger held in the air as he was about to stick it in a jar of confectionary sugar.

Suddenly, the young man jumped back, slamming the lid back onto the jar. “Miss Baker! I thought you were closed!” he cried, backing up against the counter behind him.

So - he was the source of the muttering and talking. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how and why he was in your kitchen at an ungodly hour raiding your sugar. And why he called you “Miss Baker”.

“How did you get in?” was the only thing that came out of your mouth. “Did you break in?”

“I expertly maneuvered my way in,” the young man said proudly. His smile fell slightly after you raised an eyebrow at him – “I broke in.”

“I should be calling the police right now,” you muttered, and the young man nodded.

“You should be calling the police. Upstanding citizen, you are – but don’t, please.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I thought you were closed, and that I could pop in for a little visit without you getting mad, but I forgot that you tend to be awake at this hour.”

He forgot that you were usually awake late at night? You didn’t even know this man. “Why the sugar?” you asked, using your free hand to gesture at the jars of sugar while keeping your other hand on your phone in case he tried anything. Which he probably wouldn’t, to be honest, as he was quite tall and lanky and didn’t look built for combat.

The young man looked at the sugar, then back to you, clapping his hands together. “I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives – they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it. Like snails to salt, or so I’m told. I was testing these to see which ones would be the sweetest – you’ve told me this before, Miss Baker, but bakers on other planets right now would be very jealous of you, perfect defense against the Yamars.”

You couldn’t even form a good coherent thought. Yamars? Other planets? Was he talking about aliens?  “You’ve told me this before”? Was this man crazy?

“I’m not –” You shook your head. “I’m not Miss Baker, you must have the wrong person.”

“No, no I’m sure I’ve got the right time,” the young man said, taking a look at his watch.

“Hang on – who are you?” you asked.

The man froze, his eyebrows raised in surprise before his face fell, disappointed.

“Oh no,” he said simply, sticking his hands in his pockets and suddenly looking very sheepish. “I’ve come a little too early, haven’t I? Tell me, do you know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?” you countered back, and the man chuckled, looking down at the floor.

“Yes, but also no. Not yet,” the man replied. He took the jar of confectionary sugar and screwed the lid on tight, then bundled it into his arms like you would a small child. “It’s complicated.”

It was definitely complicated. The young man stepped over the fallen muffin tray, grimacing at the room. He squeezed past you, still standing in the doorway, his shoes making small sounds against the floor. “I’m sorry about the mess– I really must be off, thank you for the sugar– “

“W-wait!” you cried, turning to face him, “You need to come back and explain– “

But the young man was already gone.

You shook your head, lowering your phone, suddenly very tired after all that. It had been a long night, and it was very late.

Maybe this is just all some strange dream, you thought as you switched off the lights in the kitchen. Shutting the door quietly, your thoughts still racing at a mile a minute, you pulled your jacket tighter against yourself as you began the journey back upstairs to your bed, where you could forget all about the weird events of the night. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and the kitchen will be clean. There was never a strange man there looking for sugar.

Nothing happened.

---

Something had happened.

You didn’t know why you woke up early the next day, before anyone else had arrived, to check the kitchen. Part of you wanted to be ignorant, to have one of your employees tell you that the kitchen was a mess and then tell you that it was probably rats because it should be rats – but there was another part of you that was curious, didn’t care if it killed you, and was okay with satisfaction not bringing you back.

The kitchen was still a mess. The bags of flour were still left on the floor, the jars of sugar were still arranged on the counter, cupboards and cabinets were still ajar, and the fallen muffin tray was still lying sadly on the floor.

You sighed, picking your way through the mess to pick up the tray – turning it over in your hands, it wasn’t damaged. That was good. God knows what the previous owner would do if you dented some of her equipment.

So last night hadn’t been a dream. The whole thing with the strange man asking for sugar had been unfortunately real, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your brain.

You were planning to call the police – but again, what would you tell them? A strange man broke into my establishment and took a jar of sugar. No, he didn’t harm me, he just confused me immensely. No, I can’t tell you where he went, because he disappeared. Go after him? Why would I do that? Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the door to the kitchen swinging open.

“This place is a mess.”

You turned around, muffin tray still in your hands, to see a young lady in an apron wringing her hands together – “Erica!”

“That’s my name,” Erica said, smoothing over the front of the Heaven Café’s uniform apron – hand-sewn by the previous owner for all her old employees. They were pink, frilly things. They were like hand-me-downs, and like most of the things in the building, were to be treated with the utmost care. “What did you do, boss? It looks crazy in here.”

“Long story,” you sighed, trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Erica simply hummed and made her way to the center of the room, hoisting up one of the bags of flour. Erica was a fairly new hire, but she was nice and attentive and kept the atmosphere cheery even during the rush hour. “It was a weird night.”

“I’ve had a few weird nights,” Erica said, pushing a bag of flour into a cabinet and slamming the door. Her hand hovered over the counter, then sugar jars, her palm just inches away from the sweet powder. “Ugh, what’s with all the sugar? One, two… five… one of the jars is missing.”

“That’s part of the weird night.” You opened the cabinet with all the trays and placed the muffin tray at the very top, balancing precariously on top of a mixing bowl. “Why are you interested in the sugar jars?”

“For you, boss. I don’t touch the stuff.”

You shook your head. “Well, some guy just came in and took one of the sugar jars, talking about aliens. I thought I was dreaming.”

Erica was quiet for a moment, before she asked, “What did he look like?”

“It was late, but uh…” You pressed your thumb against your temple, trying to dig the young man’s description out of your still very confused brain. “He was a tall guy? He had a British accent, he was wearing a tweed jacket with a bowtie, I mean who dresses like that these days?”

“…A tweed jacket?” Erica glanced towards the door of the kitchen.

“Exactly! It’s 2020, I don’t know why someone would be –“

“Boss.” Erica tapped your shoulder. She drew her mouth into a thin line, closing her hand into a fist and bringing it to her chest. “Your mystery guy might be here.”

“What?” You whipped around, slamming the doors to the tray cabinet shut – the metal things clattered against each other loudly and you winced. Erica shrugged, her face reflecting your confusion.

“I mean, you said no one dresses like him anymore, right? He’s sitting by the window, just reading the menu.” Erica turned to look at the door again. “I tried to approach him and he said he was looking for Miss Baker.”

“For the last time, I’m not Miss Baker.”

“You technically are.” Erica shrugged. “Do you know him?”

“Why would I know him? He broke into the building last night!” you said, raising your hands up in the air. Erica raised her eyebrows at you. “What? I’m not going to go talk to him.”

“He’s a customer. And he is your mystery man.” Erica was already making her way to the front of the café. She stopped, resting her hand on the doorway and grinning widely. “And he’s pretty cute, not gonna lie.”

You felt your face grow warm. “He’s not my ‘mystery man’, I don’t know what you’re – Erica! Erica! Get back here!”

You only heard Erica’s laugh echo down the hall. You sighed for maybe the fiftieth time that day, running your hand over your face – the day could not get any weirder.

You were about to be proven wrong.

Erica was right. Your “mystery man” (God, why were you calling him that it sounded so ridiculous) was indeed sitting by the window – his face was covered by the menu, the only thing you could clearly see being his long hair that flopped against his forehead. To someone else, he would have looked like he was reading, but there were a lot of customers like him. People that came in just to hide. And he was hiding.

From me? Why would he be hiding from me? If anything, I should be hiding from him, the weirdo…

The young man peeked over the menu, his eyes darting across the room before they finally landed on you. The corners of his eyes crinkled and even though the rest of his face was covered, you could tell he was smiling – what kind of man breaks into your home, steals sugar, disappears, and then smiles at you like nothing happened the next day?

The sight of a young man dressed in a tweed jacket and a bowtie sitting in a cute café was a lot to take in. Grabbing a spare notepad and tucking a pen behind your ear, you made your way towards the young man, plastering a smile onto your face – “Hi, welcome to Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

The young man set the menu down, and your breath caught in your throat. Erica was right again – at this point, you probably owed the girl money – your “mystery man” was actually quite cute. The young man lifted his wrist to glance at his watch before smiling nervously and setting the menu flat on the table.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said.

You customer-service smile dropped. “For last night.”

“Yes,” he replied, “although somewhat preemptively. It hasn’t happened yet. Or it will. I am sorry, though.”

“What do you mean, ‘it hasn’t happened yet?’” you spluttered, the pitch of your voice raising higher and higher and suddenly you were very glad there was no one else there in the café. “It did happen! You were there!”

“I was there!” the young man said cheerfully. “I will be there, and I know you’ll be very upset about it.”

“I am upset about it!”

The young man’s smile vanished. “Oh, you really are.”

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t hit you this notepad right now,” you hissed, your chest getting tighter and tighter, your anger and confusion mixing into one messy cocktail.

“I’m a customer, Miss Baker! You can’t harm me.” The young man leaned back in his chair. “Or maybe you can – humans, always so violent.”

Humans? “For the last time, I’m not ‘Miss Baker’.”

“Then I suppose this is when you tell me your real name.” The young man grinned, something mischievous hidden in his green eyes. “The question is, Miss Baker, who are you?”

“I asked you first.” You glanced at the clock above him – it was still early, but it was almost time for the morning rush, when all the stressed-out office workers and late university students poured in for their daily dose of coffee. You couldn’t sit here and talk to this man – no matter how many questions you had, you had a job to do. “You know what? Let me get you something, and then you can explain.”

“Right, then, I’ll have tea. A classic. Very lucrative Earth export, in about a few thousand years,” the young man said brightly. Then he frowned. “No, wine. That’ll make me look sophisticated – no, wine’s rubbish.”

Before you could interrupt that the café didn’t even serve wine, the young man suddenly looked up at you, sporting a youthful smile. “What about a banana milkshake?”

---

The young man’s name, you quickly learned, was the Doctor. This didn’t answer any of your questions, because after taking a few sips from his banana milkshake he had run out the door, nearly knocking over one of your employees, Emil, who was clocking in late.

“I’ll explain tomorrow!” he had yelled when you chased after him.

“You’d better!” you’d yelled back. You thought you heard him laugh before he disappeared behind a corner.

The Doctor didn’t come by the next day. Or the day after that.

You would never admit that the Doctor had been the only thing on your mind for an entire week. The young man had an air of mystery about him, like he knew more than he was telling you. He had the face of a child but the air of someone much older – and you had gleaned all of this just from a seven-minute conversation and a strange encounter in your kitchen. For a mystery, he was surprisingly easy to read.  

But aside from that, the week was pretty normal. It was the same old writing names on paper cups and getting flour all over your good pants. After a few days, you’d written off meeting the Doctor as a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime meeting with someone who was just incredibly unique.

Yes, it might have been a fluke, but there was a niggling sense of missing out on something – like there was a whole universe that you had just brushed against, and whole new world to explore, and you’d missed it. One thing about working in a place that’s full of life, you thought, staring out the large window in the front, where the Doctor had sat, is that you’re always just hearing about it but never living it.

“Miss Baker?”

You turned around, letting a sigh escape your pursed lips. The sound almost became a whistle. “Emil, I told you not to call me that.”

Emil – a tall, sweet man with a very big smile – actually smiled one of his famous smiles, but a bit sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt getting flour in his hair. “Sorry, it’s a habit. You know I got hired before you did.”

“That means you’re old, Emil,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Erica’s gone again,” Emil replied, “that kid. What does she do when we’re not looking?”

You shrugged, turning back around to face the window, watching the setting sun. Erica had a reputation for being young and a bit of a hotshot among everyone working at the Heaven Café. You didn’t think too much of it. “I don’t know. She is just a kid.”

“So are you.” Emil stood next to you. “But I trusted Miss Baker when she turned the place over to you. She was a good boss.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “And I’m not?”

Emil laughed, rubbing a flour-stained hand over your head, like an annoying big brother. Thank god it was closing time. “I don’t have anything against you, boss.”

The front door swung open. You and Emil turned around to see that a tall, thin man had just walked in, his hands in the pockets of a well-fitted blue suit. The man looked, for lack of a better term, sharp – not “sharp” as in “smartly-dressed”, but he had edges.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out. The man turned around, one sharp eyebrow raised. He looked like you would get a paper cut if you touched him. “It’s late. We’re closing.”

The statement came more like a question, and the man raised his eyebrow higher, if it was even possible. “Sorry. Bit rude of me. I’m looking for something.”

Oh. British. What was up the shop and attracting strange but attractive British men?

“Sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Emil said. The man hummed in response, a pensive expression on his face.

“Wrong choice of words. I’m tracking something,” the man said, pulling a screwdriver from the inside of his suit jacket. Suddenly, the screwdriver began to hum and glow blue, and upon closer inspection was not a screwdriver at all. He swept the not-screwdriver over the room. “Have you two seen anything strange recently?”

Stranger than you? “No, sir,” Emil replied, his voice tight.

“I’ve just said it, I’m tracking something!” the man said. The not-screwdriver stopped humming and glowing and the man looked into the end of it, squinting. “Ooh, that’s weird. Weird readings. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything?”

“Sorry, what are you doing here?” Emil asked, stepping in front of you. The man frowned at him.

“I’ve been following strange patterns through time, and they’ve led me here.” The man said, raising his head to meet your eyes. His eyes were brown and deep and strangely familiar. “I’m supposed to meet you. Who are you?”

Before you could even say “I could ask you the same thing”, there was a loud crashing sound. And then a high-pitched scream. Emil turned to face you, his eyes wide.

“It sounded like it came from the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Emil, I’ll go,” you said, furrowing your brows. “You stay here.”

Emil laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder. It left a flour handprint on your shirt. “Are you worried about me? You’re still young. I’ll go check it out.”

Another crash rang out – it sounded like something glass crashing to the floor and shattering – and then another sound of pain, but more guttural. It didn’t even sound human. Your stomach twisted with dread, and you glanced at the mysterious man, who nodded at Emil.

“I’ll come with you,” the man said, and Emil shook his head, already walking away.

“Stay here, sir,” Emil called out, then made his way to the kitchen. The man shook his head, chuckling.

“Sorry. I don’t have the best track record for following instructions,” he began. He paused, casting his gaze onto you – which was surprisingly intense from a man that was just so thin. Once again, a sense of familiarity struck you – you knew this man, but how? “Right, you. Who are you?”

“You first,” you countered. The man grinned.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, and your mouth fell open.

No, he wasn’t the Doctor. The Doctor was that cute floppy-haired young man in tweed you’d met a week ago. The man in front of you wasn’t the Doctor – he couldn’t be the Doctor, because – “I’ve met the Doctor,” you said, a little unsure, “and he doesn’t look like you.”

“That happens a lot,” he said absently, “I think I’ve got one of those faces.”

Distantly, you heard a yell, and another metallic clatter. Your whole body jerked in surprise – it sounded like Emil.

Before you could protest, the Doctor grabbed your hand and dragged you to the kitchen.

You tried to tear yourself away from the Doctor’s grip as he stopped just steps away from the kitchen door. The Doctor still held on tightly to your arm. The clattering and yelling continued, and now you were definitely sure it was Emil. “What are you doing? We have to go help him!”

The Doctor raised a finger to his lips, his eyes wide. “Shh! Listen.”

Among Emil’s grunts of pain and the loud sound of metal and glass crashing to the floor, there was another sound – one that was more animalistic, like the growl of a hungry beast. But it sounded strange, like there was another voice layered beneath it.

“Hungry…”

“Stay behind me,” the Doctor said lowly, and you nodded. Raising his not-screwdriver, he took slow, careful steps towards the open door. His free arm was outstretched over you.

When you finally reached the open door, you fought back a scream – surrounded by broken glass and fallen trays was Emil, his face twisted in pain as he pushed against a slimy, pulsing tentacle. Your gaze followed the writhing flesh to its owner, some kind of wriggling mass that reminded you too much of a tongue to feel comfortable with it. The wriggling mass growled, keeping Emil pinned to the floor. He whipped his head to the side and met your eyes, his whole body trembling.

“Help!” Emil cried. You sprung forward to Emil’s side and tried to grab at the tentacle’s skin – if you could even call it skin. You felt a shudder run down your spine as your own hands became covered in the slimy substance that coated it – what the hell is going on?!

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Doctor, waving his not-screwdriver at the mass of flesh. “What’s kept you hidden for so long? Perception filter? Must be a good one if it’s hidden something like you.”

You pushed against the tentacle keeping Emil pinned tightly to the floor, but it didn’t budge. “I can’t move it! Doctor, HELP!”

“What are you?” the Doctor asked, squinting at the end of his not-screwdriver.

“Ya…mar…” the mass growled lowly, and you paused. Now why did that sound…

“I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives –“

The Doctor joined you beside Emil, pointing his not-screwdriver at the tentacle. It didn’t do anything. “And what do you want?” the Doctor asked again, pressing his elbow into the tentacle and ruining his nice suit.

The mass made a low noise before speaking. “Hungry… Boss…”

You froze, your mouth falling open. Boss?

Whipping your head around to face the wriggling, slimy, mound of flesh, something caught your eye. Hanging off of it was a pink, frilly apron, now ruined and torn and slimy, hand-sewn for all of the employees at the Heaven Café… hand-me-downs…

“Erica?” you breathed out, and the mass moved, as if responding to the name.

“That’s Erica?!” Emil asked loudly.

“Boss…” it said, a young woman’s voice coming through underneath the growling, alien one. “Hungry…”

“You know her?” the Doctor asked. You shook your head dumbly.

“Employee,” was all you managed to say. “She’s an employee.”

“Whoah!” Emil gasped – he started squirming underneath the massive tentacle, as if trying to get away. A strange burning smell filled the room, and Emil started squirming harder. “What the – my clothes!”

The Doctor stared at his hands, then at his elbow – the spot that had been covered with the slime was being eaten away, revealing bare skin. “The slime’s corrosive! Wipe your hands on something!”

You quickly rubbed your palms on your own Heaven Café apron, watching as the slime you’d just wiped away ate through some of the cloth, leaving only an empty patch behind. Despite all the madness, you managed to sigh – the real Miss Baker was going to come for your head now for destroying her aprons. And for hiring a weird fleshy monster.

“What the fuck is up with weird things and ruining my kitchen?” you muttered.

“Oi, that’s quite rude,” you heard the Doctor say.

You looked up at the Doctor, who had his not-screwdriver out again. “Why hasn’t it eaten through our skin?”

“I don’t think it can. Unless – “

The Doctor was cut off by Emil screaming – the smell of something burning suddenly became the smell of burnt hair, and you assumed that if you didn’t work fast enough it would become the smell of burning flesh.

“What do we do?”

“It says it’s a Yamar, I’ve never met a Yamar!” the Doctor said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Nine-hundred years of time and space and I’ve never met a Yamar.”

“You haven’t? But you told me –“

The Doctor pocketed his not-screwdriver and pressed against the tentacle again, groaning in frustration. “I probably haven’t told you yet! Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, and all that – I don’t think I’ve met them yet!”

You blinked. The other Doctor had talked about time, and knowing the future – if he didn’t know now maybe the reason why he knew then was because…

“…they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it.”

“Like snails to salt…” you murmured. You stood up quickly, scrambling to get to a cabinet – “Sugar!”

“What?” Emil and the Doctor said in unison.

“I know what we need!” You flung open a cupboard to find your jars of different sugars, with one still missing. You took all the jars of sugar you could carry and bundled them into your arms. You opened one of the jars, taking in a fistful of sugar. “I’m the envy of bakers across the universe - Yamars don’t like sugar, so we should be able to-”

You threw the handful of sugar onto the tentacle holding Emil down and watched as it burned through its slimy coating. The mass made a shrieking noise, and retracted the tentacle, pulling it back into it’s large body.

“I’m alive,” Emil gasped, placing his hands on his chest, “I’m alive!”

“Right you are,” the Doctor said, helping Emil to his feet.

“No,” the mass gurgled, “Boss. Hungry.”

You stared up at the strange thing – you had to be dreaming. There was no way that this monster could be one of your employees. There was no way that there could even be a monster at all in your café. You had met Erica and she wasn’t like that. But there it was, standing and wriggling in the middle of your kitchen, and it had nearly eaten another one of your employees.

“Sorry, Erica,” you muttered, opening another jar of sugar, the largest one you had, “it’s been a weird night.”

You threw the jar at the wriggling mass; the sugar flew out and struck it, and the creature screamed, a terrible gurgling sound, as the sugar burned through its skin until there was nothing left but a steaming pile of slime on the nice tiled floors of your kitchen. You stared at the pile of slime, taking huge, heaving breaths like you’d just run a marathon.

A weird night. Definitely understatement of the year.

A big smile spread across your face – and despite all of the weird things that had just happened, and despite the fact that you were covered in cloth-and-flesh-eating slime, you laughed.

The Doctor ran up to you, clapping on the shoulders. “Brilliant, how did you know how to do that?”

You blinked. “You told me.”

The Doctor simply grinned. “I think it’s the other way around, Miss…”

A thought flashed through your head – it was impossible, but so many impossible things had just happened. And the Doctor was already such an impossible man - Screw it, right?

“Baker. Call me Miss Baker,” you finally said, grinning back at him. “Uh, do you want a banana milkshake?”

---

It took another week for you to convince yourself that what you were feeling wasn’t a severe case of FOMO.

The spiky-haired Doctor didn’t leave for a long time. He stayed with you until it was quite late and even after you’d sent Emil home to rest, helping you clean the glass and the slime and giving you tips on how to clean slime from surfaces. Eventually, just like the other Doctor, he left too, but he didn’t make any promises.

It still didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing when he didn’t come back the next day.

You spent a lot of nights in bed thinking about that night. It still didn’t seem real at all. All the things that had happened made the café seem like a much more magical place – it was still your home, and there were still stories to be collected and told, but now there were things that were impossible written on the walls. You couldn’t help but smile everytime you walked into the kitchen – how were you going to tell new employees that the place had been covered in slime once?

The answer was that you didn’t. As much as you wanted to tell everyone you met, probably no one would believe you – no one but Emil, who didn’t show up the next day and simply left an apologetic, but somewhat incoherent, text message.

That left you to manage most of the café. It was a slow day, with only a few people coming in and out and ordering simple orders.

That left you to do one thing you were good at – thinking. You were good at thinking. And you thought a lot about that night, and how it could have gone differently. You could have asked the Doctor to stay, or you could have asked where he was going, or you could have asked if you could go with him. A chance at a real adventure had slipped by you again.

No, you thought, screwing your eyes shut. You were home. You were supposed to be content.

“Excuse me?”

You looked up. Standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, was a very pretty young lady – her brown hair fell over her shoulders, her big eyes shining under the lights of the café. She smiled brightly at you, and waved.

“Yes, hello,” you said after a while. “Sorry. Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

“Oh -” The young woman looked up for a moment, thinking, and then she looked behind her. Standing not too far away from her was an older man, with a head of curly, white hair, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Was that a hoodie under his coat? The man nodded at her, and the young woman turned back to you. “A coffee and a banana milkshake, please.”

“Dine in or take out?” you asked, and the woman grinned.

“Take out,” she said, “sorry. We’re a bit busy.”

“That’s no problem. Just give me a minute, miss…”

“Clara,” she supplied, leaning over the counter. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

You turned away from her to prepare the coffee, grabbing a small paper cup and walking carefully to the machine. “Thanks! What’s brought you here?”

“Recommendation from a friend,” Clara said. You could still hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve heard good things about the place.”

“Like?”

“Good sugar,” she said, and you nearly dropped the cup.

You set the coffee in front of her with shaking hands and promptly made your way to the blender, the cogs of your brain not working. You dared a glance at the man Clara had come with. The two of them were talking now, their voices drowned out by the roar of the blender. Then the man had to be…

You gave Clara the banana milkshake in the paper cup and she muttered a quick “thanks” before handing it to the man behind her.

You stared at the man. He was older now, definitely different, but there was the same familiarity in his eyes. The corners of the man’s mouth lifted in a small smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you, again,” Clara said hurriedly, placing a few bills on the counter, “We’ve got to go. Keep the change.”

“No problem, come back soon,” you murmured, still looking at the man. Clara nodded at him and he seemed to collect himself, raising a hand in farewell before rushing out of the door with Clara, disappearing into the street outside.

Yeah, you thought, still staring at the spot where the two of them had been. It was definitely FOMO.

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, the sound of the door opening kept you from falling into a pit of overthinking. You wiped your hands over your new apron, ran a hand through your hair, and plastered on your best customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?” you said.

A blonde woman had walked in, dressed in a flowing lilac coat and suspenders, her smile wide and bright and awfully familiar. “I’ll have a banana milkshake,” she said, and you frowned.

What was up with people and ordering banana milkshakes today? You looked down, quickly noting the order. “Okay, ma’am. What’s your name?”

“Ma’am. I can never get used to that.” The woman smiled, adjusting a bundle of cloth in her arms. “The Doctor.”

Your head whipped up, meeting the woman’s eyes, and for all you knew the café could have disappeared – all you could see was her smiling at you, the same mischievous glint hidden behind new eyes. “Sorry I’m late, Miss Baker.”

“You already know my name,” you said. The Doctor shifted, removing the cloth from the bundle in her arms, and you gasped – it was your sugar jar, the one she had taken and promised to return, still in pristine condition with hardly any sugar removed. “And my sugar!”

The Doctor set the jar on the counter, resting her hand on it. “It’s served me well! Thank you.”

“You’re two weeks late,” you muttered, still frozen in place.

“No, I’m a few hundred years late,” the Doctor said, sticking her hands in her coat pockets. “I am sorry for that. I do lose track of time sometimes. But I did visit! You said to ‘come back soon’.”

“You were the old man.”

“Yep.”

“And the sharp man.”

“Yep, although I don’t why you call me that.”

“And the bowtie man.”

“I don’t regret the bowtie.” The Doctor pulled at her suspenders, still smiling widely. “Speaking of time…”

The Doctor stepped to the side, gesturing out the big window – there was an old blue police box parked there, standing underneath the shade of a big tree. It was the same box you’d seen, all those nights ago - “You’ve let me into your home so many times, I suppose it’s time I show you mine.”

“That box? You’re kidding.”

The Doctor shrugged, then tilted her head towards the box. “Do you want to see where I’ve been?”

And all those times you’d stayed behind, all the nights of thinking like you had missed out on something grand, something greater than you – all came flooding back. As the Doctor looked at you with wide, expectant eyes, you thought of adventure and finally living the lives you kept hearing about – and you nodded. You weren’t going to miss this chance.

The Doctor beamed, and took your hand. You clambered over the counter, ignoring all the stares from the customers – “Now?”

“When’s a better time than now?” she called back, dragging you out of the café and into another world.

And all this over a jar of sugar.

[silvershears]

Alright, listen. This book honks. And I want to talk about why. No, I'm not getting into the book review scene, but please indulge me.

I never had any intention of reading this book. I'll be up front with that.

A new coworker is a newish fantasy reader who, upon discovering that I am a long-time fantasy reader who also writes and has some vague publishing background, asked, "Would you read this book and tell me what you think? I haven't read it yet, but I'm curious to hear your opinion."

Sure. Why not. I was only 50 pages into the book I was reading at the time, so why not put that on pause and give this a go? This became infinitely more complicated by the fact that my new coworker is acquaintances with his wife, and then add in that I've met this author, had a bad interaction, and decided I never wanted to read his books. Nevertheless, I was determined to give it a go anyway, and I wavered for a while on whether to even include that background here.

Wasn't I already predisposed to not like this book? Perhaps. But this book was an excellent learning opportunity, if not a good story, and I think it's important for us all to approach books we don't like this way: Each time I ran hard up against my own disgust, I paused to ask myself why I felt that way. What was it about the story, the writing, the character, the plot, the world that made me react this way, and how did that interact with the author's intent?

First of all, a disclaimer: This will have spoilers. If you intended to check this book out, perhaps don't continue further until you've read it yourself. Maybe then come back and compare your experience to mine.

> The worldbuilding is based on two-dimensional lore.

The world is comprised of what appears to be three human races split along religious lines. The three sibling gods each have their own race of followers with some individuals inheriting the magical power of their god. One is a magic associated with air and water with a father/older brother god figure; the next is a mother/middle sister associated with fire and light; the third is a little brother associated with... the hard labor of forging? It's unclear what he originally stood for, but by the time the immense lore dumps are complete, we see the little brother's transformation from a highly skilled craftsperson who takes immense pleasure in crafting gifts to his siblings into a petty, angry god bent on chaos and destruction of his siblings' domains.

What brings on this transformation? The gift of a song.

He is so enraged that his siblings gave him a song instead of a physical item like he gave them that he goes into a rage, evicts himself from the metaphorical house, and goes to live in the bowels of the world where he can forge in peace. He goes on to create all the various fantasy creature races in the world like dragons, fae, constructs, shadow demons, etc.

And his name? Keos. He's the chaos god and his name is Keos. I can forgive a poor name here an there—perhaps he never said them out loud—but add in that the sister's light/fire magic is called lumen—y'know, like what lightbulbs are measured in—and I have concerns.

Naming problems aside, the entire world's history and the racial relations all stem from a god's immensely childish reaction to a gift. I am well aware that many deity lore can be goofy or based on overblown reactions to things, but it feels so thin and flimsy that to prop the whole world and its cultures on top of it could not stand.

> Ableism is pervasive in the culture.

The story starts off with a prologue, which, as a concept, is not inherently a problem, but it was my first clue that this was not the story for me. In this world, being disfigured in any way physically marks you as an agent of the chaos god. Either these agents are killed or ostracized in order to better mitigate any mischief and evil they may commit or bring to their community. We are immediately thrust into this intensely ableist world with the birth of a child missing a hand and part of a forearm. The parents are killed and the baby taken to the woods to die.

I hate it already.

The author, being the sort of person to review their own book, states in his lengthy review: "Whatever you do, don't think for a moment that I'm blind to the tropes I've chosen to use. They serve a purpose and are conscious choices."

If this is the case—that he's aware of his tropes and they are purposeful—he must also be aware of the statement he's making by having all disabled and disfigured be labeled as evil ne'er-do-wells. Because this story takes place almost entirely within the small town of Chaenbalu where these beliefs are rampant, we're lead to believe that this is the way the whole world works. We get one glimpse of the outside world where it mentions a larger prevalence of disabled and disfigured individuals, but it's so brief and not at all explored that our understanding of the world goes mostly unchanged.

Is this part of Call's subversion of tropes? Perhaps Chaenbalu is indeed a backwards town, holding on to old traditions that the rest of the world has left behind, but the characters are so isolated they wouldn't know—and therefore we don't know whether that's the case. Bad news: It's so distasteful that I'm not interested in reading more to find out if it's just Chaenbalu that's the issue. I'm so put off by the whole concept.

> Every female character is cardboard, and they all die.

Centered in Chaenbalu is the Academy, a school with two gendered factions: the witwomen and the Master Avatars. (You'll notice that the sexism starts right off the bat with the fact that Masters get capitalized but witwoman does not.) The witwomen are trained midwives and kidnappers, sent out into the world to collect children and bring them back to the Academy as a "reap" or class of new students. The students are told that their parents submitted them to the Academy's care in a boarding-school-type thing, but that's spoiled in the prologue as being untrue.

Unfortunately, we don’t get a chance to really explore what it is the witwomen are up to, or what any of the women are like. There is only one female character with any amount of on-screen time, and even that is negligible. She acts as nothing more than a plot device, which I’ll talk about later, functioning only as an object for the main character to lust after. Anytime she is described, it is with delicate detail paid to her soft, plump, pink lips, the breasts, the hips. At every turn, she’s sexualized—and perhaps that’s due to the main character’s gaze being the narration we receive, but even in the epilogue scene when our main character is not present, the author continues to describe her this way, so perhaps it’s not a function of the main character at all. She receives no further development than who her father is, what her body is like, and how much she dislikes those marked by Keos, aka, the disabled and disfigured.

The other witapprentices and witwomen appear for two scenes, and by the end of the book, they are all dead in the midst of an attack on the Academy that serves only to move the main character's story forward. Without this attack, he would never have a story worth telling in a book. Without their deaths, the attack would not have happened. And even the romantic interest is faux-killed in order to provoke a specific emotional reaction in the main character to move the character's development forward.

> The characters are shallow.

While I can't guarantee that this problem is due to the two-dimensional worldbuilding, I personally feel they're probably related. There are a couple of friend characters around and a mentor that are all lacking in development, but let me focus on the main character.

The male students train at the Academy with the goal of becoming avatars, and then later, Master Avatars. As avatars, they are expected to go out on secret missions to retrieve magical artifacts and, if the artifact is a "dark artifact,"—that is, if it's built to do harm to another person, and by lore belongs to Keos—murder its owner.

The main character is one such student, testing to become an avatar, and worse yet, if he doesn't pass his test this go-around, he'll never be able to become an avatar and he'll instead be relegated to steward status, taking care of the upkeep of the Academy. And of course, no one wants to be a steward! You'd be a servant to everyone, and where's the action-packed fun in that?

But our main character has a motivation even more powerful than the dread of being a steward: a girl. Not just any girl. The headmaster's daughter.

To be fair, this book is not advertised as a romance. Which is good, because it's not a romance. The main character has a deadly crush. He even has a promise ring forged, ready to give it to her when he passes his test and becomes an avatar. His love for this girl is so powerful for him that it's quite literally all he thinks about, but because she's the headmaster's daughter and is also a witapprentice, he hardly ever sees her, and the times we do get them in the same scene, it's plain this relationship will literally never work out.

She may not know about his missing half an arm thanks to a magical prosthetic, but it's clear she holds on to the old ableist traditions with positive glee and with the same strength as a hippo's jaw. While our main character pines after her and even eventually when they are engaged, we are telegraphed again and again that it will never last, that she is a horrible person, and that she will never accept him with his missing hand. We know this and we watch the main character acknowledge this so many times that it is a failing of the plot that there is even a chance for her to betray him.

Which she does, of course.

This goes back to the author's assertion that he's aware of his tropes and to trust him in his plan. He sets up a male lead and throws the only female character at him, establishing the possibility for a romance—a common trope—and molds that romance into the core motivation for the male lead. She is his reason for wanting to succeed, and he waxes poetical about how terrible it would be if A) someone else got her first, or B) he didn't pass the test and he couldn't be with her. They must fall in love, yes? The author also tries to convince us that she is a likeable person, a person worthy of his devotion, all the while foreshadowing with a heavy hand that she's, frankly, ableist, racist, and a terrible person who is not at all worthy of his devotion. Ah-hah, a subversion! They are not at all meant to be together!

The problem is that she repeatedly shows her hand as a garbage human in front of him an innumerable amount. We the audience dislike her so intensely that to have her as the main character’s sole motivation is laughable. Perfectly inconceivable. A true weakness in the foundation of the plot that’s so profound that if the story struggled to stand on its weak worldbuilding, it almost certainly cannot stand on this. Her betrayal is so blatantly obvious and inevitable that his surprise is outrageous, and his hurt comes not with sympathy from us but absolute incredulity.

> The author’s prejudices taint the writing, and the writing needs editing.

I won’t talk too much in depth about a scene in which the romantic interest is stunned and the main character performs a grossly sexualized search of her body, but I will point out that later, the author writes, “he relived the seconds they had shared in the shadows...” There was no sharing of moments. She was stunned. There was nothing romantic about it.

Later, the main character is sent out on an assassination mission. The author writes, “He wondered what kind of a man he was about to kill - good or evil, father or bachelor - and whether the man would struggle.” Ah yes, an unmarried man. The opposite of having children. Of course, how silly of me to consider that being unmarried precludes me from having children, or that being married means I must have children.

At another time, a character who is well known to wear an eyepatch is described as “winking at him with his one eye.” I’m sorry, author, but that’s just blinking. I could have given him the benefit of the doubt that perhaps he’d forgotten this character is missing an eye and wears an eyepatch if not for the “with his one eye.” The author knew what he was doing.

These moments aside, many scenes dwell in the melodramatic, letting emotion set the scenes awash in a horribly garish light that fails to give the scenes their weight. The point of view was pretty tight to the main character, but with odd moments where it split away to document events that happened outside of that character’s view, even within scenes where the main character is present. It felt a bit sloppy. Passive voice is rampant, with sentences and whole scenes in dire need of better editing. “Myjun was walking in step with her father...” “His flyssa was caught by Annev’s flamberge...” It made the writing dull—hobbled by too many words that meant too little, and too specific of words amidst their plain neighbors that made it dissonant.

> The plot is overstretched.

This book is 576 pages. At page 250, something occurred that made me think that perhaps I’d just witnessed the inciting incident and that now the plot would begin. At page 330, I thought the same thing. At page 400, I thought the same thing. At page 525, I realized with a jolt that I was witnessing what this book would consider the climax, and I could put what happened at page 400 the inciting incident. Until that point, there was no clear indication of what the plot actually was, and there were at least 300 pages of unnecessary story.

I understand from a bit of research that this is intended to be the first of a four part series. Realizing that puts the entire plot of this book into perspective. This climax is the point of no return for the series, with a 500-page lead up. With a bit better editing and a cleaner line, this book could have been immensely less frustrating. Perhaps all these things that bother me are the point of the book—perhaps the next books in the series will overthrow some of these expectations as the main character ventures outside Chaenbalu and sees what the rest of the world is really like. Perhaps.

Do I trust that the author will do that? No.

Am I interested enough to continue reading this series to see if it gets better? No. Do I hope it does? Sincerely. I may not like the author, and I may not have liked this book, but there are people who do and I respect that. I hope it meets their satisfaction. It’s not for me.

Do I regret reading this over the last month instead of the book I was reading and will go back to reading? Surprisingly, no. I hated it, don’t get me wrong, but I also learned a lot about why I hate it—what made it not work—and I think there’s value there, too.

[ultravioletsoul]

Can you rank your fave CoD antagonists?

Hello there nonny, sorry for taking so long to reply and thank you for your ask ♥♥

Rank my favorite CoD antagonists? Sure, I can do that! There are several antagonists in the series, but I’ll only rank my top 3. Hope that is okay with you c:

3. Jonathan Irons

Original gif

Advanced Warfare may not be a series as popular as BO or MW, but I actually enjoyed the game and I also liked Irons. Honestly, I don’t think we’ve gotten that many antagonists that started out as our allies in CoD (at least I don’t remember any others atm), much any less an American antagonist, so that kinda made him stand out to me.

I’m not familiar with Kevin Spacey’s works, and I barely watched any trailers pre-release. So to see Irons go from someone who I believed genuinely wanted to make the world a better place, where every human being could live in peace and thrive, away from the pointless wars that governments waged, to someone who was willing to use any means necessary to achieve his goals, regardless of how many lives he had to sacrifice... well, that was something that hit me hard.

This man who gave my character a second chance, who treated me (Mitchell) as his son, who cleaned up after the colossal mess that others countries made, helped people from devastated war-zones rebuild their lives and gave them hope for the future, turned out to be someone I was forced to betray because of different viewpoints and philosophies. Despite everything, I think Irons had his heart in the right place, but his methods were ultimately terrible and in his messianic delusions he ended up doing more harm than good, so of course he had to be stopped.

And what I liked about him was that he didn’t start out as a bad man, he didn’t do all those things because of greed, and his characterization wasn’t that of a cartoonish villain. In a way I could find logic in his arguments, he made a few good points about the current state of the world and the inability (or indifference) of many politicians to solve the real problems of the people. But the root of it all lies in the loss of his son, his only child, to a government he no longer trusted nor had any faith in doing what was right. Despite having served in the military in his youth, Irons had grown disillusioned at the way the US handled domestic and international policy, and strongly disagreed with them— opposing the status quo in favor of change. 

One could argue that serving in the military was entirely Will’s choice all along, and as a grown adult he knew what he was getting himself into. Still Irons couldn’t help but think that if that war had never happened, Will would still be alive. So that left him with a bitter taste, and it served as the catalyst behind his actions.

If nobody else would bother to do anything to actually solve the world’s problems, then he would be the savior to do it— whether they liked it or not. And he didn’t care what methods he had to use, how many had to die, or if he had to plunge the world into total chaos before he could ultimately end all wars and bring everlasting “peace” (perhaps one of the greatest ironies) as his dream seemed to be. Even at the cost of such a high price.

I don’t think Irons gets the credit he deserves.

2. Raúl Menéndez

Original gifset

BO2 is one of my favorite games and Raúl is undoubtedly one of the most memorable antagonists in the series. Much like Irons, his actions were heavily motivated by the loss of a loved one but his life is also one sad story, so it’s no wonder he turned out the way he did. Not to justify him, but it’s not hard to understand what led him to do all those things.

From a very young age, his life was destroyed by the actions of Americans, from the horrors of the dictatorship in Nicaragua (in which the Contras were supported by the US); the crippling and disfigurement of his young sister Josefina, due to the greed of an American owner who burned down a warehouse in order to obtain 11,000$ through insurance fraud. After losing everything during an earthquake, and becoming homeless, Raúl and his father started over by selling drugs, successfully establishing a cartel that was so powerful in Nicaragua that they were equally feared and admired among the people.

But this status and power they had newly acquired concerned the US government, and it wasn't long before they sanctioned an assassination order on Raúl's father and sent the CIA in to kill him. Raúl observed it all, a teenager back then, and managed to escape thanks to his father's training. Though he could do nothing to stop it, nothing to save his father, this event marked him and further embittered him against the US and the West. And the last straw was the unfortunate death of Josefina, at the hands of Woods. He lost his sister, the only living relative he had, and his world fell apart. But if we think about it, Raúl was indirectly responsible for her death too, after the horrible torture he put Woods through in Angola. So the next time Woods saw Raúl he lost his mind and threw the grenade that tragically bounced into Josefina's bedroom and killed her.

So he spent all his life orchestrating a huge plan, a brilliant plan, that would shake the US from the very ground. And he was damn charismatic while executing it, earning the support and approval of billions of people all around the world— even from those who lived in US soil!— to begin a world revolution and end the dominance of capitalist nations that had subjugated other weaker countries, amassing huge riches through market economy and wars for resources, destroying lives and sinking many in poverty. And he also manipulates and pits two superpowers against each other... sending everyone to the brink of another world war, or a second cold war at best.

He wanted revenge on the US for playing with the lives of other people, for taking everything he loved away from him, by making them live in fear and destroying everything they had built. He wanted them to feel the same pain, to suffer the way he did. And he wouldn't rest until he achieved that because he had nothing to lose anymore.

Depending on the outcome, he can get revenge on Woods for Josefina, as well. And though we all like it when the "good" guys prevail and foil the plans of the villain, I think this particular ending had a much deeper and stronger emotional impact. The conversation they have at the end is something I didn't expect. Raúl has come to kill Woods but they're both in a place where the years have beaten them down with the weight of they’ve done and rather than an over the top scene, what we’re given is quite the opposite of that. 

There’s no screaming, no heated argument between them, no dramatic lines. It’s just two old men who had to live with what they’ve done, and who have come to terms with the inevitability of that moment. Raúl slits Woods’s artery with Josefina’s pendant, and then he does something that surprised me: he closes Frank’s eyes, takes him off the wheelchair and lies his body on the bed. Something that is a huge contrast with what he did to Hudson many years ago... the savagery he used when killing him. For Raúl to behave that way with Woods, the man he considered to be his sister’s killer, it raises the question as to whether he still hated Woods after all these years, or maybe deep down he finally acknowledges that his actions (namely torturing Woods and killing his whole team) was the true motive that led to Josefina’s death.

The thing is, Raúl knows that he's to blame for what happened. It's also the reason why he burns himself alive in front of Josefina's grave. It’s because he has to pay for what he's done to her, too, and he chose to do it in probably the most horrible way possible but it didn’t matter to him. Nothing was more painful than living with the knowledge that his sister died because of what he did.

To him Josefina was the true innocent soul, who didn't deserve any of the suffering she went through.

1. Vladimir Makarov

Original gifset

It’s no secret that Vladimir is my most favorite antagonist (and character) in all of Call of Duty.

Though his background and motives weren’t as well developed and explained as those of other antagonists in the series, his untold story (which you won’t find anywhere in the game, though you can deduce if you have a basic idea of the situation before and after the fall of the Soviet Union) perhaps says a lot more about him than one might expect.

There’s not a lot we know about his past other than the meager information that was provided in some loading cutscenes, but it’s reasonable to think that Vladimir wasn’t always the trashbag that we see in the games. He once was a young man with dreams of patriotism, who wanted the best for his country, who loved Russia with his soul, and who would do anything to protect her, because as a soldier that was what he was taught to do. As a soldier, that was his purpose in life and without that reason to drive him on, he had nothing left.

And however vague his backstory may seem to be, it gives you an idea that Vladimir in a way was a victim of a system that imparted a type of soft indoctrination on him, from a very young age (as many states do all around the world in some form or another, even those who hold democratic values), all the way to his education in the military academy and his brutal training in the special forces, that further cemented this undying love for Russia, maybe in a way that bordered brainwashing.

His true radicalization came after the fall of the Soviet Union with the loss of his homeland and the Soviet culture as he knew it, as well as Russia becoming weak and losing much of her power and influence across the world. Then came his deployment in Chechnya in 1994, where he lived the horrors of a war that most likely left him psychologically scarred after the experiences he had to go through. And when he returned home, he was kicked out of the armed forces under accusations of human rights violations during the First Chechen War. And they may be true, he probably did a lot of bad things there (under the illusion that he was serving his country for a higher cause), and sadly it’s something commonplace in many armed conflicts. I’m going to leave this short post here for some details on that.

When he returned from war, he didn’t receive any professional help or if he did, it didn’t work. He didn’t know how to cope, he ultimately was unable to adapt to a normal life, he became a misfit. He had lost his job, he had a stain in his career, and finding a decent way to get by was very difficult at the time when the country was in the middle of a political, social, and economic crisis.

He was in financial ruin, and it was hunger that pushed him to become a criminal (something that wasn’t uncommon for ex military men in 90s Russia). Not just that but also hatred for those in power as well as society as a whole, and what they represented: total decadence and the reason why Russia was falling apart with these “stupid” western conceptions about freedom that in his eyes did nothing but give leeway for debauchery and corruption, which he ultimately sought to “fix” by returning Russia to what it used to be (a god-fearing empire under the autocratic rule of a tsar that was likened to a father to all his subjects, and where religion was used as a resource to legitimize his power and as a moral regulator that maintained the social order).

He pretty much felt abandoned, betrayed by his government— a leadership that had done nothing but sink Russia deeper and deeper into ruin, destroying the values under which he was raised and turning people like him into cynical masses that had lost faith in everything and were adrift without any real purpose in life, no future to look forward to, completely disillusioned that the dreams they’d bought into, the promises they had been sold by the west, were nothing but lies.

He’s still a piece of garbage, we know that, but I also think that he’s gone through a lot of struggles and bad experiences in his youth that marked him and filled him with resentment. Everyone sees Vladimir as the puppet master of the storyline of MW, and we have to give him credit for that, but deep down he’s just a man who has been a slave to his own obsessions and ambitions, unable to free himself from the hatred that has poisoned his mind for years, which led him to commit so many atrocities and strip himself from any semblance of humanity— all for the sake of a higher cause, as he undoubtedly tried to justify his actions at the end of the day.

In conclusion, all three were marked by losses in one way or another, and saw themselves as men who had to take the hard path and do what had to be done. And it’s also curious that Call of Duty, while not a game with any deep meaning on the surface, almost seems like social commentary on how war ruins lives and how anyone can do horrible things if put through the wringer enough times. It’s like these stories are trying to say that bad circumstances can make bad men out of seemingly good people, who wouldn’t have done any of the evil they did if maybe things had been different.

And I think that’s what makes these characters so interesting.

[four-loose-screws]

FE4 Suzuki Novelization Translation (Gen II) - Chapter 14

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

Chapter 14 - The Final Battle

The moment Manfroy died, Julia's curse was lifted. "What… happened to me?"

"Manfroy cast a spell on you to control you." Lewyn explained.

"Manfroy? ...That's right, he captured me… I wonder what I did. What if I…"

"It's all okay now. Some of the soldiers have some minor wounds, but no one died. More importantly, let's go to Velthomer. Seliph should be waiting for us there."

The two traveled towards Velthomer Castle, and along the way, they ran into Seliph and the cavalry unit, returning from their fight.

Seliph was happy that Julia was safe, but then his expression darkened.

"What's the matter, Seliph? Did something bad happen?"

"Lewyn, we cannot obtain the Book of Naga."

"Why not?"

"Only Julius knows where it was sealed. Manfroy and Arvis knew, but I killed them both and squandered our chances of victory."

"Um…" Julia said nervously. "I… might know where it is…"

"What did you say!?"

"Father told me. When I was being held in Chalphy, he snuck in to see me during the night and gave me this circlet, then said, 'This is the key that will open Velthomer's underground treasure room. There is an item in there that is very important to you.'”

Julia remembered how lonely her father's face looked at that time.

-

"Julia, I've done something inexcusable to you. You must hate me for it. Please forgive me…"

"I don’t hate you! I've never hated you! You’ve always been kind to me."

"It brings me a bit of peace to hear you say that. …I don't have the power to protect you now. It's embarrassing as a father to admit that, but I don't think there's anything that can be done about it. Take this circlet. It's a keepsake from your mother. It's praying to keep you safe. Your mother is surely praying for you, too."

In the memories of her childhood, her father was always full of confidence.

'Yet now, he has no power, like a person on death’s doorstep…’ Julia thought, and her eyes filled with tears.

-

"There!" Lewyn said. "That's where the Book of Naga is! Come on, everyone, let's go to Velthomer!"

-

The existence of the underground storeroom was by no means a secret in Velthomer, it was just how to open it, and what was inside, that no one knew.

Within the door was a long, thin indent that seemed to match the shape of the circlet. Julia put the circlet in the indent, and the door opened with a loud creak.

Inside was the Book of Naga.

Julia picked the tome up with both hands and pressed it against her chest. "Ah, what a strange feeling this is. It’s so nostalgic… and warm…"

And now, it was clear to her what her purpose was.

It was not her brother Julius that she would kill, but the Dark God Loptous.

-

At a monastery on the route to Belhalla, Lana discovered that a large group of children was hiding there.

The owner explained that Ishtar had taken care of them.

"Huh? Ishtar, the thunder mage warrior?"

"Yes. She said not to hand them over to anyone, no matter who came, until all of the fighting was over."

The moment they heard that, their image of the mage who'd given the liberation army such a difficult fight vanished. Ishtar was a woman who'd worried greatly about the contradictions between her love and her reality.

"Poor girl." Lana whispered.

"Huh? Who are you talking about?" Seliph asked.

"Ishtar."

"Yes, that's true. She was killed in battle…”

'It is a death she was prepared for.' Lana thought. 'She, as Julius' beloved, chose to fight, and, as a human being, also chose to save the children. If the Imperial Army had won, Julius probably wouldn't have allowed her to get away with letting the children escape. So either of the paths she chose would have ended in death. I wonder how much she worried until she made up her mind.'

Comparing Ishtar's situation to her own made her realize just how happy she was. 'I should love Lord Seliph as much as I can. And surely Lord Seliph feels the same way towards me…'

-

The liberation army surrounded the perimeter of Belhalla Castle.

The soldiers all wished to attack right away, but Seliph did not allow it.

"If you all attack at once, that might end the battle quickly, but it will make us suffer a large number of casualties. We've finally made it here. I don't want even one more person to die."

The only people guarding the castle were the Twelve Deadlords and their soldiers.

At Seliph's order, Altena and Fee flew in from the south and attacked using their signature "attack and retreat" maneuver. In the east, the cavalry unit was carrying out a similar attack, and working as a group to defeat any enemy that came at them. And in the west, Seliph was with the infantry unit, baiting the enemies, then defeating them one by one.

They continued attacking like so until they finally defeated the entire defense unit. 

 "Only Julia and I will storm the castle. Anyone weak to magic cannot go near the building!" Seliph said, then the two passed through the castle gate.

There weren't any enemy soldiers on the castle courtyard, so they were able to rush straight into the main building, where Julius was sitting on the throne.

When he saw them, he stood up and said, "Hmph, so you're Seliph. …To the world, you are known as the Scion of Light. Hmph. Don't make me laugh! No matter how much you struggle, you are no match for me! Come at me whenever you want. Just be prepared to die when you do so…"

"Loptous, I will never forgive you for your tyranny!" Seliph screamed, then rushed up to him and swung Tyrfing. He put all of the strength in his body into that one attack, but Julius still repelled it.

"Do you understand now, Crusader Baldur? This time, I'll go first!"Julius said, then a black dragon appeared from within his body and attacked Seliph.

Seliph dodged the dragon's fangs and claws. However, a moment later, with a swing of its tail that he did not predict, he was slammed against the floor. He quickly stood up, but the dragon had vanished, and in its place stood Julius, sitting on the throne with a cold smile spread across his face.

Seliph retreated while shielding his wounded body.

"I'll take it from here!" Julia said with confidence, and went ahead.

"J-Julia… how are you here!?" Julius asked in complete shock.

"Julius, we have been led to the fate you spoke of. Though we are twins, we must fight. The time has come."

Her voice was filled with a strong will. And it was not just her voice, but also the look on her face that reflected that strong will as well.

'It's as if she's not Julia at all.' Seliph sensed.

"I see. So Manfroy failed."

Julia did not answer, but clasped her hands together as if she was praying.

A white dragon appeared from within her body.

In response, the black dragon appeared from within Julius once again.

The two dragons intertwined, then flew up into the sky.

At some point, the palace ceiling, and even the walls had disappeared. The black dragon and the white dragon were flying around in an empty void while fighting. Their teeth cut into each other, their claws raked each other, their bodies constricted around each other, and their tails slapped each other… The moment they would fly into the air, they would drop back down, then fly back up just as quickly...

It was a long battle that felt like it might never end. Seliph couldn't tell who would win. The only thing he clearly felt was their will not to lose, no matter what.

Finally, the two dragons fell, still wrapped around each other. The moment they crashed on the ground, Seliph saw that the white dragon was just barely on top.

Then, he realized they'd returned to the palace reception hall.

Julia retook her previous prayer stance. And Julius…

“Graaaaaaaah!”

Seliph heard him howl in pain.

"So, Naga… Are you going to stand in my way… again?" Julius said, then his body slowly crumpled in front of the throne.

The moment he fell, the castle shook violently.

The head of the black dragon appeared from within Julius' collapsed body.

'Are they going to start fighting again?'

It seemed like everything was already over, but it actually wasn’t, not quite yet.

The black dragon's body appeared little by little, but Seliph did not sense that it was coming towards him like before. Instead, this time, the body was transparent, so much so that he could see the wall behind it.

The black dragon slowly rose, until it shot through the ceiling and vanished. The moment it disappeared completely, the shaking stopped.

"Loptous, the dark god, will return home." Julia said. "He knew that there no longer exists a body in this world that can host him…. So he can never be reborn again."

The voice returned to Julia's own. And it was not just her voice that returned. Her facial features were also once again that of the girl who was quiet, reserved, and seemed a bit lonely.

She walked up to the throne, got down on her knees, and cradled Julius' head.

"Julius!"

The red mark on his forehead vanished, along with his arrogance and cruelty, the other characteristics of the dark god.

"Julius, you've come back!" Julia said as she hugged him.

When the angles of his face changed, it was just for a split second, but she could see him light up with the smile of a cute little boy who'd just thought up something naughty.

[darknytemare]

No Words - pt 9

Pairing: Taehyung x Jeongguk x OC [ft.  Namjoon x OC]

Type: Series

Genre: Idol, Poly, Interracial, Tall Female, Smut, Angst, Fluff [if you squint]

Warning: Vivian. That’s right, the warning is Vivian. 

A/N - I fell into that pit of ‘what are you doing with this trash story’ style negative brain activity. Things took a turn. I’m sorry for making you wait. This story is still a mess. We’re back on the tracks, folks! Also, my friend made a banner for this story. SQUEE.

Words:  2.5k

Tasha watched her friend huddle over notebooks with her brow deeply furrowed. The holidays were rushing up to greet them, and they were bustling to finish their course-load. They had been pouring over notebooks, comparing notes, and debating practicums for the last few weeks. They were huddled with the newbies in the common room at the Hannam-dong dorm space. It was easy to help the new kids with their first-year work. It was a big boost of confidence, and perhaps ego, that they could spout off the answers and explanations so easily. 

But, as the older kids on the block? Things had changed technologically for them. The American vs. Korean applications of sound and camera work were on a whole different scale. Their whole purpose was a comparison of the two. Yet, they found themselves in a conundrum. It was simple, really it was, that with the consumption of Hallyu in the rest of the world - people were developing different expectations for music videos and shows. They were in the front seat of this grand show of change. Now, this isn't to say that there weren’t pioneers. 

There would always be respect for those that paved the way prior. Those bold visionaries that twisted their earlier experiences. But like all things, time brings change and new technology. They were barely scraping the surface of the musical experience. People weren’t satisfied with the entertainer simply being still surrounded by bodies. There was a want for more of a storytelling aspect. Or, they wanted snappy effects that added something. The thing is people were wanting more than what they were getting. 

“Ahhh! My eyes are starting to cross. I swear to GOD.” Tasha rubbed her face flinging those rainbow-colored plaits out of her face. She turned to the others as they stared at blinking cursors paused in mid-sentence. She groaned checking the time, “Ok, guys. Let’s...let’s stop, for now, yea?” A few agree to shut their laptops down - except for one person.

“Hey, we have a function to get ready for, missy.” The clickity-clack of keys had slowed from the beginning of their session but remained steady. 

“I’m well aware of that, Tasha.” She quipped as she stared over the top of her glasses. Tasha grunted as the new kids laughed. 

“Come on, we know she’s the nerd of the group. Are you surprised?” Tasha’s gaze narrowed to the owner of that voice. “I’m surprised she managed to have any fun while being here.” The bad attempt sarcasm rubbed Tasha the wrong fucking way. 

There was always one in every group! That one person that thought they were so fucking cool - and pretty, and popular. Even if that person was extremely beautiful and found themselves in the center of attention all the g’damned time. Tasha was about to say something but it was cut short when three familiar voices echoed out in the hallway. 

Tasha blinked because those three voices belonged to none other than...

“Taehyung-ah, Gguk-ah, seriously.” Namjoon groaned into a laugh as they turned to enter the common room. “O-oh.” He stopped abruptly and the maknae line bumped into him. 

“Ah, Hyung! I almost stepped on - Oh.” Jeongguk blinked when Taehyung tapped him on the shoulder. The new kids still had to get used to just randomly running into BTS members throughout the day. The first group merely bowed or waved, muttering greetings. Tasha’s eyes whipped quickly to her bag when she locked gazes with Namjoon. She coughed lightly clapping her hands. “Ah, well. We should probably start getting ready guys.” A thumb jutted to the partly dressed trio shuffling into the room. 

“Ah! It’s the oppa’s!” That voice piped up again and Tasha did everything in her power not to hurl. But, that girl jumped up clapping her hands together. “You guys look good! We should be so lucky to be escorted by such dapper gentlemen.” 

Everyone rolled their eyes. Namjoon was kinder - and refrained. “Ah, well. You know it’s a special occasion. You all make sure you talk to people and network.” She giggled lightly, placing the tips of her fingers along Namjoon’s forearm.

Namjoon coughed softly as he stepped around her - leaving Taehyung and Jeongguk to be prodded at instead. The soft taps of a keyboard still echoed as Namjoon continued. “The first group here really set a tone that we hope you can follow.” A brow arched as he spun on his heels. 

The new kids smirked, staring at the one who continued to type. That girl - ah, she had a name. Vivian the Vivacious. That’s what she called herself - the life of every party. She slipped an arm through Tae and Gguk’s as if she was the prize between them. “I am sure we’ll meet and exceed every expectation required of us.” Haughty, as she tossed those long raven locks over her shoulder. 

It was apparent she was the Queen Bee among the new kids. There was always one. 

Tasha inhaled deeply as suddenly the sound of keys ticking stopped. A soft exhale broke a thick silence. “Vivian.” Everyone turned to her, even Tasha stiffened momentarily, as she removed her glasses. “There’s a saying that comes to mind.” She stashed her glasses in their case. “Overconfidence is the most dangerous form of carelessness.” A brow arched upward as she neatly collected her things. 

There was a subtle warning in her tone that she didn’t bother to hide. “I don’t care what you think about me, but do not take my silence as putting up with your bullshit.” She turned to the rest of the new kids. “Do not embarrass us tonight. Because I’m the one standing between your continued presence here…” She hefted her bag on her shoulder. “...and long coach ride back to where the fuck you came from.” 

Tasha had to turn in the opposite direction to hide the smile threatening to split her face. Namjoon caught it and tilted his head upward, a hand over his mouth. Taehyung and Jeongguk were torn between something akin to awe and lust. Vivian glared at her as she smiled, her grasp tightening on Tae and Gguk’s forearms. They both turned their gaze to the top of the girl’s head. 

Tasha was close to losing her shit. “Ok! Alright! Let’s go! We’re wasting time.” She bowed to the trio, refusing to reach for Vivian as she beat feet out of the common room. The other first-year folks left with satisfied looks on their faces. 

She decided to follow-up the last of them, pausing by Vivian as she clung to the maknae members. “And I’ll have you know, I was plenty of fun while I was here. Maybe you’ll get a chance to sing karaoke with Jeongguk-ah.” Her gaze slid up between the two of them. 

Her pupils went wide to match theirs as her lips parted on a smirk. That look lowered to Vivian as she tilted the corner of her lips. “Maybe if you’re as fun as me.” She waltzed out of the common room leaving Vivian scowling. 

“Jeongguk-oppa! You think I’m fun don’t you?” Vivian tilted a lookup through thick lashes, fluttering them prettily at the maknae. 

Who was paying her no mind? 

She turned to Taehyung prepared to do the same, and she paused. The look that he gave her caused her to wither, just slightly. He looked like a haughty Prince, curious about the status of the person touching him. Her fingers slid away from his arm and she turned to see Jeongguk with a brow arched at her fingers. “Oh come on, I’m much more fun than she is!” She pressed her cleavage against his side - and he moved as if he’d been burned. 

“Vivian,” Namjoon spoke quietly. “I think you should go get ready. You don’t want to get left behind.” He grabbed the apple he wanted originally and breezed by her. Taehyung offered that boxy smile with a slight bow, as he followed. Jeongguk fell in step looking exasperated as they went to visit the stylist. 

Vivian continued to scowl but was broken from that facade of purity and fun. The sound of crisp fruit being pierced by that dimpled half-smile. Namjoon tilted his head as he shook the apple in her direction. “And I’d keep that in mind.” He finished chewing leaning back on his heels. “...because you will get left behind if you’re not careful.” He watched as Vivian crossed her arms schooling a neutral expression. “Make us proud tonight.” Namjoon walked off with a partial smile leaving her to scowl by herself. He rounded the corner rubbing absently at where she touched him. 

It’s fine. He’d just have to rub himself all over Tasha later on to cure himself.

---

“She’s infuriating! I hate her! Hate is a strong word isn’t it?” Tasha paced in her thigh-highs the snaps of a garter belt clicking. “Is that wrong? Should I feel bad?” She threw her hands up as if she was suffering some moral dilemma. “God, there’s one in every bunch!” Tasha continued to rumble and rant in her fury.

“Latasha.” She sighed as her friend finally paused. ���You do realize you have yet to put your dress on?” A brow arched as Tasha finally saw the time. 

“Shit!” She skittered to the other room to pull on the perfect black dress. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Tasha whined as she pulled the curl rods from her updo. 

“I tried. You kept going back to how pretty, perfect, and detestable she is.” Tasha grunted as she hobbled up to the front, finally settling herself in two-inch heels. 

“Well, shit. You kept oddly cool for where she wound up.” Tasha mused with a smirk as she watched her friend clip on a dangly earring set. A set of large hoops in the other hole as the dangling stars seemed to swing in its opening. 

“Look, we earned our spots working with the members. I’m not going to let petty jealousy cloud my judgment.” She arched a brow while pressing a red stick across the swell of her lip. It was a bold color choice. Hell, her whole ensemble was bold. 

It wasn’t that the dress was short - it was that she was tall. And this happened every time, where this would be a normal fit for average height? For her? Well, it was snug on her hips and just passed her knees - and that is just by a wing and a prayer. That paired with heels that catapulted her into the near six-foot-tall range of height? Completed the look. 

Tasha had spent the whole day previously blowing out her hair. A silk press left her hair in a shiny fall of layered waves about her shoulders. She turned around as Tasha gave her a final appraisal.

“Damn, I am good. Maybe this tech stuff isn’t my calling. Maybe they’ll let me be a stylist?” They both stared at each other before falling into a peal of laughter. Tasha grabbed her jacket and purse, offering an arm to escort them from her apartment.

“You good, chick?” She stared down at her friend as they walked quietly toward their transportation. 

“Yeah, you’re right. We earned our spots.” Tasha nodded with a solid lift to her confidence. They smiled at each other as they approached the building foyer. Folks were already being loaded into SUVs. They were the last ones to arrive as the boys from BTS made their way down to wait for their perspective cars. 

The two women turned with a whistle at the cleaned-up crew. 

 “Ohmygod. It’s BTS. Should we ask for an autograph?” Tasha leaned in pretending to whisper while being excruciatingly obvious. 

“I don’t know do you think they’ll even notice us?” She responded just as obviously.

“Ahh, our adoring fans! How could we ever not notice you.” Jin threw a trademark kiss in their direction. Jimin rolled his eyes while moving between them. 

“I think we would be doing the world a disservice if we didn’t notice our adoring fans. Someone take a picture quick!.” Jimin did his best James Bond look while the girls posed on the side. “Ok, as we practiced.” 

“Ah! This is more embarrassing than Jin-hyung and his jokes.” Hobi laughed - but snapped the photo anyway. “Yes, yes! More! More!” They made devious faces at each other, smoldering looks as Jimin wrapped his arm around each girl’s waist. 

“Ok, ok. That’s enough. That’s enough.” Namjoon chuckled as Jimin frowned. “We’re holding up the line.” Tasha was tugged gently away from Jimin causing her brows to arch upward. “You look really nice.” She smiled widely. 

“Why thank you, Namjoon-ah. You don’t look so bad yourself.” Jin, Hobi and Jimin rolled their eyes with playful groans. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, got a chance to approach her for the first time in what seemed like - months. Oh, because it had been. They’d been increasingly busy since their karaoke escapade. It worked out to her favor, of course. 

But now?

“You look beautiful.” The depth of his tone littered goosebumps across her skin. A response she just couldn’t help as he stood just behind her. Their body heat clashed as she glanced over her shoulder. 

“Wow, Noona.” Jeongguk approached with his hands in his pockets. And although the maknae was wearing that wide bunny smile? His eyes wore something else entirely. They all looked impeccable, their styling team truly outdid themselves. 

Yoongi clicked his tongue against his teeth as he shuffled toward the door. “You all need to pick your lips up off the floor so we can get in the car.” The girls chuckled, making swift getaways from their captors as he held the door for them. 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” The girls spoke in sing-song unison as they exited. He shook his head as he watched them get packed into an SUV. 

He scratched at the back of his neck, a slight tilt of his head. “I think we have the most beautiful women in all the networks with us tonight.” Everybody turned to Min Yoongi with their mouths agape. He gave a haphazard shrug as he toed the door back open. “I’m human too, you know? Let’s go, yea?” 

The wind tousled his hair a bit as he adjusted his cufflinks. 

“Should we be worried?” Taehyung turned to Namjoon who was still shocked. 

“Uh. I...don't ...know?” Namjoon’s brow furrowed as Jimin squeezed by them. 

“You should be worried.” Jimin teased with a brow waggle as he jogged to catch up with Yoongi. 

Hoseok and Jin grinned moving by after clapping a hand on the trio’s shoulder. “I wonder if he’s going to get to dance with them first?” Jin mused, loudly, to Hoseok. The Dance Captain tilted his head in deep concentration. 

“Not before I get to ask first.” 

Jeongguk balked pushing the door open to speed up to protest. “H-hey, Hobi-hyung! W-wait just a minute!” 

Taehyung pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep groan. Namjoon sighed, “I know, Taehyung-ah. I know. Just remember to mind your manners, alright?” 

Taehyung smirked while tucking his thumb in his lapel. His tone was deep and thickened by the weight of his satoori. “Hey, Hyung, don’t worry.” He moved forward opening the door for Namjoon. “...I’m a great actor, remember?” Taehyung popped his tongue with a wink as the Leader shook his head with a dimpled smile.

“Let’s not give them too much of a show, yeah?” Namjoon arched a brow. The two shared a look before stepping into the waiting SUV.

[darker-side-fanfiction]

🔧Cyberpunk: Android Yukimura: Part 3

Part 3: Tis but a scratch.

Trigger warnings: mention of past torture, abuse, noncon body alteration, abuse...if someone thinks I missed something, lmk.

What are emotions again and why do we have a past if not to inform the present? Nothing can be quite so simple though, can it?

❤️Story beneath the cut:❤️

Shadows claimed corners, odd shapes taking on alarming qualities whereby the imagination is given permission to run rampant. There was a light directly overhead where he’d been seated, but his hand wouldn’t be shielding his eyes from its glare. He felt like he was back in an interrogation room, though oddly he couldn’t remember when or why he’d last been in one.

What was visible beside him couldn’t be described as anything except instruments of torture. For a droid, that is. Spanners, wrenches, screwdrivers, an electric looking multitool defying identification. Everything his new owner would need to take him apart piece by meticulous, excruciating piece.

Further along the table beyond the immediate reach of the light were bits and pieces of other cannibalized electronics. Their wires poked out every which way, a very few of them recognizable for what they originally were. This was giving him flashbacks of a particularly nightmarish owner. She had made it her goal to see how many ways one could make a stubborn android beg. Being resilient and difficult to permanently damage...with an abundance of pain receptors...had its downsides.

The new gal reappeared from whatever dark recess she’d been rummaging in. She muttered to herself, something he would learn to be a bit of a habit of hers. “Let’s see about getting your mouth working again, shall we?”

Oh great. Just wonderful. Why would she want do that? So she’d feel justified in taking him apart? Cause so far, 99% of his owners would’ve agreed his ability to speak was their least favorite attribute and most likely to make them want to shoot him. Expense was usually the reason why they didn’t, but he doubted she had to pay much for him. Was it too late to be melted down for metal or was she still hoping to find something useful in his Swiss cheesed chassis?

His head was turned to the side and all he could see was the freak show that was her wall; more scraps and parts hung on hooks that though they were barely visible were also definitely terrifying. Meanwhile she messed around in the removable panel on the side of his skull. There were a vanishingly small number of those accessible on his body: the rest of his wiring required almost something akin to surgery to get at. What the inventor was thinking when he designed this series was...more than anyone had managed to comprehend. Made modifications and repair unfortunately difficult.

“—couldn’t be too smart if she thinks there’s any point.”

He’d been trying to distract himself when he realized—belatedly—that his speech functions had begun working again. Though it wasn’t as if it would change what he said...much. His glare and her raised eyebrow met when she adjusted his head to face forward. She clicked her tongue at his expression, but looked all too pleased with herself for his preference.

“That’s one detail out of the way. I want you to answer a couple of questions for me before I have to worry about what you’d do with mobility.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think that’s a possibility. ...Mistress.”

“Name’s Azar. Not ‘mistress’, not owner or whatever else the flip you’ve called people before, Az—“

“I can’t call you that.” Yuki interrupted her, earning a frown.

“Explain.”

Not doing what she wanted was a tempting idea, but ticking her off didn’t have any upside. He sighed heavily, “One of my owners wasn’t too thrilled with the words I used to describe them. It was the truth! ...And I didn’t think it was as bad as they said. But they added programming. Tweaked with my software. I can only call my current owners by the title Master or Mistress. Lot less interesting,” he grumbled.

She looked like she was holding back laughter, while being horrified at the same time. Humans were too complicated, especially women. Did all of his alterations disgust her? He shouldn’t care. He didn’t want to care. There was nothing to be caring about! Yeah...sure. Sounds real convincing.

“Alright. We’ll get to that later. Stop or correct me if I get anything wrong.” She ticked off her fingers as she listed the things that had made his life a living hell. “In my research, it was mentioned you couldn’t lie to me.” Pointer finger. “Your main programming, the one part of you no one can alter, is your mandate to protect your owner. Which means you can’t hurt them unless allowed, you’re specifically asked to, or it’s done to save their life.” Middle finger. Which, for the record, he’d like to give to her. “However, you do have leeway in a number of directions based on your discretion and your owner’s orders.”

She waited a beat before continuing, the line of inquiry setting off an uncomfortable crawl along his skin. Her thumb became finger number three. “And finally, you aren’t required to do anything your owner asks, but you can’t stop them from doing whatever they want to you.”

If he could’ve swallowed, he would’ve. Unfortunately everything from the base of his skull down didn’t work. He was beginning to wish that still included his mouth that had gone dry. It wasn’t so much a question, but he still answered, “Yes.”

She brightened visibly, though he wasn’t going to take that as a good sign. The tool was put down, and he almost took a breath in relief. Belay that, what the hey was she doing?! The blood colored substitute rushed to his face, creating a crimson hue he’d forgotten he was capable of. Judging by her stare, she hadn’t known he could do that either. “Watch your hands, Mistress!” He shouted without thinking twice and she jumped back with that multitool snagged and pointed at him like a weapon.

“What the blaze did you just do with your face?! And what’s the yelling for?” She let out an annoyed huff, “I was just taking your shirt off. Chill, okay?” She went from freaked out to calm in the space of a second, though he could tell her hands were shaking. That information was filed in the back of his mind for later. Something more than his reaction had spooked her.

He bit his tongue, wishing he could disappear into the floorboards. Or anywhere, really. Could she not peer into his eyes so closely?? That grin was something else too. “Ohh, is someone shy? Don’t worry, Red. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Wh-what did she mean by that? But more importantly, “My name isn’t ‘Red’, it’s Yukimura. And tha-that isn’t—I’m not—“

She didn’t wait for him to finish. His shirt was in shreds already; the frag gun that had chewed him up had left the fabric’s integrity at nearly nil and she split it easily to reveal his chest. Again she stepped back, this time her face going blank. That was okay. Yuki didn’t need her expression to tell a story. Heart rate, respiration, sweaty palms, and a gesture, raking a pesky stray lock of ebony hair behind her ear, probably a tell. She was shocked.

A good few minutes passed, only her eyes moving, roving over his exposed torso. This was just the beginning, he wanted to joke. Should see his back. ‘Course, the gaping holes where he was missing synth skin was likely the main cause of the disturbing image. Normally when damage was done, either in the line of duty or...on purpose...one would just patch it up.

Droids didn’t heal per se. But they could be fixed, the circuitry hidden again behind something more palatable for the human eye to accept. Wasn’t so bad price-wise either if you didn’t care what color it was. Easiest stuff to purchase was an off-white that basically made it look like an old scar. And unless you really cared about your droid looking pristine or had a lot of money lying around, you were going for the cheap version. He was just counting his blessings none of them had wanted to spring for a color, maybe purple, and call it art.

“So, uhh, like...you gonna stare all night?”

She startled like she’d been shot, her eyes flying up to catch his and a flicker of something...was that pity? darting across them. Nah. No one felt sympathy for droids. Not that he’d seen. Her voice told a different story, its tone soft as she moved closer—her fingertips raising goosebumps on the skin not scarred. “Does it...hurt?”

All...all fifteen plus holes in his chest? The metal fragments wedged in vital components that have caused him to all but grind to a halt? Or the tenderness she used while he braced himself for the new agony she was surely going to cause? He wanted to lie. He wanted so badly not to be vulnerable in admitting what he had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore for a week. He was fine! Just fine. It didn’t hurt and she couldn’t hurt him. Then she wouldn’t get to know what advantage she held until he screamed. A brief reprieve until then, couldn’t he ask for that much? He’d see the truth of it in her eyes soon enough, just as he had all his other owners but one. The hubris it gave them. The thirst for power. Knowing his pain or relief was in their hands.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. There was no escape granted for him. Clearly and with as much dignity as he could muster he answered, “Yeah...it-it’s still...” He stopped, but she seemed to understand.

Thing was, if he’d been a human...well, if he were a human he’d be dead. This many vital components hit would’ve been one thing. The loss of fluid would be the next. They’d self sealed after a time, but even had the fragments not gotten into his circuitry, he didn’t have enough fluid left to function with. Much like a human with severe anemia, he was too weak.

He had forgotten or filed away the memories of how it felt when he’d first been shot. The seal had dulled much of the pain. When she cut one of them back open however, he had to grit his teeth and even then couldn’t keep the whimper down. Truth was, it all hurt. Everything hurt. From the headache brought on by stress and prolonged anxiety, to the toes he couldn’t move but annoyingly, frustratingly, were connected in a way similar to a human’s body. When one aspect was affected the rest felt it.

Eyes closed, he tried to concentrate on just one sensation. Just the scratching and clicking noises of her tools working on his chest. The pain coming from the reopened wound. Just that, as if that weren’t enough. Invasive. Frightening. Gone. What? He could tell the moment she’d stopped, his eyes springing open. Wh-where’d she go?

A loud clattering could be heard just to his side, but he couldn’t see her in his periphery. The next thing he knew, she was laying him down on the table, an adjustable lamp hovering directly over his chest. This was definitely not helping his nerves. The woman, Azar, paused and he thought she smiled. There wasn’t much to see beyond the too bright light over him. It seemed like she was reaching towards his face, but he flinched and she pulled back, squeezing his shoulder lightly instead.

“I’ll be done soon.”

Done? Done with what? What was she doing to him? Was he going to be doomed to being a music player now? Nothing more than a repurposed boombox? His imagination was going a million miles a minute, but he didn’t ask. He knew his voice would crack.

A new component was added to his chest, wires the width of human hair connecting and causing an almost ticklish sensation despite it all. A substance applied to the hole finished the operation and...it was almost more than he could comprehend. It didn’t sting, didn’t burn either. He couldn’t help it, waiting for the sealant to seep into his bloodstream equivalent and spread fire. It never came. Rather, that particular wound which hadn’t ceased sending pain messages to his processor had...silenced. And he could twitch his fingers. What the frak had she done?

“Ngh...aahHHK! Please, please just stop...” His relief was short lived. A new wound was reopened and this one must have been connected to a nerve cluster. He couldn’t see her face past the bright lights hovering over him, but he knew her hands were still moving. Slowly, methodically, the tools scraped and removed and sent receptors screaming...or was that him? She said something; her voice too soft to hear over the alarm bells ringing in his head. All he knew was it wasn’t over yet and he was right. She wasn’t any different than the others.

By the fifth one, he was out of energy. There was nothing left, and nothing replenishing his stamina. Her muttering was washing over him without much comprehension. Unless she addressed him specifically, it wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy to translate her words into something recognizable.

“Didn’t want to add the synth-flow until I was done. Will make this more messy...hm. Can’t be helped. Looks like you won’t last without it.”

A needle was inserted in the crook of his elbow, not the first from the white points dotting the skin. None of those had been voluntary either. He couldn’t see her wincing, didn’t know what to make of her tracing the scars like a constellation. Too soon her instruments of torture were back to digging around his torso.

The...odd thing was...one by one the gaping injuries she’d meddled with were being closed, the pain declining. It had been impossible to notice for a time; his thought processes were overloaded with emotions, memories, and the searing, piercing agony inflicted in whichever wound she was invading. The combination had shut down logical reasoning, but clarity returned with the infusion of artificial blood...as well as movement? Fingers, wrists, feet, neck...slight adjustments sure, but after being frozen stiff for so long, it was nothing short of amazing.

“There. That oughta do the trick.” Her hand brushed back his hair, and though he shied away from the action, she didn’t seem to notice. “Got more of that stuff on order. Friend of a friend owes me a favor.”

She gestured flippantly at his abdomen, already turning to put her tools away. Something didn’t sound right about her voice, too high and breathy, but he was too busy sitting up and gawping at his chest. There was...nothing there. No holes, no new scars. “That stuff” she’s got on order must’ve been the synth skin. Why would she waste the precious resource on him? Unless...

A clattering noise wrenched his attention away from clashing probabilities to were she’d stumbled against the table.

“I’m fine,” was mumbled. She didn’t give much credence to her words when her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her knees buckled.

Lightening fast reflexes caught her before her head caromed off the metal bench. His joints protested and the needle was ripped out of his arm, but he did what he was designed for. It wasn’t even a thought.

Laying her in the sparse but comfortable cot at one side of the room, he checked her pulse and took her temperature. Another deep sigh, appreciating the ability to take a full breath without hitching. “Great. First day and you’re already so needy. Why’d you have to go and work yourself into a fever for?”

One thing’s for sure. She wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Just don’t go dying on me, got it? Dumm—Mistress.”

[daresplaining]

Who are your favourite DD villains? Fisk, Bullseye and Mr Fear all sound brilliant from what I know of them, but are there any others with similarly iconic influence on Matt?

    There are! Daredevil comics aren’t known for their well-crafted villains to the extent that, say, Spider-Man or Batman comics are, but I really enjoy a lot of Matt’s rogues gallery. Fisk and Bullseye are probably the two biggest names, but there are many others who have had major impacts on his life, and the Marvel Universe in general, over the years. Here are some of the most notable DD villains, in my opinion:

Gladiator (Melvin Potter) is a major antagonist who, over the years has become arguably one of the most nuanced and interesting Daredevil characters. I wrote a longer post about him, way back when we thought we might actually get a Gladiator origin story in the Netflix show, but in general, a lot of his lasting appeal comes from the complexity of his character. When he was first introduced in Daredevil vol. 1 #18 he was a pretty standard Silver Age villain: a guy with semi-logical origin story, a funky costume, and a penchant for monologuing. Specifically, Melvin Potter was the owner of a costume store who was sick of being disrespected by his customers, and so decided to make a name for himself by attacking people with spinning blades. 

[ID: A panel from Lee’s Daredevil run. Daredevil is battling the Gladiator. Daredevil hoists himself up on a big crate to dodge one of the Gladiator’s spinning wrist blades.]

Matt: “He’s not fooling with those wrist blades… he’s fighting for real! But, why? I’m certain I’ve never met him before!”

Melvin: “You can’t keep dodging me forever! And the moment you slip, you shall have the honor of being my first victim!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #18 by Stan Lee, John Romita, and Sam Rosen

    Over the years, various writers have worked hard to add nuance to his character. Despite his fearsome appearance and goal of gaining respect, most early Gladiator stories involve Melvin being manipulated by stronger, smarter supervillains. Later, he becomes even more sympathetic: a dangerous killer who, at heart, is gentle and naive and hates when he loses control and hurts people. This creates an inherent discord in his character that adds an emotional hook to all of his stories. Matt tries to help him, and Melvin is grateful for Matt’s friendship and returns that favor when he can, but sometimes they end up having to fight each other. Essentially, Melvin’s story is the relentless tragedy of a man who wants to live a peaceful life but keeps falling victim to his own demons and the cruelty of the world around him. 

[ID: A page from Miller’s Daredevil run. Matt Murdock, in civvies (a tan suit and blue tie) confronts Melvin Potter, who is in a prison uniform and holding his Gladiator helmet.]

Matt: “Melvin, we’ve come so far. I know how much you want to be well… to go straight. We can help you, Betsy and I.”

Melvin: “I been trying, Matt. I been sitting in that courtroom, listening to them say those things about me, feeling my guts churn up, wanting to rip them all to pieces… They hate me. They all hate me… so I’m gonna hate them back!”

Matt: “I’m not letting you off that easy. If you want to become the Gladiator again, you’ll have to get past me.”

Melvin: “Past you?! Look at you– you’re just a skinny little blind guy! I’d break you in half! It’d be easy…”

Matt: “Is that what you want?”

Melvin: “Why not? I’m the Gladiator! The Gladiator! When I’m wearing my armor, I’m unbeatable, I’m…” 

[ID: Melvin throws the helmet and falls to his knees.]

Melvin: “I’m all alone. Help me… please…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #173 by Frank Miller, Klaus Janson, and Glynis Wein

    This complicated and heartwrenching characterization has helped Melvin to remain a fresh and popular antagonist (anti-hero, even) and a regular guest in Daredevil. He is one of several characters who complicates the hero/villain dichotomy, and thereby both emphasizes and challenges Matt’s own heroism. 

Typhoid Mary/Mary Walker is another one of the more famous Daredevil villains, and someone who has had a significant impact on Matt’s story over the years. I wrote a longer post on her as well. Female antagonists in particular seem to suffer from a variety of weaknesses in their depictions, and Typhoid– as a sexual character by nature, as well as someone who plays upon “crazy” villain tropes– has had her share of not great depictions over the years. However, at her core, she is a wonderfully compelling character and a dangerous villain who is literally multifaceted by design. Even moreso than Melvin Potter, Mary plays upon the concept of a good person who is powerless to prevent themself from doing violent things– in Mary’s case, through genuinely having multiple psyches inhabiting one body. She is in constant conflict with herself, as gentle Mary and bloodthirsty Typhoid battle for dominance. As much as she is an antagonist to Matt and the other heroes whose paths she crosses, she is her own arch-enemy. 

[ID: An excerpt from Nocenti’s Daredevil run. Typhoid Mary and Daredevil are both underwater, in the East River. Mary looked panicked partway through strangling Daredevil, and flees out of the water.]

Mary/Typhoid: “Don’t kill him! You! Shut up! I love him! Stop! Get out of my head! You can’t kill him! Get out of my head! Oh, god! Where am I? Why am I dressed like this? What have I done?!”

Matt: “Curious. That’s a completely different woman running away! What came over her?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #256 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

    Matt’s dealings with Mary have brought about some of the more unheroic moments in his career. In Joe Kelly’s attempt to integrate the Man Without Fear-verse origin story into the 616 universe, he proposed that Matt nearly killed Mary on his first superhero outing. When Typhoid, in her introductory arc, is hired to seduce Matt, it works– he cheats on Karen with her. Later, when attempting to bring down the Kingpin’s empire, Matt removes Mary from the equation by sleeping with her to get her guard down and then forging documents to have her locked away in a psychiatric hospital. She hits all of his weak points: as Mary, she is a victim who needs rescuing… and an attractive one at that. As Typhoid, she is a dangerous enemy who must be stopped. In addition to her skill with weapons, she has all kinds of awesome psychic powers– including, most notably, pyrokinesis– and something about her physiology messes with Matt’s senses and makes her difficult to fight. She is a challenge on every level, and in many ways, Matt serves the same purpose for her– Mary (and, arguably, Typhoid as well) accidentally falls in love with him, representing a loss of power and control that she can’t stand. 

[ID: Excerpt from Nocenti’s Daredevil run. A series of panels alternating between Daredevil falling off a bridge and a tear sliding down Typhoid Mary’s cheek.]

Daredevil vol. 1 #260 by Ann Nocenti, John Romita Jr., and Christie Scheele

The Hand I love the Hand– which is to say, I love the Chaste, and part of why I love the Chaste is because I love their rivalry with the Hand. On some levels, the Hand are your standard Big Bad Secret Organization, but I also find them to be a lot of fun, and they have been a significant force in Daredevil comics since they were introduced. The Hand are key players in Miller’s updated version of Matt’s origin, which introduced Stick and gave him a purpose for training Matt. They also had a huge role in Elektra’s origin, since her attempt to singlehandedly bring them down from the inside led to her becoming an assassin. And of course, Matt’s role as leader of the Hand and temporary vessel for their patron demon, the Beast, was a defining moment in recent DD comics and a low point of Matt’s career. The Hand are dangerous because they are vast, and their high-ranking members have all kinds of cool powers, which I love. And there’s also a certain amount of weakness and dysfunction to the Hand that makes them appealing. They are a once-great organization relegated to being mercenaries-for-hire. Their low-ranking members are fairly weak– as Matt quips in Volume 1 #380, “a little harsh language and [they’re] up in smoke!” They were led by a Skrull (disguised as Elektra) for a while, and didn’t even notice. Arguably their most dangerous enemy, Master Izo, mostly just bothers them with Hand puns. 

[ID: A panel from Diggle’s Daredevil run. Daredevil, seen from the back, is standing in an empty room. The light from the sunset streams in through the windows. Izo is sitting behind him on the floor, drinking tea.]

Matt: “Look, you wanted me leading the Hand, you got it… but I never agreed to be your puppet.”    

Izo: “‘Hand puppet.’ Heh.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #503 by Andy Diggle, Roberto De La Torre, Marco Checchetto, and Matt Hollingsworth

    I also enjoy the way the Hand and the Chaste operate and Matt’s relationship with them. Matt isn’t an official member of the Chaste (like Elektra, he was rejected for being too emotional– which, in his case at least, is a fair assessment) but he still teams up with them on occasion, and the experience almost always puts him out of his depth in really entertaining ways. Matt is one of the Hand’s biggest enemies and one of the Chaste’s most useful allies, so he gets dragged into their business even when he doesn’t want to be involved. 

[ID: Excerpt from Daredevil: Ninja. A conversation between Daredevil and Stone in a series of face close-ups.]

Stone: “We need your help.”

Matt: “You should have asked me to come.”

Stone: “Would you have?”

Matt: “I hate this ninja crap. I hate it. Every single time it’s nothing but lies, half-truths, and misguided loyalties. Stay away from me and my life.”

Daredevil: Ninja #2 by Brian Michael Bendis, Rob Haynes, and David Self

    There are also two excellent (and, I’d say, influential) alternate universes in which Matt joins the Hand and thrives in their presence: What If? Daredevil vs. Elektra and Earth-65 (Spider-Gwen-verse). 

Lady Bullseye (Maki Matsumoto) And if we’re discussing the Hand and the Chaste, I have to mention Maki– undisputed head of the Bullseye Fan Club and another of my favorite Daredevil villains. She’s relatively new (she was introduced during Brubaker’s run) and so hasn’t had a particularly big long-term influence on Matt, but she is a great character with extensive connections to Daredevil history. One thing I love about her is the fact that while she modeled her look and identity on Bullseye, she isn’t treated as just female version of him, as her name might suggest. They actually have very little in common; she just chose to honor Bullseye because he played a role in her origin story by indirectly rescuing her from a human trafficking ring.

[ID: Panels from Brubaker’s Daredevil run. Bullseye is single-handedly beating up a bunch of gun-toting mobsters in a warehouse building. Maki Matsumoto watches him between the bars of a large cage.]   

Caption: “She remembers that so vividly. Remembers the joy she beheld that day from her cage. She had never seen anything so beautiful, she thought. Of course, she was nearly insane already by then. But then, like a miracle… freedom.”

[ID: Maki reaches between the bars of the cage and grabs a key from a dead mobster’s pocket. As she tries to escape, another mobster runs toward her.]

Man: “You– back in your cage, girl!”

Maki: “I think not.”

[ID: Without looking at him, she slices his throat with the key.]

Daredevil vol. 2 #111 by Ed Brubaker, Clay Mann, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Since then, Maki has teamed up with Bullseye– mostly notably, resurrecting and caring for him after his death in “Shadowland”– but more often, she operates on her own as an assassin. Like both Elektra and Matt, she was trained by the Hand and the Chaste without forming an official allegiance with either, and it seems her primary teacher was Master Izo– thus making her Matt and Elektra’s ninja aunt and/or sister in the Chaste Family Tree that definitely exists in my head and nowhere else. 

[ID: Excerpt from Brubaker’s Daredevil run. Lady Bullseye and Izo are standing on a Manhattan rooftop as the sky brightens behind them. Pigeons are flocking around them; Izo has one perched on his hand.]

Maki: “You said I would lead the Hand.”

Izo: “I said a lot of things when I was training you, girl… Said whatever I needed to say.”

Maki: “You’re as bad as them.”

Izo: “No. I didn’t put you in a cage and sell you to the Yakuza.”

Maki: “You still used me.”

Izo: “Yes, I did… but I’m not going to apologize.”

Maki: “Someday I’ll kill you for this. You know that, right?”

[ID: Izo leaps off the roof.]

Izo: “Yeah, well… get in line.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #500 by Ed Brubaker, Michael Lark, Stefano Gaudiano, Matt Hollingsworth, et al.

    Maki masterminds the destruction of Matt’s life that leads him to join the Hand. She is extremely smart (she passes herself off as a lawyer during Brubaker’s run and fools both Matt and Foggy; as far as anyone knows, she might actually have a law degree…?), an excellent fighter (arguably better than Matt, not quite as good as Elektra), an absolute badass, and an all-around great antagonist who deserves her own solo series (hint, hint, Marvel). 

Death-Stalker I’m not sure Death-Stalker counts as a major Daredevil villain, but he was used about once a week in late 70s Daredevil so he’s certainly been a recurring presence. I also just find him really cool, conceptually. One of the interesting things about Death-Stalker is that he started his existence as a completely different supervillain: the Exterminator, who is best known for “killing” Mike Murdock! The Exterminator had a weapon that could shift its victims out of sync with the time-stream. When Matt blows it up to fake Mike’s death, the Exterminator is caught in the blast, with shocking consequences: 

[ID: Excerpt from McKenzie’s Daredevil run. A series of flashback panels: the Exterminator (a kind of goofy-looking villain with a purple and white costume and blue antennae on the side of his mask) watching Daredevil pull a lever, then the Exterminator getting caught in an explosion and falling into a void.] 

Death-Stalker: “How many long and empty years has it been, Murdock? How many… since you so callously destroyed my awesome Time-Displacement Ray… catching me fully in the time-shattering explosion?! How long has it been since I was hurled through the fabric of time? But what you believed to be my death proved instead a macabre rebirth! I found myself in a timeless limbo! Unobserved, I could go anywhere! Do anything!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #158 by Roger McKenzie, Frank Miller, and George Roussos

    Thus, the Exterminator returns years later as Death-Stalker– a villain who can move freely through time and space, become intangible at will, and whose mere touch is lethal. This, combined with his new appearance (glowing eyes, bony hands, huge billowy cape…) makes for an excellent creepy character concept, and some of the Death Stalker issues feel more like horror stories than the typical Daredevil comic. 

[ID: Excerpt from Gerber’s Daredevil run. A tired Daredevil is making his way through a swamp. Death-Stalker appears behind him out of the fog and puts a skeletal white hand on his shoulder. Daredevil collapses.]

Matt: “H-he’s gone! Nothing but an empty cape! It’s not possible! It– where did he go?!”

Death-Stalker: “Here, Daredevil. I am here. Death is at your back.”

Matt: “Huh? Wha– No!! My… shoulder… your fingers… like ice–!”

Death-Stalker: “Like death, Daredevil. Like the grim, glacial embrace of the North Wind. No use to flee… you can’t outrun the wind.”

Caption: “For Daredevil, for this sightless adventurer, all the world is blackness, all the time. But now, a different kind of darkness envelopes him, a sort of oblivion he has never known before. He hears his heartbeat slow… feels his mind empty of all thought… feel his every nerve tingle, then go numb… and he knows that he is… dying. And that is all he knows when the darkness claims him and the Death-Stalker relaxes his grip.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #114 by Steve Gerber, Bob Brown, and Stan G.

    Sadly, though, I don’t feel he was ever used to his full skin-crawling potential, particularly considering how dangerous his power-set was. He was mostly just a nuisance who rarely got the upper hand, and he was killed in Daredevil #158 when he accidentally materialized through a tombstone during a fight with Matt. One of my favorite details about Death-Stalker isn’t Death-Stalker himself– it’s that his mother lived in a booby-trapped mansion and owned an army of exploding robotic children that she sicced on Matt to avenge her son’s death. But that’s a story for another post… 

Jester (Jonathan Powers) The Jester gets no respect, and it’s a shame because he’s both genuinely a great villain when he’s used well and highly entertaining when his 1960s goofiness is played up, and he manages to embody both of those characterizations with absolute panache. He has played a role in some fairly major Daredevil stories over the years and I’d consider him a staple DD villain. His origin story is pure Silver Age silliness: he was an actor who received bad reviews for his first major starring role, found his career heading downhill, and so decided to become a supervillain instead. This is pretty typical of motivations for villains of this time period (see the Gladiator’s origin story above, and Stilt-Man below), but even this aspect of his character has been put to good use. Daredevil #218 features a surprisingly touching story of the Jester stealing the chance to reprise that first starring role– and of Matt keeping the cops distracted (by pretending to be the Jester!) so that his enemy can finally live his dream. 

[ID: Excerpt from O’Neil’s Daredevil run. The Jester is dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac. He pulls off his false nose and bows dramatically to Daredevil and the cops who have come to take him in.]

Jester: “A moment ago you unmasked. Now I shall perform a similar gesture… I am your humble and obedient servant… the Jester! At your service!”

Matt: “You deserve the bow. You were magnificent.”

Jester: “Indeed! I trust the critics will change their tune.”

Daredevil vol. 1 #218 by Denny O’Neil, Sal Buscema, and Christie Scheele

    Throughout the issue, Matt draws comparisons between himself and the Jester: their shared mask-wearing and the experiences of disillusionment that shaped their lives– and while it certainly doesn’t give the Jester the emotional depth of certain other Daredevil villains, it’s a memorable connection. 

    But where the Jester is at his most dangerous is not as an actor looking for attention– it’s as a creator of chaos. The Jester is a master of illusions and media manipulation. In his introductory arc, he frames Daredevil for his murder and turns Matt into a wanted criminal. Later, he uses a campaign of false news reports and misinformation to sabotage Foggy’s run for District Attorney, turn the superhero community into targets, and throw the whole country into an uproar. Most recently, in Waid’s run, he manipulated TV footage to cause rioting in NYC in the wake of an unpopular and highly publicized court ruling. His plans don’t always succeed, but even then, the scope and effectiveness of the damage he causes makes him a truly formidable villain.

[ID: Excerpt from Waid’s Daredevil run. The Jester is sitting in front of computer monitors in a dark room, yelling into a microphone. In the next panel, we see random civilians in a cafe, watching “Mayor Jameson” (played by the Jester) on TV.]

Jester: “Listen to him. God, he’s so smug. No matter. This is a minor setback. Daredevil’s not the ultimate target, after all. The city’s the target, and it’ll burn. Voice synthesizer on… People of New York… this is Mayor Jameson! Effective immediately, I am rescinding all handgun regulations in Manhattan! Take up arms– for your own protection– and await further instructions!”

Daredevil vol. 3 #32 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

The Owl (Leland Owlsley) The Owl has, unfortunately, been overshadowed by the Kingpin for most of his existence, and as such, hasn’t been given anywhere near the same amount of character development or nuance. They were created based on the same character concept: a high-powered mobster with a shadowy network of pawns who controls the city’s criminal underworld. 

[ID: A series of panels from Lee’s Daredevil run, showing a man in a long green coat and brimmed hat walking into an office building. His face is not shown; the people he passes looked at him with fear.]

Caption: “This is Wall Street, heart of New York’s Financial District, where fortunes are made and lost by the world’s greatest financial wizards! And, within the canyons of this street, we are about to find one certain man… a merciless man… a man with no friends… no loved ones… nothing to connect him with the human race, save the fact of his birth! Let us follow this man… let us study him as he walks into a towering office building, his heavy footsteps reverberating through the huge marble lobby! For we shall see much of this man on the pages that follow… He walks slowly, but with a sure, steady tread… looking neither to the right nor the left… ignoring those he passes and those who pass him! But he himself cannot readily be ignored by others! His very presence seems so fraught with evil, with menace, that his fellow humans shrink back from the mere sight of him! There are some who recognize him… who speak his name in whispers… for his wealth is said to be legendary, and his power almost beyond measure!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #3 by Stan Lee, Joe Orlando, and Sam Rosen

    Unfortunately, the Kingpin just ended up doing it better, and while there are a few Owl story arcs that I really like, I’ve never found him that interesting. However, he is hugely significant because he was the very first Daredevil supervillain, introduced all the way back in Daredevil #3! (In #1 Matt fights the mobsters who killed his father, and in #2 he fights Electro, who is a Spider-Man rogue.) Thus, he has had an impact on Matt’s life simply from having been around for so long. This also means there’s a huge range in his stories, verging from extremely ridiculous (he sometimes eats rats, and used to own an owl-shaped airplane. How cool is that?) to slightly more grounded. There is a great Owl story arc in which his bird-like body modifications start killing him, which gives his law-breaking more nuance, because he is doing it to look for a cure. Matt, upon discovering this, tries to help him. 

[ID: Excerpt from Chichester’s Daredevil run. Daredevil and the Owl are on a fire escape together. The Owl has metal cybernetic legs and has collapsed. Daredevil is comforting him.]

Matt: “You’re going to make it, hear me? You’re gonna–”

Owlsley: “You should’ve let me…”

Matt: “Unh-uh. You take my hand– you’re willing to take my hand– I don’t let go. You’ve got some long ways to go, mister… but you can count on me…”

Daredevil vol. 1 #303 by D.G. Chichester, M.C. Wyman, and Christie Scheele

    There’s also great point in Bendis’s run when the Owl, in a surprising demonstration of cleverness, hires a lawyer to sue Daredevil for breaking and entering. It doesn’t work, but it throws Matt off and is absolutely priceless. 

    The Owl has also had several children– two unnamed young kids who were introduced in Alias, and Jubula Pride, who was introduced in Daredevil Volume 4 and worked alongside Matt to rescue her father. Jubula’s brief-but-memorable appearance added a bit more depth to the Owl– allowing us to see him in the role of a parent as well as a villain. But mostly, over the years the Owl has remained one of the more insidious of New York’s mob bosses, always scheming to stay in power and fight his way out of the Kingpin’s shadow. And he’s been doing it for so long that he feels like an integral part of Daredevil comics. 

Turk Barrett He’s not a costumed supervillain or even much of a threat, but Turk has become an iconic Daredevil antagonist for both his sheer ineptitude and his plucky ability to stay alive. Of all of the recurring low-level mobster characters, he has the most engaging personality, and his dynamic with Matt is one of long-held friendly animosity. Daredevil isn’t the most dangerous person in Turk’s life, Turk isn’t the most dangerous person in Matt’s life, so they mostly just annoy each other. They’ve even been known to team up, when Turk thinks the odds of survival are in his favor. 

[ID: Excerpt from Daredevil: Love and War. Turk Barrett (dressed in a white shirt and blue pants) is mopping the inside of an elevator. The doors open, and Daredevil walks in. They ride the elevator together.] 

Matt: “Turk! You got the job!”

Turk: “No, man… this… I mean, I’m working undercover, man… I’m your backup!”

Matt: “I believe you, Turk.”

Turk: “Even know what level the doc’s on, man… So how’d you get in, Devil?”

Matt: “I flew in, Turk.”

Turk: “…Course. I knew that. ‘Spose the window locks weren’t much trouble…”

Matt: “Melted them with my heat vision.”

Daredevil: Love and War by Frank Miller and Bill Sienkiewicz

    Turk is an underdog. He’s kind of a goof and he’s certainly a criminal, but he’s also a small fish in a big and dangerous pond, working in a career where most people eventually end up at the bottom of the East River in concrete shoes (or a taxi, as the case may be). He’s slippery and resourceful, he stays just harmless enough to keep himself out of danger, and you can’t help but root for him, even when he does dumb things like stealing Stilt-Man’s stilts or trying to kill Daredevil for the hundredth unsuccessful time. 

Stilt-Man (Wilbur Day), of course, requires no introduction. He is another personal favorite of mine, and a rare case of a goofy Silver Age villain surviving into the modern era while remaining exactly as goofy as he was when first introduced. The great appeal of Stilt-Man is, in fact, that he’s a bit of a joke, while at the same time being quite dangerous, in a comic book physics-kind of way.  

[ID: Excerpt from Lee’s run. Daredevil is battling Stilt-Man on a daytime city street.]

Wilbur: “Hah! You missed!! Have you forgotten so soon how easily I can change my height, thanks to my magnificent hydraulically-operated stilts?!!”

Matt: “Mebbe so! But I haven’t forgotten that I’m the gent who whumped you good last time fought! (Man! It sure is lucky I was here! If Stilt-Man ever managed to get the Leap-Frog safely away, what a team those two would make! But, I hear the boys in blue hauling that human jumping jack right now! Which means Stilty and I can go it alone!) Heads up, dad! It’s time for fun ‘n games again!”

Wilbur: “Hah! Didn’t expect me to seize your cable, did you? I should have warned you, little man– I’ve modified my protective armor in such a way as to double my strength! Which means I’m more than a match for your limited talents!!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #26 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, and Artie Simek

    Part of the charm of this characterization is the fact that he’s a joke in-universe as well; most of his appearances in modern comics consist of Stilt-Man being made fun of and/or of the audience being reminded that he’s actually a threat. This creates a great balance in his depictions; the jokes are fun, the sight of various superheroes being beaten up (at least a little) by Stilt-Man is fun, and he remains an enjoyable, mostly lighthearted presence in a landscape that has become dominated by Dark, Serious, and Disturbing villains. 

[ID: Excerpt from Bendis’s Daredevil run. Matt is sitting at his desk in his darkened office, talking to Wilbur Day– a short, bald guy in a black jacket, with his arm in a sling.]

Wilbur: “Wilbur Day– I’m Stilt-Man. We’ve met four hundred times.”

Matt: “Stilt-Man– Huh. Oh, you mean that burglar guy Stilt-Man? Who wears the stilts and robs things?”

Wilbur: “Can we please just–”

Matt: “We’ve met when?”

Wilbur: “I–”

Matt: “Are you in some kind of legal trouble? Is that why you’re here?”

Wilbur: “Okay, fine.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #41 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, and Matt Hollingsworth

    Stilt-Man is just a short guy in a ridiculous outfit who wants to commit some crimes and get a little respect– and really, who can’t relate to that?  

Ikari (???) I’m mentioning Ikari not because he’s a long-established Daredevil villain– he’s not– but because I am fascinated by his potential. He’s a favorite of mine as much for what we don’t know as for what we do. In his introductory arc, we learn this: He was engineered/commissioned by Bullseye to kill Matt, his fighting abilities equal Matt’s, he has hypersenses, and (as a horrified Matt discovers later) he can also see.

Ikari: “Someone has, in fact, managed to re-create the toxic chemicals that blinded you, gave you enhanced senses. Someone whose hate for you keeps him alive. But he didn’t waste the process on weak, malnourished vagrants. He used it to baptize a warrior. A fighter trained to be every bit your equal in skill– and now, in power.” 

Daredevil vol. 3 #25 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

    And that’s it. We don’t know who he is or where he came from, or what the consequences are of having that degree of sensory perception (presumably his vision is heightened too?). We don’t know what his personal goals or motivations are, since we’ve only ever seen him as a pawn– first of Bullseye and then, later, of the Kingpin. But the concept of his character as someone who shares Matt’s powers plus some– who is essentially, skills-wise, a criminal version of Matt– and all the mystery that surrounds him, is hugely compelling to me. 

[ID: Excerpt from Waid’s Daredevil run. Both Ikari and Daredevil are out on the street, being shot at by cops. As Daredevil hides behind a parked car, Ikari attacks the cops and cuts their guns in half with his blades.]

Matt: “The cops are hunting me under an open-fire command. Presuming they’ve been advised of Ikari’s prison break, I’m sure the same order applies to him. I wish it scared him. I wish anything did.”

Daredevil vol. 4 #17 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Matt Wilson

    In his last appearance he was killed by the Shroud, but his body was stolen, leaving the door open for him to maybe return sometime in the future and receive more development. I hope he does. 

[cloudybookash-blog]

TAKE BACKS ANSWER 1-50 BITCH

She was all specific until she opened her inbox and saw I dared her to answer all 50 and came back at me like this

The Basics

1.    Do you listen to music when you write?

Sometimes, but like… I don’t write now so dhfaoujfa a bitch wouldn’t know anymore.

2.    Are you a pantser or plotter?

Pantser turned plotter.

3.    Computer or pen and paper?

Both, true anarchy is having 8 drafts of the beginning done in pen and paper that you barely look at and writing the end scene in four different word docs.

4.    Have you ever been published, or do you want tobe published?

I want to be I guess? I MEAN I DON’T WRITE ANYMORE SO WHAT’S THERE TO BE PUBLISHED!?? :a manuscript of the internal warfare between my desire to write and being sucks into my ongoing maladaptive daydream about being a fully-fledged, critically acclaimed author.

5.    How much writing do you get done on an averageday?

Oh, nothing to phenomenal, about 0 words per day.

6.    Single or multiple POV?

Multiple, third person.

7.    Standalone or series?

Series, I don’t know how to end a story line… it just keeps going… on and on and on and o-…

8.    Oldest WIP

Probably some type of HP v Three Ninja’s crossover fan-fiction, it’s on a floppy disc somewhere.

9.    Current WIP

To paranoid to post ANYTHING about it online, despite the fact that no one gives a shit.

10.  Doyou set yourself deadlines?

PFFT, what do you think?

The Specifics11.  Booksand/or authors who influenced you the most

The usual suspects I guess? Stephen King, JM Barrie, Lewis Carroll, JK Rowling,  etc… But, tbh, it was movies that got me first into writing because I couldn’t fucking read back in the day.

12.  Describeyour perfect writing space

I feel like I’ve answered this before. Though now I think I’d change my answer to anywhere, as long as I felt I wasn’t going to be interrupted by people, the need to eat and/or drink, bathroom breaks, back and/or hand pains, or the ever-present creeping feeling that I should be doing something else. 

13.  Describeyour writing process from idea to polished

I watch a movie/read a book/hear a story, then I schedule it in for my next maladaptive daydream and re work it, then I start writing, realise I want to change the perspective, then I start writing that, then I realise I want to change character traits/relationship, then I start writing that, the I realise I know nothing about the world, so I start researching and brainstorming and once that happens I lose all will and motivation and go back to constantly reworking it in maladaptive daydreams that spiral so far from the original Idea I can no longer remember it and at this point I’m to scared to look at it again…

14.  Howdo you deal with self-doubts?

Not Well.

15.  Howdo you deal with writer’s block?

N O T      W E L L.

16.  Howmany drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project?

Siri, how do you type the infinity symbol?

17.  Whatwriting habits or rituals do you have?

Bad ones.

18.  Ifyou could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you writeabout?

I don’t read, NEXT QUESTION.

19.  Howdo you keep yourself motivated?

…

20.  Howmany WIPs and story ideas do you have?

S̶̡͚̲̬͇͇̮͐͐̈́́͊̌̐̏͗̕̕͘i̶͙̣̽̃̀̎̑̎̋͠ŗ̶͚͓̦̭̥̟̗̩̤̖̅̌̓̊̀̃̅̍̆͆͜ͅi̷͕̇̚,̵̧̡̗̯̝̯̭̳͎͚̠̺̓̌̈̅̀̉͌́͑̊͑͠ ̷̰̠͙̅̆͐̔ḧ̶̢̝͔̞̮͔̣̥͍̪̘̝̹́͂̆̔̐̊̄̎͋̂͋̒͝ŏ̸̼̦͔̬̜̻͊͂̒͒̈́͑͋͋̽͊̕w̴̙̞̫̅̓̎͆̔̀̑̀̀͘̚͠ͅ ̷͚̪̻̥͉̼͕͔̃͗͂̉͒̒͋̾̏̒̒͑͘͜d̶̛̛̟̈́̋̌̈́͂̄̄̍͘͝͝ö̷̖̈͆͂̂̈́̄͂͐̒͘͘ ̴̣̇̊͋̃͒̾̀̌̉͊̉͑͝y̸̺̜̤͇̔̎̅͑̏̋̕ͅŏ̵̬̬͔̥̗̎̑͋̀̒͆̓̍̌͌ử̵͎͙̱̤͊̃ ̵̠̣͙̝̠̳̻͓́̾͆̓ͅt̷͍̣̘͕̣͎̣̏̀̃̔̑̏́͆̾͐̓͜͝͝y̴̡̧̛̥̼̯͚̝̗͗̎̈́̀̊̌̎͒̔ͅp̴͇͇̼̯̹̏̽̓̔͊̃́̍̑͛͂̒ě̶̹͚͔̼̰̤̦̟̇̉̒̚͘͘ͅͅ ̵̙͎́̈́̽͂̂̽͋̚ṭ̵̛̛͈͇̇̏̔̿̌̏ḩ̵̢͕̜̬̳̻͙̹̻̟̝̓̎̏e̸̡̝̫̩̣̦͉̺͎̺͈͑̀͋͗̄͊ ̵̠͖̉̎̀̿̎̽̾i̸̜̟̥͎͖͓̒̉̽̄̊͊͜n̶̲̥̦̺̤͂̐f̶͍̰̺͍̖̑̃i̴̯̯͌͒͑͛́̈́̀̄̄͛͘͝ǹ̶̢̜̙͚͖̞̟̻̙̱̲̠͛͐̾̓̑͊̐̋̇͗͘͠i̶̢̨̨̭̩͕͈̊͌̾̃̄̑̎̊̈́̋͘ť̸̝̼̹̟͇̼̖̫̙̲̖͆̎̽͒̎̇̍̐̌͗́ỳ̴̡̟̝̠̫̘ ̸̣̙̼͙͚̹̦̄̐̆̓̅͋̈͝s̴��̤̤̓͊̽͌̐y̴̦̦̝̪͑̈́̔̓͒̄̕ͅm̶̧̫̠̗͎̱̲̝̬̼̭̘̓̏̍͒̋̀̄̄̇͠͝ͅb̶̨̛̞̭̰͉͛̿̾ō̶̖̤l̶͓̲͌̑̉̄͘͝?̶̨͕̪̿̍̒͒͘͝

The Favourites21.  Whois/are your favourite character(s) to write?

Character whose purpose I know from the get go, so there’s no dicking around about non-sensical things because you’re tryna fill the page.

22.  Whois/are your favourite pairing(s) to write?

I don’t think I’ve ever comfortably or consistently written two character in the same room.

23.  Favouriteauthor

I usually don’t consistently enjoy someone’s work enough to like the whole person, I also rarely even care?

24.  Favouritegenre to write and read

Anything with fantastical elements, love that magic shit.

25.  Favouritepart of writing

At this point actually progressing in my story would be so miraculous I’d keel over and die.

26.  Favouritewriting program

?? I use scrivener, if that’s what you mean.

27.  Favouriteline/scene

28.  Favouriteside character

All my characters are MCs because I don’t know how to prioritise.

29.  Favouritevillain

Chillling, if I could get arOUND TO WRITING HER.

30.  Favouriteidea you haven’t started on yet

Bold of you to assume I don’t immediately abandon 5-10 year long projects in favour of something new and shiny.

The Dark

31.  Leastfavourite part of writing

The fact that I can’t thought-project my world into a word doc… Honestly, so not user friendly.

32.  Mostdifficult character to write

All of them.

33.  Haveyou ever killed a main character?

All of them.

34.  Whatwas the hardest scene you ever had to write?

All of them.

35.  Whatscene/story are you least looking forward to writing?

A̶̢̨̜̭͇̻̲͈͌̈́̏̿̇͊̑ͅͅl̴̡̤͈̫͈̊͐̈̽l̵̩͖͉͖͆ ̵̢̤͕̻̏̿͂̋̍̑̄́o̸̘̗͉̳̻̩͇͈̙̤͙̳̅̎̿̉f̸̛͈̯̫͇̣̜̬͍͉͈̜̅̑̾ ̷̛̲̰͒̀̏̾̀̍̚̚͜t̷̟͎̞̥͊̆̇̈́̀̋͝h̶̨̰̮̥̠̣͓̹̲̳̱̫̳̉̂ͅe̴͓̠͍̍͒̅̏̒͗̔̆͘ͅḿ̸̡̧̝̜͇̯̣͚͔̝̗̜͚͑ͅ.̸̧̫̥̪̠̟̠̭̮̞̰͈̙̂͂͌̈́̂̿ͅ

The Fun36.  Lastsentence you wrote

A̶̢̨̜̭͇̻̲͈͌̈́̏̿̇͊̑ͅͅl̴̡̤͈̫͈̊͐̈̽l̵̩͖͉͖͆ ̵̢̤͕̻̏̿͂̋̍̑̄́o̸̘̗͉̳̻̩͇͈̙̤͙̳̅̎̿̉f̸̛͈̯̫͇̣̜̬͍͉͈̜̅̑̾ ̷̛̲̰͒̀̏̾̀̍̚̚͜t̷̟͎̞̥͊̆̇̈́̀̋͝h̶̨̰̮̥̠̣͓̹̲̳̱̫̳̉̂ͅe̴͓̠͍̍͒̅̏̒͗̔̆͘ͅḿ̸̡̧̝̜͇̯̣͚͔̝̗̜͚͑ͅ.̸̧̫̥̪̠̟̠̭̮̞̰͈̙̂͂͌̈́̂̿ͅ

37.  Firstsentence or your current WIP

[insert charac name here]’s body slammed down heavily, face first

38.  Weirdeststory idea you’ve ever had

Honestly, they could all take the cake. I’m weird… have you ever seen me away from my writing resources? No. Have you ever seen any of my actual writing? No, that’s weird, I’m a weirdo.

39.  Weirdestcharacter concept you’ve ever had

Read the above answer^^

40.  Sharesome backstory for one of your characters

One character is thought of to be as old as time itself, maybe even older. He forgot his original birth name, came to a stable and asked one of the workers what their name was. Upon hearing it he went, “I like that, it’s mine.” and killed the worker and when the stable owner came to see what happened and asked the living character what their name was, living character gave the one belonging to the worker he’d just killed and walked off.

The Rest of It41.  Anyadvice for new/beginning/young writers?

I am in no position to be giving any such thing, honestly, the real question is has anyone got any advice foR ME?!?!

42.  Howdo you feel about love triangles?

Hard to do right, can’t write them myself because… (see answer to q:27)

43.  Whatdo you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline?

See where they’re going and if it’s not funky fresh: re-write the entire scene with them on a titanium leash

44.  Howmuch research do you do?

Way more now that I no longer write.

45.  Howmuch world building do you do?

Way more now that I no longer write.

46.  Doyou reread your own stories?

Way more now that I no longer write.

47.  Bestway to procrastinate

Never write.

48.  What’sthe most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

All of them, I’d love to be a souped-up, immortal child running around in a magical forest with my friends.

49.  Whichcharacter would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

Either one of the chill ones or one of the so NOT CHILL ones, depends on how much drama I want at any given time.

50.  [Otherquestion—ask me anything]

??? Never ask me or my son a question ever again.

[kiruuuuu]

Oh anon, this happens to be one of the ships I like a lot myself but somehow never ended up writing, so thank you for giving me an excuse! I even get the chance to depict why Diana is Bandit’s eternal nemesis. Hope you like it ❤ (Rating T, humour/fluff, ~1.7k words)

.

Bandit almost swerves into a ditch as soon as he catches sight of who accompanied Smoke to their meeting point. He didn’t tell him outright to come alone but thought it obvious since they were planning to test some of their self-made fireworks out here in the fields which is probably all sorts of illegal but fun. Smoke claimed he improved the launch mechanism, meaning they won’t risk stragglers shooting up into their trouser legs anymore (and yes, Bandit still has the scar), and supposedly even managed to branch out with the colours. So hopefully they’re not going to look like they randomly caught fire anymore.

Their visitor, however, is going to nullify their entire project – because there is absolutely no way.

He stops his motorcycle a few feet away from where Smoke is perched on the fence and beaming at him in anticipation, the small furry killjoy lying down in the grass just behind him. “The fuck?”, Bandit yells at him and angrily tosses his helmet onto the ground while approaching the two. “What’d you bring her for? She’s gonna go ballistic, you numbskull!”

“What are you -” Smoke’s confused expression clears up after he’s followed Bandit’s gaze. “Oh shit. The fuck are you doing here, dog? You’re meant to be at Mark’s, how did you even…” Diana has perked up by now, regarding the two of them unapologetically with raised ears. “I swear I didn’t bring her on purpose, mate, I have no idea where she came from. It is Diana, right?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I’d be able to recognise her in a tornado of corgis.” He’s absolutely sure he could actually correctly identify her no matter what – she’s haunted him in his dreams, always popping up at the most inopportune moments to endanger his life.

“Tornado of corgis? Is that like murder of crows?”, Smoke muses, quite obviously not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why aren’t you freaking out, Seamus will have both our heads if he finds out!”

Smoke draws his brows together. “Why ours? It’s Mark’s fault, she must’ve jumped out when he dropped me off here and neither of us noticed. You don’t have anything to do with it, mate.”

“Look. This fucking gremlin stole some chocolate out of my hand by basically climbing my leg and it was somehow my fault. She very nearly electrocuted herself in the workshop by running in like a dog with a death wish – I almost concussed myself saving her, and it was still my fault. Remember how she got stuck in the fence on base? My fault. And you know why? Because I was the only one who rushed in to free her since I didn’t want to be accused wrongly once again, which resulted in me being wrongly accused once again. I’m fucking sick of this fucking mutt and her fucking owner always blaming me. I swear, at this point he’s this close to actually beating my face in. I’m not risking it. We’re taking her back.”

“Fuze let her into the workshop that one time, actually. And I was the one who pointed out the chocolate to her”, Smoke admits and laughs good-naturedly at Bandit’s murderous expression. “Water under the bridge, mate, but alright, if you don’t wanna see the fireworks, I guess we can take her back first.”

Bandit is very much in favour of that decision. “Dogs hate fireworks anyway and I don’t wanna frighten her”, he mumbles and climbs over the fence to pick Diana up. She jumps up at the first step he makes towards her and Bandit’s stomach plummets. “Oh no. No, no, no, baby girl, don’t do this to me. Just stay where you are, alright? We’re going to take you back to your scary ass owner and you’re going to behave.” Another step. She lowers herself a little on her front legs. Bandit knows this stance.

“Not looking good”, Smoke states, merely watching in amusement.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t jinx it. Do you have any food on you?”

“Only something which could pass as a sausage but I’m not going to offer it to her, no thank you.”

That’s fair. Bandit looks around for a stick or something similar but comes up empty. There’s nothing but fences, stone walls, fields and sheep. Oh shit. He’s fairly sure corgis do have a herding instinct, he can’t let her get anywhere near them. She’s wearing her usual tartan bandanna and looking laughably innocent where he knows her to be the devil’s spawn – it might give him something to hold on to though. “I’m going to jump at you now, and you’re going to react too slowly to run away. That’s what’s going to happen, alright, sweetheart? Just stay. Stay. Diana, stay.”

The last thing he sees before he hits the ground, hard, is a light brown lightning strike zipping off into the distance while barking excitedly.

“Nice”, says Smoke.

“I’m going to fucking strangle you”, Bandit grits out and gets back up. Diana is standing a fair distance away now, fully alert and convinced they’re going to play.

“Chasing her is not going to work, mate”, Smoke states matter-of-factly.

“Yeah well.” Bandit wipes some of the grass off his thighs. “That’s what I told you about Mark, but you did it anyway and look where you are now. I’m going to catch that fucking dog and if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Don’t worry, even if you fail, it’ll be the last thing you do – if Seamus really has your head because of it.”

“Your vote of confidence is noted.” And with that, he starts running.

.

Bandit can’t even guess what he looks like when Sledge opens the door. Judging by his extremely unimpressed gaze, he must seem at the very best homeless and at worst like someone who just survived a year alone in the jungle. “Here”, Bandit announces and thrusts the hand forward with which he’s holding the makeshift leash, improvised with the help of some twine originally belonging to one of the fences into which he crashed, “is your fucking dog.”

Sledge blinks at him. Bandit is a sight to behold and so he needs a few seconds to take him all in before the Scotsman glances down at an extremely chipper, remarkably clean and unscathed Diana. Hesitantly, he accepts the proffered leash tied around the bandanna and takes it off, allowing the corgi to zoom past his legs into her home. “What happened to her?”, Sledge asks quietly and with a dangerous tone to his voice which implies that he’ll only accept a certain answer.

“Nothing”, Bandit spits out that exact answer with a clean conscience, “fucking look at her, she’s never been better, she had the bloody time of her life this afternoon, don’t bother walking her today because she’ll probably be too exhausted from playing. Why is always ‘is Diana alright’ and not ‘what in the world happened to you, Dom, can I offer you something to drink or a full body massage as thanks for fucking saving my precious baby’?!”

By now, the reproachful expression on Sledge’s face has mellowed into a soft smile. “With how you smell, I’m hesitant to invite you inside”, he states gently, his strict demeanour replaced with sympathy obvious despite his words.

“That’s fucking fair”, Bandit admits and grimaces. He probably should’ve rolled around in some rose bushes to mask the stench at least partly.

“What happened to you, Dom?”

Most of his anger vanishes at the friendly question because he realises Sledge is at least taking him seriously. “Mark was supposed to watch her but when he drove James to our meeting point, she must’ve escaped somehow, so I, being the upstanding citizen that I am, immediately decided to return her first. The fucking bitch disagreed, though, and so I spent two hours chasing her through the arse-end of the world. I got stuck in five barbed wire fences, landed in two puddles of mud and fell into sheep shit once, not to mention all the times I stepped in it. I’m battered, bruised and fucking tired of saving your idiot of a dog, Seamus, and if you also try to pin this on me, I’ll let her run to her demise next time.”

Sledge’s lips are twitching. At least someone is getting some sort of enjoyment out of this. “What do you mean, pin this on you as well?”

“None, and I repeat, none of the previous instances were my fault. Fuze shooed her into the workshop, James showed her the chocolate, Mike threw the ball into the river and I’m fairly sure Elias was the one who gave her expired food on accident that one time.” It feels good to finally be able to justify himself, even if he stinks like the worst part of a zoo and must look as if he just lost in mud wrestling.

“Oh.” Sledge examines him with newfound interest which also feels fucking good because Bandit always knew the quickest way to get Sledge to like him would’ve been by playing nice with Diana, but since she insists on being a disastrous brat, there was nothing he could do. He’d accepted defeat. But maybe… “I’m sorry, then. You must really like her if you keep making sure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“It’s not her, it’s -” Aaaand this is the point where he should really stop talking, snaps his mouth shut with too much force and tries not to wince.

Sledge raises an intrigued eyebrow.

“Look”, Bandit says and has no idea how to even finish that sentence.

“Do you want to take a shower?”

The offer sounds neutral yet he’s pretty sure Sledge knows exactly what kind of implications it has. For the moment, it’s nothing more, he’s taking it at face value, but the fact that he got invited nonetheless speaks volumes. “Yeah”, he replies, relieved, “that’d be great.” And still, his large mouth gets the better of him. “…any chance you wanna join me after I’ve rinsed off all this fucking manure?”

“Don’t get cocky now”, Sledge reprimands him. Still, his grin widens.

[ticklikeabomb]

The Marvel Parody - Chapter 5

Pairing (in the futur) : Chris Evans x Plus Size!Reader

Warnings : Language ; spelling mistakes ; fat shaming ; body positivity

Word Count : 1.461

Prelude Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

As we were waiting waiting for Anus to show up, the team on Titan was trying to past the time by playing 21 questions. We found out that Mantis’s antennas were actually her ears, that Tonya had a little crush on Loki since that New York attack « She has great hair », defended the billionaire, and that Quill wasn’t a true blond, information that got everyone to gasp. 

« I wonder what’s happening on Earth? », said Parker. 

Since every girl was playing two characters, we had to pre-record this part and project it on the screen.

« When you said that we should open ourselves to the world, I wasn’t thinking about this », faced Okoye the Queen. « What were you expecting? » - T’Chicka. « I don’t know maybe remix the song of David Guetta ‘Titanium’ into ‘Vibranium’ or create an Instagram profile », replied the general. 

Meanwhile, the stuffed Falcon was messing with your hair and you were trying to menace him with your knife which didn’t help. The only way to make her stop was to threatening her to slap her with your shoe (old classic parent move). « Girls, come on play nice with each other », said the Cap annoyed. « She started it. Look that grumpy face, she’s provoking me », shouted Wilson. You just frowned and rolled your eyes. 

Everyone was in position and waited for the Queen’s command. Stephanie looked at you and said « Be careful punk ». You nodded and gave her a look that informed her to be careful too. The battle began and the screen faded. 

Back to Titan

« Omg, where’s Thor? », asked Parker « Yeah, where is she? », you heard an Aussie accent from the audience and figured out it was Hemsworth. « She’s probably ELECTRIFYING (with a thick John Travolta, Grease voice) everyone ! », guessed Tonya.

At that exact moment the song « Total Eclipse of the Heart » played.

Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit lonely And you're never coming round Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit tired Of listening to the sound of my tears Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit nervous That the best of all the years have gone by Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit terrified And then I see the look in your eyes Turnaround bright eyes, but every now and then I fall apart Turnaround bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart

« Hey, Coca Cola why is your suit ringing?, asked Quill. Kelly’s facial expressions as a hurt Stark were priceless, you had to control yourself to not crack up of laughter. « It’s Rogers calling me again », she announced. 

« I wonder what’s Rogers ringtone in Barnes phone », wondered Drax. « Oh, I know! », you mumbled under your breath. The other characters turned to you. « Shit, I just said that out loud ». « Tell me », demanded Stark. « Nah, you’re not ready for this ».

« Tell us », you heard RDJ yelling. You exchanged a quick look in his direction and saw the actor with a wide smile. « Alright, if you insist ». 

-> Gunther’s  ‘Ding Dong Song’ played for 10 seconds.

Oh, you touch my tralala Mmm, my ding ding don La lalala lalala... Oh, you touch my tralala

The crowd went wild and was hysterically laughing. I even noticed Evans do his famous left grab boob laugh and in that moment you swear you could die in peace.

« Why would she have that particular song ? », asked Quill dumbfounded You were bitting at your lower lip at this state to hold back your smile. « It’s actually a funny story » « We’re all ears », continued Quill sarcastically.

« Alright. So, it was at that time where Becky had the mission to end Nokia. Yes, ladies and gentleman, we totally renamed Nick (Fury) as Nokia because they’re both indestructible. Anyway. Becky had that genius idea to shot Nokia in the chest through Rogers appartement window. Rogers of course was not happy and decided to run after Becky and breaking inoffensive office doors on her way out. Until the moment she came face to face with the attacker and throw her shield. But mama didn’t raise no Bitch, so Becky turned around and caught the shield. And that’s where she said « Ohhh I just touched your tra la la, your ding ding dong ». But of course, having that mask in front of her face, Rogers didn’t hear her. So she just vanished. Yep that’s right sir, vanished, just like my scholarship. ‘where is it? what happened to it? ‘…. well I don’t have that knowledge », you told.

While you were telling the story, you noticed a heavy drunk guy in the audience doing some nasty noises towards you. He was mimicking and making pig noises. But you shrugged it off because the show must go on. Sarah was about to step in and yell at the guy but you discreetly hold her hand and gave a look. You really hoped that the cast didn’t notice you shaking your head ‘no’ to Sarah, but unfortunately they caught your movement.

« She’s here », announced Mantis Everyone hid except you, since you were the one welcoming the Mad Titan. Anus made her entrance in a perfectly purple makeup and detailed outfit. « Who are you? » « My name’s Weird » « I doubt that and I’m well placed to say so. My name is literally ‘Anus’ », said the villain . « Haha, no. I’m Weird » « Yes, I can see that » « Oh Good God. My name is Doctress Stephanie Weird. I know Stephanie not very original considering the fact that the Captain’s name is also Stephanie. But yeah. It could be worst, Marvel could actually hire 3 different actors with the same name. Imagine that. You call for one and 3 show up. … hahahah. That’s actually genius. Good job Marvel, you should keep going. I’m pretty sure the next ones will come from the same country and whose name will start with a ’T’ and end with ‘om’. » you said casually « Nahh I’m certain they would not do that », said Anus « Oh darling, I’m pretty sure they would », you replied with a thick fake British accent. « Where is the stone? » « Besides the Rolling we don’t have such things here », you told still with the British accent. « The what? » « Well, the Rolling Stone », you said grinning and trying to hold your laughter. Anus just looked at you seriously. « Ahhh come on, get your culture in check », you replied with your normal voice.

That’s when we put the plan in motion. Well obviously it didn’t go well and the moment Mantis said her line, that stupid asshole spoke again. 

« Shut up you fat cow », he shouted from the audience. That was it. You couldn’t take it anymore. You’re blood was boiling. You stood up and went to the edge of the stage. « What did you say? » When he was about to repeat himself, you cut him : « Oh don’t answer that. I was being sarcastic. I perfectly heard you and I even heard you the first time when you did those pig noises towards me. But I was like, ‘yeah no, don’t care’, but now you’re coming for my friend, no way! I can see that you clearly aren’t in your normal state right now and you know what. There’s NO amount of alcohol or sobriety that tolerate that kind of behavior and those kind of comments!! You don’t like the show and find it ridiculous? Fine, it’s supposed to. It’s a parody. But coming for us and dehumanize us just because we don’t fit your stupid beauty criteria no fucking way. I kindly suggest you to get the fuck out before you embarrass yourself even more », you responded firmly.

You were so focused on watching the bouncer take that jerk out of the place that you didn’t noticed that the cast was on their feet applauding you. Once you came back to you, cheeks burning out of embarrassment and your hands clenched as fists, you turned to the crowd and out of the blue said (improvised) : « I apologize for that. Ehmm… let’s get those bad vibes out by quoting that great contemporary philosopher Anthony Mackie that said ‘The thighs are the key to heaven’ and he even added that ‘Doing squads is not an obligation but a purpose’. »

« Damn right it is », Mackie hollered loudly and everyone laughed.

« Now that we’re surrounded by positive vibes with those wise words, let’s go back to the show, what do you say? »

A collectif ‘yeah’ was heard and you returned to your initial position on the rock. You looked at Emily and winked at her. The show continued, but deep down you were torn between a mix of feelings : proud by standing up and talk but also anger and embarrassment. You couldn’t pray more for the show to end.

*gifs not mine, credit to owners*

[ghoulstars]

im only posting this bc i desperately need to exorcise this thought somewhere bc it wont fucking leave me alone

those of you who know me personally or follow my instagram know about this but for those of you who dont: in a horrible turn of events, our plan to put down our geriatric yellow labrador retriever dixie was unfortunately and unexpectedly doubled today to having to put down our 3 year old engam bulldog, bean, as well

when we got him in mid december, 2015 he was barely out of puppyhood, we found him wandering around near the highway at our local gas station with a collar and no tag, trying to jump into two out-of-towner girls’ car. my stepdad intervened bc they couldnt take bean with them obviously, and brought him home instead.

we put up lost dog flyers everywhere all over our very small city, in an attempt to maybe see if someone would indeed come forward for their dog. we knew he wasnt just a stray because of his collar.

almost right off the bat, we were told by a woman who worked at the gas station that there was a man who lived in the trailer park just across the road, located behind the pancake diner. you can see it from the gas station parking lot. she told us that he had a lot of dogs that he typically kept chained up outside in poor conditions, and beat them regularly. to us? it seemed totally reasonable that that must’ve been where bean came from, given the fact he was a dog and we found him literally less than 50 feet away from where this fucking man lived.

no one came forward to claim bean. we kept those flyers up for months, we only put them up to begin with knowing he may have been thrown out by (or escaped from) this disgusting man just because there was the possibility that it wasn’t his dog, but someone else’s. as well as the potential for legal intervention if this fabled abuser found out we had technically stolen his dog (and full disclosure, fuck him for what he does, i hope all his dogs get stolen like they need to be, i myself was not fond of the idea of just giving the dog back to this creep if he was indeed the owner but i was only 16 at the time so there wasnt much i could do)

with no one claiming bean, after those months passed, we decided that he was ours now. flyers were taken down, we gave him his collar and nametag, to be real he’d already been named by us in the first few days we had him. he was going to be ours no matter what; my mother always told me its a rule that if you name a stray, and do it quick before anyone can object to keeping it, it’s yours now. that’s your pet, with it’s new name.

so we carried on with our lives, now having not just one dog, but two. it was a bit iffy with my stepfather keeping bean since we didnt technically need to manage two dogs at the time, but we still did it anyways because we loved him, the little bean man.

but here’s where my problem lies and this is why im writing this now: as time went on and we continued to have bean as our pet, some stuff about the original suggestion that he belonged to an abusive older man who lived in close proximity to where we found bean wasnt adding up

due to dixie’s failing body, she would sometimes lose control of her bowels inside the house, which was becoming unacceptable when she stayed in overnight. so, she stayed outside. she and bean bonded, so they stayed outside together too. (and for clarity here, i know what some of you might want to say, but we knew very early on that bulldogs do not do well with heat or isolation. we also know that dixie probably shouldve been put down years ago, but here’s the trouble: my stepfather would not let us euthanize her. she is his dog technically, and the thought hurt him so much that he would not agree to it for YEARS. dixie and bean were too attached to separate them for long periods of time like they would be if we kept bean inside mostly and her outside mostly; that would’ve been cruel in its own special way. we put pools out for bean and visited with both dogs for as much as we could outside, bathed them, put fans out for them in the summer. our only option to give bean the main love and care he needed was, and of course we had other reasons to do this, to put dixie down, which was where we thought we were finally going to be by tomorrow, but thats not what happened, as you can tell)

as to be expected, bean sometimes found his way inside, mostly by applying his american bulldog traits to memorizing when unfamiliar guests would come over and bolt in the house. he did this enough times and very recently we were letting him stay inside instead of taking him back out, and all of these experiences combined, we noticed something: bean was housebroken. he was out of practice with it, and did not know very well how to communicate that he needed to go outside to use the bathroom, but he did know what to do. he would run to the door if he had to go, not always making it, but still, he was housebroken. he only marked furniture once while inside, in his entire lifespan thus far. that was a red flag to us, but especially my mother, who realized this skill of beans directly contradicted the statement that he was probably kept outside, chained up, starved, and beaten by the trailer park guy. not to mention, bean came to us in nearly perfect condition to begin with, just skinny. no patches of fur gone, he was the opposite of skittish and aggressive, no bruises, nothing. just a loving, bouncy, stupid bulldog mix

this, im not sure if im correct about this, but it stands out enough to me that i feel its worth mentioning: bean is not a mutt of any kind, and his breed contradicts those types of breeds most people who abuse animals come to own; usually large breeds, breeds inaccurately known for aggression, and breeds used by abusers to make aggressive bc they know the fighting power of these dogs (pitbulls, american bulldogs, etc). bean is an engam bulldog (english/american mix), which is a very obscure mixed breed dog to begin with and especially obscure where i live, and as we all know english bulldogs are short, stout, fat little things that can basically do no harm whatsoever. they also have a history of inbreeding to look how they do. i know this man may have just seen ‘bulldog’ and snagged him thinking he’d be aggressive, but that does not sit right with me for two other reasons: bean’s conformation (body structure) and coloration. there is nothing about bean that suggests he was bred to be used for fighting, or that he’s a true mutt, or anything of the sort. his body type literally resembles that of show dogs, and his fur coloration is highly unusual because he’s blue. obviously not literally blue but the type of blue-grey you can find in animals, typically seen in cats. bean’s coloration is almost NEVER found in ANY breed of bulldog, it is INCREDIBLY rare that he looks like this. his condition in which we found him, his housebrokenness, his color and his body formation lead, in me and my family’s opinion, to an alternative opinion: he belonged to someone that got him because they wanted a dog as a pet, not to beat, and they either bred him themselves or bought him (probably from a pet store or breeder) for his color and conformation. 

but why would they dump a dog this valuable? my mom said this to me earlier, sobbing after she returned from the vet today, and this is my whole reason for writing this insane fucking novel of a post: whoever dumped bean threw out a sick puppy, and on purpose.

bean hasnt been injured or contracted an unvaccinated illness or anything like that. he had been experiencing extreme stomach distension for the past month, whereas he was losing weight everywhere else on his body. he had also been vomiting. but he wasnt depressed, or lethargic. maybe his personality was a little off but not so much it was horribly noticeable, and at that, he was still eating regularly everyday. we came to the conclusion he had parasites, though ive always been terrified something more serious was going on (i dont get listened to though).

as it turns out, i was right. mom took him in today, the day before dixie was set to be put down, for his deworming pills. what she got instead was a diagnosis of possible lung cancer. his blood work was normal, which is unusual in animals with cancer, but he still had nodules on his lungs that highly resembled cancer. his heart was also severely enlarged due to heartworms, and his stomach was so distended because it was full of fluid and blood. they did send his blood off for labs, but even if his lungs were fine, he was going to die anyway (they got a second opinion from another practice and they also agree it was probably cancerous). he has a 15% survival rate for only the very first heartworm treatment, which will cost $500. nothing lives very long with an enlarged heart to begin with. we don’t have that money, and for a treatment that will definitely kill him? i dont even know why he has so much blood and fluid in his digestive tract. bean, a dog who is only 3 or 4 years old, has an enlarged heart, lung tumors and fluid/blood all in his abdomen. the vet was apparently stunned that a dog this young could have this many potentially (and one definitely) fatal health problem(s).

i now fully believe that whoever owned him before knew he had all these issues, or that he was going to develop them. i think it makes sense. i also think they’re cheap, cruel fucks who didnt want to shell out that much money to take care of him, or pay to take him to a shelter/sanctuary, and so what did they do? they did what many people these days very regularly do when their new pet has become undesirable: they fucking dumped him on the side of the road and booked it. took his nametag off and everything, to make him look like a stray. they left him for some well meaning, animal loving family like mine to find him, not know anything about these preexisting health issues, and assume he’s healthy enough; maybe just needs a few more vaccinations and a worm and flea treatment. he showed no signs of lung cancer or heart problems in all his life up until this past month, and he’s still so young. i will even go as far as to say that he himself may be severely inbred, which could be the cause of these health issues. given his specific posture and color, and that he’s a bulldog, it’d make sense. it seems like he came from some kind of breeder to begin with anyway.

so now that ive said that and got it all out of the way, i want to leave an open letter to the hypothetical cunt that did this to us and bean:

i hope god fucking strikes you down where you stand. i hope every single day of your miserable fucking life, you think about where he ended up, if he’s still alive, if anyone found him, if he ever got hit by a car or died alone of cancer and heart failure in a field somewhere. i hope you feel guilt for leaving him knowing he’d develop cancer and that he had heart worms, and knowing you did it BECAUSE of that. i hope you never fucking forget about the fact that you threw an INNOCENT LITTLE PUPPY out on the highway because you just didnt want to have anything to do with his illnesses, and i hope one day you find out what you did to us and this innocent little boy. he’s such a good fucking dog, he is so patient, kind, loving and gentle, and when he has bursts of energy to play he fucking goes, and now he has to die barely halfway through his lifespan because of your fucking negligence. he is laying outside on the porch right now, uncomfortable with fluids and blood backing up his intestines, coughing and huffing just to try and breathe. at the very least, if he were taken to the right shelter, he couldve been fucking cared for and given treatments to extend his life as much as possible, or at least given hospice care for however long he could live, which has now been shortened to 3 or 4 years. if you yourself knew this dog was inbred or you inbred him yourself, fuck you. i hope you get run over by a fucking truck. this breed can live from 12-16 years, that’s a LONG time for a dog like him, and you had to fucking ruin it all because of your own fucking preferences; you wanted the perfect dog. and you could’ve had him if you’d grown a fucking heart and actually gave a shit about animals beyond how they look aesthetically; as well, if you fucking actually gave a shit about your animals HEALTH and wanted to maintain it instead of apparently assuming he’d just be fine and healthy with all his vaccinations and that’d be the end of it. you do not deserve to own an animal if you dont even want to acknowledge it will sometimes need medical care, how fucking heartless are you? we never had enough money to take care of dixie’s failing health, and we always knew it’d be better to put her down, but my stepdad kept refusing. you had enough money to fucking breed or buy a blue show-quality engam bulldog and you still wouldnt fucking care for him after you found out what problems he had. fuck you. eat shit and die. i hope you never find peace from the guilt of knowing you fucking killed what became our dog because you’re selfish. my mother is physically sick with grief. i am physically sick with grief. i feel so bad that it’s as if i have the fucking flu. i was trying to talk with my mother about this situation earlier and i had to rush to leave because i felt like i was about to throw up if i didnt. everyone in this house has cried so much today it’s disgusting. 

the only thing good about this is that bean came along for dixie when she needed him most, and became her helper and provider, giving her company and being a literal post to lean on for when she couldnt see where she was going. they’re going over the rainbow bridge tomorrow morning together, and in a way, this is probably the best outcome. at least bean wont have to grieve. dixie can see her old companion again (who died from a ruptured tumor in 2014) and bean can meet him, and they can all play and be together in that field in the sky. 

my family will never have another dog again because of this pain this has caused us.