#also. if he only slaughtered the family bc they were in the way why did he not do the same to manny

[almostsweetangel]

DHMIStober / Hugtober 2022 Day 1: Cannibal

Roy devouring a family because they were messing with his son

PRINTS | KO-FI

[hearts401]

Tessa fucks me up dude can I just talk about her for a sec? Yeah? Yeah.

She loved those drones. She loved them because they were what she had. She felt sympathy for them when nobody else did. And I like to think there was a little bit of loneliness motivating her as well.

Her mother hated her. She was nothing to her. When her mother scolded her by saying "seems you still can't follow simple orders" her respone was "No, no no! Please!" BEGGING. Begging her mother to believe in her and be kind to her. She got chained up in her room (multiple times btw. At leas tthats implied. the hand she winced at and rubbed is the same hand the chain was on, which means shed be chained up long enough for it to rub her skin painfully. long enough to leave lasting pain.)

She is very connected to these drones, to the point where she kept all the error drones aroud because she LOVED them. She spent time digging them up. HELL SHE TOOK A FAMILY PHOTO WITH THEM DUDE...

Even when Cyn was creepy and scary, she kept her around. She'd rather lock Cyn up than get rid of her. and when n points it out, shes apologetic and hesitant. But we know WHY she did that. Even if it was kind of a sucky move, it was because she didnt wanna have to throw cyn out. and in the end that killed her.

Also she knows J well enough to know what sets her off (enough to. bite the shit out of a chain). She knows them. and she loves them.

I wish we'd gotten to know more about her an N. why is he so clearly her favorite? but thats not relevant ig

also her saying "I've only ever yakked to robots, J!" She has NO human friends. she has nobody to support her other than these robots. these robots who get treated like garbage by her family.

and then she has to watch these robots turn on her. Not just THESE ROBOTS but the three that she loved most. (also im going off what wouldve happened in ep 5 WITHOUT uzi, where n doesnt get out of the swamp, and nobody goes down to the basement)

V first, then Cyn, then J. And we KNOW she loved these three+N especially bc she took a family photo w them, interacted with them more often, and generally just seemed much closer with them.

and what does she get for it? killed. And also its implied by this screenshot that she wasnt ACTUALLY killed by cyn right then

(the scientists, the sword beside her, the footprints, the way shes sitting against the wall, the expression she has. she totally just saw all that shit)

and she cant have been skyn bc the scientists wouldve known. the skinsuit wasnt exactly. hm. pretty.

which means she DID see her whole family+more slaughtered in front of her while she was powerless to stop it. She DID see J violently kill everyone around her. She DID see Cyn kill everyone. And she just has to. Deal with that. And despite all her efforts, the solver took over and cyn killed her. (im assuming tessa died somewhere around when n's mineshaft flashback was like i mentioned b4)

and all the while she was convinced shed lose N, id assume. based on the state of the other drone out there.

And honestly, i think what she got was worse.

also i am team "N knew Tessa wasn't the same Tessa he knew back on Earth"

The way he looked at her, and the way he was suspicious of her. He knew HIS Tessa would never treat a drone like this. Cyn has been known to have relatively shitty recreations of people at times (like Thad in episode two) But even so there was no way he could believe it was someone else (like. who would it be? he saw her blood he heard her voice like...) which is why he was so stressed after killing her (when he leaned on his sword and was breathing heavy, yk?)

he loved her and she loved him and now shes dead. just like everyone else he loved.

this isnt about n but like. idk if tessa could see him now i think shed cry. she loved him and all of them

[hutahuta]

Thoughts on Pavia introducing his GF to his wolf family? Maybe they already knew bc he’d come home smelling different and now they know who that other scent belongs to. I love the domestic idea of GF living with Pavia and telling the wolves to “go to papa” like GF is mama to the wolves also

P.AGE OO.5 — 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐌 & NOBILITY : 交 ✦ ⏱

fem!reader // x pavia

✦ — this is SO cute awkawksjsdksj our precious babyy <33 i love you so much for this wjsjajsjs my heart ;(((

He was never one to settle down for a domestic life. But to think— You'd make such a good wife for him, though. Wouldn't you? Hearty meals every single day, venturing out into the world beyond together and preparing him that tender bath he needed after spilling ever the amount of blood when slaughtering his prey alive when he's out and about on his job.

You, however, have yet to meet his family. Pavia was 100% reluctant at first. This is his blood, his kin. The only family he'd ever grown to have and love. But you're his beloved girlfriend, aren't you? That famous, sweet voice of his bitterly adding the cold tone in which he spoke of.

' Come in, it's fine. Just be careful not to be eaten by them. '

What did he mean by that? Those playful 'jokes' of his always left you rendered silent, but your innocent mind nervously laughed it off.

It was jarring how someone like you could even become his S/O. You're perfect in more ways than one, and he can see it. So why meddle yourself with someone so tainted as him? That man has blood on his hands. Human blood.

Nevertheless, it seemed as though you were adamant on being with him. But he always told you in such a playful manner, that you're an idiot for thinking to fall in love with someone like him. But your persistence and your constant support on his behalf had both annoyed him and made him adore you.

Here you were now, simply waiting under the humble sofa which you had sat neatly atop. Your eyes transfixed on the battered, torn papers left in a mess within the tables, the dimly lit room proved to be no more than his fault.. and this distraction kept you at bay before you felt something wet sniff the bridge of your leg.

Whether you looked down in quiet silence or you freaked out is your choice, but Pavia couldn't help but quietly watch from a distance, not involving himself unless if needed. He saw this as a test of some sort.

This was the only family he'd have back then. Darkness swelled around Pavia, and he'd be forever alone until that faithful day he had met you. No longer shall he fester in silence and fight his constant urge to burn every building within the area whenever he'd spark back to the day he'd been locked up. Everyone has some trauma in them, and it often shapes them how they are today:

For Pavia's case, he may say things that he doesn't mean or struggles to pick up on social cues, but that doesn't make him any less different when you tell him that you love that he's fighting for your love day in, day out.

But the moment his fellow canine friends surrounded you with the constant sniffing and your patient nature making them seem like you're no threat, you were greeted by a sudden lick against your cheek. They knew. Of course they did. They have a better sense of trust than most humans.

You were sure Pavia may have prepared them by adorning his wall with the many pictures of you within his room, and that familiar face definitely echoed something within their minds, but it proved to be all content when Andrea started drooling on your shoes and Pavia seemed to scold her for it; snapping out of your thoughts in an instant.

Your scent to a wolf is everything. This is how they trace you, mark you, and familiarise themselves with you. When Pavia returned home with a different scent to his own, the constant barking to the foreign scent made them seem like you were harming Pavia.

 You didn't flinch, but you waited until their eyes gave some sort of approval for you to touch, and when you did, by the gods did the angels send you directly to heaven when they tickled you with their noses and pulled off one another just to be seated by your sides, or your lap. Constant pets, adorned with kisses on their foreheads, gentle giggles breezed a reminder of how utterly mother-like you are..

To think, Pavia would ask himself. Would you treat his own children like that one day?

The sight nearly drowned the merc in a wave of relief, but a heavy laugh followed over from how you, yourself, were getting mercilessly drowned by the constant affection feeding into you seconds after. You muffled a plea for help and mercy, but your body was overcome with the shadows that happily lapped up heavy affection from just a few touches from you, patience and understanding.

Whether you knew how to handle dogs or not is genuinely your own skill choice, but Pavia will never forget how you willingly offered your safety to allow yourself as to get to know his own kin.

Trust radiated between human and beast, connections transcended out of the boundaries between the ordinary world and it offered them a place where they could wonder the touch of a woman's hand. So gentle and patient, yet firm and strict.

What might've taken a few weeks, turned into months when you were regularly greeted by whimpers that direly needed your attention so often, fur being shoved against your bare skin became a norm for you.

Pavia couldn't hold back the moment you kneeled down and spread your arms for Peter to dash in almost immediately:

Or the time you'd hold back your laughter from the drool being trailed against the floor to the cupboard when Andrea brushed past your leg.

Being patient with Maleficent, offering gentle pats and kisses for all to love.

When they'd all huddle around you, you're constantly in a battle of affection when they'd refuse to leave your side. They've lacked feminine touch, and neither the pups or Pavia realised how much it truly meant for your warmth to strike them all in the gut.

'Go to papa darlings.' ' Go help your papa, okay?'

To say he was astounded by how patient you were with them is something he'll never grow tired of. And 'Papa'? Pavia swooned.

How dare you attack him with that beautiful feeling of a heartache that swelled nothing but love and admiration for you?

When sleeping, they'd all huddle around you both. As if you were their parents, the ones they'd long for. Pavia never realised he needed such a domestic life until he had found you. When you offered that place of comfort, the only thing he'd need to ever worry about was straying too far away from you.

Gentle lips touched his own as you quietly mumble a soft 'thank you' as if to say you were honoured to have spent a lot of time with his blood. He couldn't explain how he wanted to thank you, but no words came out. He just held you. Right there, in his arms. And rocked back and forth as if to claim that he was grateful for all your hard work. Something he truly admired..

Your protection is guided by him, and your kin. You're one of them now, and you're entirely his. <3

[headfullofpresley]

𝐉𝐨𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 | 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Warnings: joe being joe, some inaccurate plot/details of the movie, made some things up myself bc this movie is horrible lol, tiny mention of animal slaughtering, rodeo rider!elvis, lil bit of smut; public sex, mention of pregnancy. the ending is meh but had to end it bc i could go on about this man for hours. ☻

A/N: stay away joe is one of my least fave movies, but i have a weird relationship with it - hate it, but will never stop rewatching bc GOOD GOD, joe lightcloud is a stunner.

masterlist

You work as a bartender at the local bar that is owned by Glenda Callahan.

Because Mamie was obsessed with Joe, she sent the girl off to the big city to live with an aunt.

You and Glenda got along well, so when she offered you to move into her daughter's room, you accepted.

The job was dull, only serving coffee and breakfast to locals that were on their way to the city or dinner to strangers that were passing through.

Glenda wasn't surprised when Joe wandered in the bar and had his sights set on you like you were a juicy piece of meat sizzling on the BBQ.

You weren't her daughter, so she couldn't say anything, but she did warn you about the cowboy casanova.

“Don’t worry, Miss Glenda. He’s gonna have to work for it,”

You weren't as desperate as Mamie, but you could understand why the younger girl had been.

With his tanned skin and cowboy hat resting atop of his head, he was just breathtaking.

But you had heard the stories about Joe Lightcloud and even though you were already planning on having a piece of him, you weren't going to throw yourself at him like all the other girls did.

“Didn’t know they sold shorts as tiny as those,” he'd grin smugly, shamelessly leaning over the bar to take a peek at your exposed legs due to the denim shorts you were wearing.

Arizona was hot, nobody wore jeans unless they'd be breaking bones at the rodeo.

Acting like you weren't phased by his actions or his words, you put a drink in front of him and leaned your hands on the bar with a grin lingering on your face.

“They exiled me outta the city for ‘em,”

You weren't even from the city, but he didn't know that. He moved back onto his family's reservation recently and had never seen you around before despite you growing up in the area.

“Uptight, those city folk,” he’d tease back, that grin never faltering. “How ‘bout you, honey? Are you uptight?”

Giving him an innocent shrug and a little smile, you kept your lips sealed and continued cleaning the bar, letting him use the phone which was the reason why he came in here in the first place.

He could easily use the phone in other places, but he came to the bar pretty much every day after meeting you.

He'd tell you it was because the bar was closer than the stores in town and while you knew that was true, you also knew you were the reason for him coming to your work place.

You didn't mind at all. You were bored out of your mind half the day, so you started looking forward to seeing him and talking to him.

He'd try to win you over, pulling out his best pick up lines and putting on his best smiles.

They made your knees buckle behind the bar every time, but this was a man that had girls falling for him in the matter of seconds and you wanted to see if he was willing to put in an actual effort.

He never met anyone like you and even though he never had to work for a girl's attention, he was determined to win you over.

When his family was granted twenty heifers and a bull to prove that they could raise cattle, he invited you to the party he was throwing at the reservation.

Being the only employee at the bar, you didn't know if Glenda would allow you time off but she fell for your puppy eyes and sweet smile and gave you two days off.

You should've known this wouldn't be a normal party.

It lasted throughout the entire weekend, with people sleeping under the blazing sun during the day and drinking and dancing all night.

All Joe's friends and family demanded his attention but he always found his way back to you, providing you with drinks and introducing you to people.

He'd shamelessly introduce you as ‘his girl’ to everyone and they all believed it.

All your chances of becoming friends with the girls who were there flew right out of the window, because they'd give you dirty looks every time you'd smile at them.

“I ain’t your girl, Joe,” you'd remind him but all he did was laugh and wrap his arm around your waist, giving you that cocky grin.

“Give it time, honey. Give it time,”

You'd roll your eyes but on the inside, you were screaming like a little girl because you knew he was dead serious.

Disaster struck when Bronco, one of Joe's friends, accidentally slaughtered and barbecued the only bull in the herd instead of one of the heifers.

The bull that was supposed to help the Lightcloud's provide for themselves with the cattle they could sell.

Not long after the party, Glenda fired you because you start neglecting the bar to spend more time with Joe.

He borrowed a bull from a friend that's supposed to do the job, but the poor thing would sleep all day and not move a muscle.

Slowly but surely, you moved onto the reservation. His family liked you and at least now Joe didn't have to face the lazy bull on his own.

“C’mon, boy, get your fat ass up,”

He'd tug on the bull's head, trying to lift it from the ground and to get him to stand up or at least move, but nothing was working.

“Joe! Be nice to him, he has feelings, you know?” you'd yell at him as you sat on top of the fence, swinging your legs back and forth while watching him struggle.

“Yeah only not the right feelings,” though the words came out as a mumble, you still heard them and he'd send you a sneaky wink.

“Look here, Dominick! You little fucker,” walking over to one of the heifers, he lands a slap on the rear of it. “All these lovely ladies are willin’,”

Scrunching your nose, you shook your head. “You’re horrible at this,”

Standing up straight with an amused scoff, he'd nod his head and walk over to you.

“Alright, little miss boots. Let’s see you try then,” giving you a squeeze in the cowboy boots you were wearing, he'd grin teasingly at you and lean against the fence.

You jumped off the fence and stole his hat, putting it on top of your head as you told him to watch and learn, approaching the bull.

You weren't specialized in cows or whatsoever, but you grew up around horses. You were confident enough to make this work and you wanted to see Joe's face if you managed to succeed.

Dominick was lazier than you expected but you ignored Joe's laughs and mumbled ‘told you so’s’.

You weren't giving up though and after forty minutes, the bull finally decided to get up to his feet.

“Yes, Dominick, good boy! Come here, you sweet thing!” urging the bull excitedly and sweetly, you stepped closer to the heifers.

Joe couldn't believe his eyes as he watched the bull follow you and paying attention, finally doing what he was here for.

You supressed a small squeal, clearing your throat as you walked over to Joe. Giving him a small curtsy as you dipped his hat, you'd give him your biggest and most cocky smile.

“Voila!”

“I don’t speak Italian,”

“Oh, Joe,” laughing as you took a step closer to him, you'd swing your arms around his neck and kiss him.

He would not hesitate or whatsoever at all to kiss you back, lifting you up from the ground and placing you on the fence.

It wasn't until you'd pull back from the kiss that you saw Dominick succesfully doing his job and you and Joe cheered him on the entire time.

Even though Dominick did what he needed to do that one day, the bull went right back to snoring up a storm most of the time.

Joe found out from the friend he borrowed the bull from that it was actually a rodeo prizewinning bull, so to provide for the family, he started doing rodeo shows.

Okay, he smacked the information out of his friend, but you didn't need to know that. Apparently it was enough for the dude to let Joe keep the bull, so you weren't complaining.

Whenever you weren't watching him at the rodeo, you'd be on the reservation with his family.

Now, his family was crazy but you liked them.

Grandpa Lightcloud was a grumpy old man that you didn't understand half of the time, but he liked having you around because you helped around on the property and didn't try to keep Joe away from his family.

The man would teach you how to do a rain dance and you'd show it to Joe any chance you got, making him roll over in giggles because you'd mess up some of the moves.

Teaching you properly and doing it with you in the middle of the night. You forced him to do it with you every day because Sedona, Arizona desperately needed some rain.

And when the rain came, you'd dance around in it. Usually with very little clothing on, unless the rest of the family was there.

When you did accompany him to rodeo shows, everyone knew who you belonged to because you'd be shouting the loudest to cheer him on and cussing out whoever talked shit about your man.

Sedona was a small and boring town with very little to do. While you and Joe would have dinner at one of the few restaurants now and then, the both of you preferred to go on dates that would take place outside.

Horseback riding was one of the things you'd pretty much do every day.

You'd always accept whenever he challenged you to a race, even though you knew you were bound to lose.

Sometimes he'd rub the victory in your face and sometimes he'd let you win on purpose, because he liked seeing that smug grin on your face.

“Can’t win ‘em all, Joey baby. Better luck next time,”

He absolutely hated the pet name. Would give you a glare, but truth was.. he'd let you get away with any name you'd throw at his head.

“You’re the best, princess. Now come get your prize,”

Your prize was always a kiss. Lots of them.

Picnic dates. 🥺

Which would start off all innocent with you two chatting while eating and cuddling on the blanket while sunbathing, but always ended in you riding him.

His favorite was when you'd be moaning above him, wearing his cowboy hat, sun slowly disappearing behind the mountains.

Since the climate was so damn hot, you were always wearing tanktops and very rarely a bra which he took advantage of by nearly tearing the thin fabric to pieces because he liked seeing your breasts bounce to the rhythm of your thrusts.

Insisted you kept the boots on, because he thought it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

Every time the two of you were intimate, it was usually somewhere outside or in his car.

Your horses have seen some shit. Thank God they couldn't talk.

Joe never officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but after the first time you kissed, you gave yourself that title whether he liked it or not.

He liked it. He liked it a lot.

Meant he didn't need to prepare a whole ass awkward speech about wanting you as his girl.

You were both jealous and didn't like when the other would get a little too much attention.

He'd knock anyone out who would make you feel uncomfortable, touched you inappropiately or looked your way a little too long for his liking.

You weren't any better, having fought enough girls that tried to sneak their way into Joe's arms.

He usually didn't care about two-timing girls, but he actually loved you and he knew you'd tear his head off if he ever cheated.

“Now I don’t mind the attention, ladies, but I got a girl. She might be small, but she’s wilder than an angry bull, ya know?”

Even though he'd always break up the fights between you and other girls, peeling your (freakishly strong) hands out of their hair, he secretly liked seeing you so jealous.

You two didn't tell each other you loved each other a lot, but it were moments like these that he knew.

He'd take both his family and you by surprise when proposing to you after only four months of dating.

You didn't even hesitate to say yes.

You never cared much for weddings and marriage, but you knew that this was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

Plus, you loved how your name sounded with his last name.

Joe eventually made enough money to buy Glenda's bar, who took the money and got the hell outta dodge.

He gifted the bar to you as a wedding gift and the two of you moved in at the house that was adjoined to it.

Still, he made sure to provide for his family too and the both of you went over there as much as you could, helping them with the renovation of the house, etc.

Didn't take you long to fall pregnant, giving birth to a healthy son, who Joe was more than excited to have follow in his footsteps to become a succesful bull rider.

[atopvisenyashill]

i think there’s a really easy workaround for dany’s infertility and it’s that she should just do what i did in my silly female line post and pick the houses that have a female line claim and reach out to them. i think it shows very clearly that she’s not thinking about the good of westeros but only of her claim to westeros because while she thinks frequently of her infertility she doesn’t ever think about what the hell happens because of it.

and i hate the “dany’s infertility is a metaphor for her not thinking of the future” bc it’s ableist as all hell but it’s exactly the sort of thing that would appeal to george and i think it’s correct (same way the “bran the broken” nonsense is ableist but unfortunately correct foreshadowing). she could easily work around it by naming an heir through the female targ line!

a) it gets her allies in westeros and for all that she’s constantly thinking about going home she doesn’t try to reach out to any of the lords at all. her whole focus is on an army, not on making connections.

b) it might make her female line claim more palatable to the lords, if she can get a few on her side bc they have a similar (albeit way more distant) female line claim as well that might get their house on the iron throne

c) she can also make the argument that robert is doing the exact same shit bc the maesters used his grandmother rhaella targaryen’s marriage to ormund baratheon as proof of why he gets the iron throne. if he can claim female line inheritance, surely she can get fancy with it as well?

but none of this ever occurs to her. she doesn’t even show an interest in learning about westeros once she has power. when she meets barristan she doesn’t wonder at all about why he’s hesitant to talk of her family. she doesn’t ask jorah for more information on why aerys & rhaegar were overthrown. she knows viserys was delusional yet doesn’t ever attempt to unlearn anything he taught her. the smallfolk praying for viserys’ return is silly but for her it makes sense because she’s the mother of dragons - except the last time dragons existed in Westeros the smallfolk slaughtered them because they were constantly used to subjugate and terrorize people! why would they want her dragons back? why would they see her any differently than meleys blackfyre, a foreign invader with a foreign army threatening to upend their way of life?? her thoughts of westeros center on finding the red door and the lemon tree. it’s all about what westeros can do for her, that westeros can love her and give her a home, but she never thinks about how to make them love her! she just assumes it’s a given and it’s why i think she’s going to fail.

[sketching-shark]

Is it just me, but mk being the “chaos incarnate” frels out of place???

Like of all characters he gets to called that? Seriously?!

Like not even sun wukong the og anomaly in the entire existence of all celestial bodies combined who caused chaos in his wake before mk existence—and doesnt get that title??

It feels so much like lore Olympus except without the weird things that it has.

I feel so guilty but so much of the writer decision makes me hate mk existence especially w portrayal of his powers.(i was the same anon that went off about the portrayal of cultivation in lmk)

So many ppl stated it was there in the beginning but i just thought he was going to be the third celestial monkey not another stone monkey. I just dont think it was a good decision to have mk specifically be a stone monkey considering the questionability of swk involvement.

Plus it make mk be the “chosen one” status that take away who he was at the beginning. Im starting to think we should have not gotten a s4 bc of the headache it gives me.

Monkie Kid spoilers and general complaining below, so remember that "don't like don't read" goes both ways & feel free to skip.

Hmmm yeah I can see where you're coming from anon, although for me it goes a bit deeper in that I'm feeling pretty peeved that Flying Bark seems to be more and more leaning into the "uwu stupid chaos monkey" characterization for Sun Wukong. Like yeah yeah I know people balk at the mention of Journey to the West when it comes to Monkie Kid, and on a certain level I understand the changes since this is after all a cartoon for children, but one of the things that I love about og classic Sun Wukong that a lot of retellings including Monkie Kid just flat-out won't work with is the way that a lot--perhaps even the majority--of his acts of violence are very deliberate and even done for understandable reasons. Even the havoc in heaven, which seems to be the thing many people point to as an example of the Monkey King's chaotic nature, comes right after he spent almost fifty days roasting in the Eight Trigram Furnace and for him soon after being captured by a heaven that he refused to go to war with until the deities were literally breaking down his door and saying unless he surrendered for ruining one(1) festival and stealing immortality-granting treats then they were going to slaughter his entire family. So you can definitely see why, especially given Sun Wukong's awareness of his own power, he'd decide his conflict with heaven would only end, that he'd finally get respect from everyone and his family would finally be safe from everything, if he deposed the Jade Emperor and made himself the ruler of heaven. Obviously this backfires catastrophically thanks to the Buddha, but you can definitely see how this is less a case of Sun Wukong doing things because he's a chaotic monkey who loves to break stuff for shits and giggles and more because he's a ruthless warlord who cares about a select few & lives in a world where many others in positions of power act like ruthless warlords as well. It can't be forgotten, after all, that even the beloved Tang emperor is also specifically said to be someone who had countless people killed while he was forging his empire!

But going then to the massive rewrite of Xiyouji inherent in Monkie Kid, the whole "chaos!" thing just feels like yet another way for Sun Wukong & it seems MK by extension to be handed a massive L in terms of what their stories are. Like Flying Bark radically changed the havoc in heaven from SWK raging through the heavenly palace as part of a (gasp!) understandable wartime power struggle to him just stealing a bunch of stuff for himself before him & his former bros attack heaven, rather than heaven attacking them, which Macaque told him not to do but he did anyway because he was just that much of a uwu chaos monkey/thoughtless a-hole. And while I actually do like the idea of the stone SWK came from regenerating and creating even more stone monkeys, the way things have been set up it does seem to be working as another example of how Flying Bark keeps making SWK worse to make MK better in comparison, as well as likely lying the grounds for a massive confrontation between the two because yeah with his truth-seeing eyes how tf did SWK NOT know that MK was someone like him. As is, you can add that to the ever-growing pile of questions that FB refuses to answer, such as what exactly happened to the og pilgrims, why did SWK & the Demon Bull King have their battle, what happened between SWK and LEMH, why are LEMH & the Demon Bull King suddenly okay with SWK when he's the guy who they pretty clearly thought ruined their lives, how did MK go this long thinking he was just some guy instead of an ultra-powerful and destructive stone monkey, why did SWK exile himself for so long, why did the Monkey King even take on a tudi in the first place, if he did know MK was a stone monkey why didn't he say anything, etc. etc. etc. And yeah yeah I know the nature of storytelling is that information isn't revealed all the way at once, but it's been 4 entire seasons of just piling on the questions with the added bonus of everyone screaming about how much SWK sucks & is going to destroy everything (& the plot going out of it's way to prove that sentiment somewhat correct lol) so that now it feels a lot more like mystery mongering than revealing information in good time. Honestly it does put MK in this pretty sucky position too of both getting brutalized and traumatized over and over again specifically because of his connection to SWK, but also being used as this cudgel in the story to further beat in what a cringefail loser SWK is. Which is another thing that sucks, because MK is at his core a genuinely delightful and good-hearted protagonist. idk, kind of feels like he was meant to be the main character in a light-hearted show about doing your best & going on sillytime adventures with the Monkey King and is now forced to be the protagonist in an increasingly grimdark show where he routinely has to deal with the potential end of the entire world all while getting screamed at for inevitably being just as destructive as his terrible mentor :(

[cloneslugs]

cloneslugs.

do think out of anyone, brock has about the same relationship w the clones/boys as rusty does, he's the only other person who is as lax & neutral about them as rusty, granted you never hear him talk about them like rusty does (which would have been interesting s5, but they never let him interact w Dean ]: ) only thing to go off of is him chilling w Rusty in Powerless In the Face of Death & the fact he never tattled on Rusty's illegal clone lab & his whole thing in The Family That Slays Together Stays Together pt2 when he sees the slugs, all to say i think he has a similar relationship as Rusty but not quite the same on the basis of them being diff people -> diff ideas -> diff priorities, etc. do think a lot about how its the slugs that make him snap/push him beyond his breaking point at the end of s3. i think it would be interesting to get an idea of how much dead boys haunt his dreams as well (added interest if he did ever have to kill one or both of them to even the playing field, but that doesnt take away from anything else) do think he lacks the ability to address how much of a failure he is, yeah it's a dad's job to keep his kids safe, but you're hired to do it as in your existence and place here for the last 20 years has been to keep them alive but you didnt, and it's not like he eases up on his job just bc he has failsafes (unlike, arguably, Rusty) he constantly worries about the boys and goes out of his way to keep them alive (Victor.Echo.November) + his "oh thank god" when he realizes they aren't dead in a dumpster in I Know Why the Caged Bird Kills, and a whole mess of other things, it's one thing yeah to see an army of dead slug boy sons slaughtered in front of you, but its another thing to come to terms w the fact that all of this is because you were easy enough to trick (when you were told to trust no one by the very person who lied to you) & because you jumped to the worst conclusion w the OSI (granted Treister is a fucking mess to begin with) and also it's not just watching your boys die it's realizing you have no more room to fuck up anymore because those things are in use only bc you fuck up & if you keep at this then its only inevitable that you let them die again but this time theres no safety net for you bc youve been trying and the best you can do is 14+ sets of dead kids

[llycaons]

I maintain that wwx’s longing for LP doesn’t rely on jc nearly as much fans seem to think it does. a lot of his grief postres is of course wrapped up in nostalgia and homesickness and regrets for LP as a whole, but jyl is dead and he will never have that sibling dynamic again because jyl was required to sustain the jc and wwx relationship...and that’s tragic, that is, but the way things fell apart and the way jc and wwx’s relationship fractured before her death makes it so clear how fundamentally different their paths were always going to be, and it’s not a step forward or a ‘happy ending’ to have him return to someone with whom he’s had such a longterm and severe falling-out with. honestly jyl MADE that place his home. it was her compassion, and her love, and her generosity, her encouragement, her understanding that allowed wwx and jc to even have a relationship in the first place. and they did become close obviously but they could barely communicate with each other without her, of course the relationship didn’t survive her death

wwx clearly bitterly regrets what happened with jc and is upset that jc hates him (or so he thinks) but he also doesn’t particularly seem to miss jc in BM  the way he misses jyl or lwj which is interesting to me bc I don’t think wwx even likes him on a personal level which is another layer on complication here. there’s a lot of textual support for him loving jc and being protective of him but not really respecting jc as a leader, with a lot of subtext about him being very homesick and still caring a lot about him...which don’t contradict! they can both be true! but I still think that acting like a longterm survivor of unbelievable trauma can only truly be happy in a home he saw his entire family slaughtered in, at the side of a man who’s repeatedly assaulted him, encouraged him to kill himself, and triggered him intentionally, goes past stupid and into actively harmful, considering wwx’s lifetime of sacrifice and his willingness to be mistreated for other people’s sakes, especially the jiang’s. and it wouldn’t make him happy! it wouldn’t!

stating that LP his only ‘true’ home is...a reading that I can see people taking for sure, esp since in the drama he never really settled in CR. but stating that jc is the family he would be happiest with is so blatantly untrue like it ignores literally over half the story, essentially the entire ‘present-day’ arc and the many other people who wwx became family with, including jin ling, who is literally the last link he has to jyl and someone he clearly cares a lot about.

like. jc is the one sibling left but that doesn’t mean he’s okay to go back to, and it doesn’t mean that wwx would even be happy going back to him after developing such strong relationships with people who don’t routinely mistreat and abuse him, people he’s genuinely liked and been interested in since he was a teenager, people who he’s been through hell with and who shares his beliefs and principles. and we’ve obviously seen that wwx isn’t safe with jc, that jc isn’t in control of his anger, that he hurts wwx to personally gratify himself, that he triggers him with his phobia for no other reason than he thinks wwx deserves it. I feel like that should be clear to anyone with critical thinking skills even if they are jc fans?

I swear hardcore jc fans will just ignore the epic romance that’s literally the other most important wwx dynamic just because they don’t like it or whatever but like, not to criticize how people watch a show for fun but you cannot do a reading on wwx’s home or family or relationships supported by the text if you discount the significance of lwj to wwx or how their relationship is so utterly and intentionally different than jc’s. sometimes feels like these fans are taking the most bad-faith, shallow, face-value interpretation of  ‘oh wwx finds lwj boring and is stifled by CR’ and not bother to interrogate why maybe wwx is happy around lwj anyway and respects him and is excited to see him and brings him to important places like the shrine

I know none of this is saying anything new and I do like jc as a character, I just wish his fans would maybe use their heads and think through a complicated situation with respect to wwx further than ‘he misses this place so he will obviously be happy there with this person’ and then proceed to ignore 75% of the rest of the show that contradicts that or offers more nuance

[marysittingathisfeet]

She-rah the Warrior Princess Was Real

Do you all remember She-rah the warrior princess. Female version of He-man? The story states that she was raised by evil Hordak to be a warrior and captain for his Evil Horde, but she was able to break free from his control. Was She-rah character based on a woman in the bible who bears a very similar name. This woman broke free of the restrictions and expectations of her time and in her own way was a warrior for her people against evil.

Reading through 1 Chronicles genealogy can get tedious let's face it weird long names. The names listed are mostly male, but every now and then a female name is mentioned. One such name is Sheerah.

We read that Ephraim- Joseph's son- had two sons who were murdered by the "native born men of Gath" when they went down to seize their livestock. Why did the Bible ensure that it was understood that it was the native born men of Gath. Why not just say men of Gath.

Gath is mentioned in the Hebrew Bible as one of the five main Philistine cities. The Philistines was the homeland of the giants like Goliath and his five brothers.  The giants are descendants of the Anakim. The Anakim who inhabited the land of Canaan were descendants of the Nephilim. Who were the Nephilim? Genesis 6:4 reads as follows: The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown. The Hebrew word nefilim can be translated as "giants" or "the fallen ones". However, scholars debate their identity.

Naturally Ephraim mourned the loss of his sons who died trying to cattle rustle. In the old west cattle rustling was a death sentence if caught. Some say that multiple generations were slaughtered, although I don't really read it that way. We are then told after Ephraim mourned many days, his wife became pregnant again and he gave birth to Beriah- whose name means misfortune. Then we are told that "His daughter Sheerah built Lower and Upper Beth Horan as well as Uzzen Sheerah. Sheerah means kinswoman. Did Ephraim name her this because he had lost his kin? Sheerah essentially had a name similar to being called girl or woman. I am sure that this made her feel insignificant. But perhaps the name empowered her to become more for her family.

Not only did this woman build a city- she built three cities in a time when woman had no rights. Her culture was patriarchal and they were nomadic. How did she learn engineering? Where did she get the financial support to build the cities? She would have needed workers to dig the ditches, lay the foundations, and set the bricks. She was a clever tactician as the cities she built were situated strategically.

Upper and Lower Beth Horan were on a hillside, one high above the other on the border between the israelite tribes of Benjamin and Ephraim (interestingly her ancestor).  They were two neighboring towns situated on the Gibeon–Aijalon road. They served as strategic points along the road, guarding the "ascent of Bethoron". Numerous battles have been fought in this pass in ancient times and Roman times. These cities are mentioned in Joshua and 2 Kings. It was here that Joshua asked God to hold back the sun. God did and even rained hailstones down on the Amorite armies.

The Syrian general Seron was defeated here in 166 BCE by Judas Maccabeus in the Battle of Beth Horon. Six years later the Seleucid General Nicanor was defeated and slain by the Maccabees.

In Roman times in the year 66 BC, the first decisive Jewish victory in the First Jewish Roman War the Roman general Cestius Gallus was defeated by the Jews here.

The cities still exist today and some of the Roman paving is still present.

The meaning behind the name is very interesting. The name Beth Horan means House of the Hollow, House of Freedom. Did Sheerah build these cities after the death of her two brothers? Was it a desire to get away from the malevolent giants who had killed her brothers? Did the loss of her brothers then allow her the freedom to build the cities?

Unfortunately Solomon is given credit for building these cities. (Frequently the credit is removed from the female for the male. Blah!) Upper Bethoron is later mentioned as one of the cities built and fortified by Solomon. 1 Kings 9:17 and 2 Chronicles 8:59 states that Solomon "built Beth-horon the upper, and Beth-horon the nether, fortified cities, with walls, gates, and bars."  Perhaps the cities were in decay and Solomon rebuilt and reinforced them. The cities were already present as Joshua had driven out the Amorites in these cities.

The third city, Uzzen-Sheerah, is named it after herself – like all the men who built cities in the ancient and modern worlds. But Sheerah did not name it after herself for ego reasons as is done today.

The name is a combination of Sheerah's name and the Hebrew word uzzen, which is related to the word for "ear". The name is interpreted several ways. Some say the name means "listen to Sheerah", "portion of Sheerah", "corner", or "small land plot". Others suggest it could mean "Sheerah's small estate", or "summit of Sheerah". 

Sheerah was saying this is mine. I am not insignificant. My family is not insignificant. The city's location is unknown, but some speculate it could be the modern village of Beit Sira. 

Behind the walls of these three cities her family could be safe and could prosper.

[myoddessy]

WINGS OF LEAD | dream of the endless

pairing: dream of the endless x (fem) angel of peace!reader

summary: matching scars lay by your shoulder blades where your greatest honour once lay, but all you can think of is the debt you owe to the world for merely living. morpheus knows this, and struggles to grant you peace.

notes: reader is referred to as 'gavreel' after the angel of peace. there's not a lot of dialogue in this bcs i want to watch the sandman again to get a better grasp on the way morpheus talks so that my writing's for him can be as accurate as possible, but i still hope that you enjoy !! also, this is the first proper fic i've written in a while and my first ever work for the sandman, so constructive criticism is more than welcomed!

warnings: no show/comic spoilers!!, angst ( pretty heavy, but not in regards to your relationship), fluff, comfort, nightmares, mentions of captivity, mentions of torture (reader's wings being taken), mentions of death.

word count: 1.9k

the playlist.

when you woke, the pain wasn't what you registered first. it was the unnerving scent of sterile countertops and cleaning alcohol. then it was the shadowed figures gathered in the corner of the room, hidden by the blinding moonlight that beat down on you. your true panic only settled when you felt the tight wrap of the leather cuffs that hoisted your arms in the air, leaving your body hanging. and then it came crashing all at once. a searing agony surged through your body and sent a blood-curdling scream from your chest as you tugged against your restraints.

"you're an odd one, you know." a gravelly voice rang from the shadows. "more resilient than you little friends." a glare replaced your worry at the mention of your allied angels.

"where are they?" you knew the answer, but still feared the reply.

"their poor hearts couldn't take it after they saw their wings in... different care." a light flickered on, illuminating what the others in the room were watching.

another glass box, smaller than yours, mounted on the wall and displaying your wings. a horrified gasp escaped you as you blanched and tears gathered by your waterline. a hushed 'no' slipped past your lips and the man before you laughed cynically.

"do you know how much you're worth? how much people are willing to pay for not only the wings of, but the angel of peace herself?" he gripped your jaw tightly when you did not respond. "answer when you're asked a question, or the most any bidder will receive will be your wings."

"i'm worth more than you deserve." he stilled for a moment before laughing loudly, turning towards his comrades who followed his laughter before he span back to you with a harsh strike to your cheek, an violent sting left in its wake.

he remained nameless. he bragged to his friends. he bragged about how he led you and the other angels to the slaughter, how he'd achieved feats of immeasurable worth, how he should be celebrated for his captures. it felt like an eternity until he left the room and shut off all lights, leaving you drowned in moonbeams once more.

instead of the primal instinct of fear that one would expect, you felt guilty. you wondered why you, a mere angel of peace, was granted the gift of life when it was so cruelly stripped from your family of nature, loyalty, fire, and guidance.

tears spilled down your cheeks, some hitting your chest, others falling to the floor. under the light, they glistened, and you prayed to the creator and the endless that your tear managed to slip through the earth and wake the angels' spirits to save you.

you wished for morpheus, for your lover. you hoped he had already sourced you, perhaps he'd sent jessamy, and you'd soon find yourself free of your shackles.

the pain in your back had faded from sharp and burning to a dull and continuous ache that kept you teetering on the brink of sleep, too light to keep you alert but pounding enough to pull you awake.

you weren't sure how long you spent in captivity, time was meaningless when your only purpose was to be marvelled at and mocked. you could barely even tell moonlight from sunlight anymore, not since hunger took away the strength to crane your head to the sky. blood caked the edges of your cuffs from where they'd cut after you tried to twist free. bruises of strain and battering littered your body, your face were sunken with fatigue, and your wings still stood in your line of sight, taunting you, reminding you of how you were now merely half of a whole.

when morpheus found you, when he burst through the door with a stone-set jaw and blazing eyes that softened once they saw you, you believed yourself to be close to insanity. he released your bindings and took you in his arms with the whispered promise of a safer dawn. you felt the faint tickle of sand against the few parts of you that were not rendered numb as he granted you sleep at last.

that was a century ago. one hundred years had changed many things, from the state of the mortal world, to your title in the dreaming. you were now their queen, just as you were now morpheus' wife. what hadn't changed, however, was your guilt.

the hours of sleep morpheus gifted you every night were often cut short when your memories overpowered his dreams and the stories your captors told of how your family had died, how you would die if you did not cooperate, haunted you. you would wake up with a cold sweat and a trembling body and you would swear that you could still feel that pain in your back. some nights you were granted mercy and you only had the illusion of what was your norm — dull, repetitive, deep. most nights, however, you could feel them taking your wings. every pull of their saws, every scream that your unconscious mind refused to let out, every drop of blood. you could feel it all.

you did not tell morpheus what exactly your nightmares held, and he swore you the privacy of him never venturing into your dreams, but he knew. and he resented it.

he had often thought that maybe this was his reckoning. maybe he had relished in his power for too long without fully realising his downfalls, and the universal entities that towered over him hand picked your struggle to remind morpheus that he was not the creator. he was not all powerful. if so, morpheus then decided that he despised the cruel twists of fate. the man with pride and power as opposed to blood was willing to crawl through desolate sands with scarred knees and tattered palms if it meant that his call to truth wasn't at the sake of your self.

maybe morpheus had been too gluttonous with your adoration. maybe he revelled in the joy he brought you too much. maybe he inspired too many poets, too many artists, too many bards with images of you. maybe he had focused too much on what he could give you, and not what you needed.

you were not superior to morpheus in any way that anyone other than himself would recognise. he was an endless, you were an angel, the imbalance of strength lay not only in your names, but in your bones. but morpheus did not care, he knew that in your divinity, you rained superior to him. in your grace and your glow, in your elegance and eloquence, in your smile and your softness you were a better being than he.

you brought down an righteous light that banished the cold darkness that enveloped him. he knew that no matter how many parallels that you could draw from jane austen and shakespeare to you, his grandeur would never amount to what you brought him; peace.

the mere whisper of your name relaxed his tense bones, and the ghost of your touch could do much more. he worried that he could never do the same for you.

his hand in your hair, his arms pulling you close, your head on his chest as dreams of your wedding danced in your head. a tender smile reserved for you, and you alone, dawned on his face as he observed you. you looked serene and tranquil. your face was soft and the gentle upturn of your lips was pulled from a painting, morpheus should know, he's the one who told the painters about you.

his thumb ran up and down your bicep, feeling the goosebumps that rose in its wake, and his brows furrowed. you were safe now, but he knew it was only temporary. he knew that in due time, terrors and trauma would soil reminiscence of your first dance as husband and wife, and he would be left helpless and useless for all except an unsure word and a steady hold around your body.

he loved you, truly. he saw you in every nook and cranny of every realm he entered. in the tide and shore of the waking world, in the sun and it's golden foothills that reside in the far side of the dreaming, in the climbing ivy twirled around trees in the land of the fae. every light rang synonymous with your name, their devotee's rang synonymous with his.

"what are you thinking of, my love?" your voice startled him, his breath catching with a slight jump. you laugh quietly at this, he instantly calmed.

"you." he answered truthfully.

"all good things, i hope." you drew stars on his chest.

"partly." his response caused you to shift in his hold, now sitting up to face him fully, taking his hands in yours and laying them in your lap.

"what do you mean by that?"

morpheus looked away from you for a moment, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as he gathered his words. "you are a good soul, gavreel. too good to belong to someone like me." almost as if he could see the protests gathering on your tongue, he silenced you by continuing. "you have the world at your fingertips, yet your heart still beats and bleeds for those below you. your dreams are of some great revelation to bring back lost souls, or to save those soon-to-be lost. you integrity astounds me."

your brows furrowed. morpheus had always known that you longed to help others, it was your purpose, after all. you did not understand why he made a point of it now.

"i fear that i cannot gift you the one thing you truly deserve." he confessed, his hands tightening their hold on yours.

"you have given me everything i could ever wish for, morpheus." you shifted closer to him with a hushed voice, now sitting side-to-side with your chin resting on his shoulder.

"i have not been able to give you peace of mind." his eyes locked on yours once more, and for the first time, you saw a mirror of your own guilt. "i might give you moments of tranquility, but i can do nothing to stop the torments of your mind. i have failed you."

you raised a hand to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, fingers lovingly trailing down the rest of his face until your hand cupped his cheek and pulled him closer, foreheads resting against each other.

"do not say that." you insisted. "do not ever say that. you could never fail me. not even if you burned this realm to the ground, not even if it was you who took my wings." your nose brushed against his. "yes, my past lingers in my mind, and that will always be the case. but that does not mean, nor will it ever mean, that i am not at peace when i am around you."

"you, morpheus, lord of the dreaming, dream of the endless, my truest love, are my vessel of peace. you carry my intentions to a world i am not strong enough to wield. you have healed me by simply being mine, and i will not take the insult of you believing that i do not feel peaceful in your presence." you moved to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. "do you understand me, my love?"

his hand raised from your lap to tilt it back down and level with his, lips barely touching when he murmured a simple 'i love you' and with the spark of his kiss and the fire of his wandering hands, you knew your words were heeded.

[gracemyface]

Daryl: The Professional (Daryl Dixon x Young! Reader)

Chapter Six

Key:

Y/n - Your Name

Y/l/n - Your Last Name

Y/e/c - Your Eye Color

Y/h/c - Your Hair Color

Series Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: Things are unsettled at camp after the fight and Jim's breakdown, and the Reader finds themselves too worried about Daryl to really enjoy any of the festivities. Meanwhile, Daryl finds himself struggling in the city, wanting to return to camp but not wanting to face the wrath that would come from leaving Glenn behind. They're finally reunited when, in a turn for the worse, the camp is attacked by a wandering herd of walkers...

Warnings: Major Character Death, Canon Typical Violence/Gore, Some Angst.

A/n: I will have no real Lori slander. She did some shitty things, yes, but she loved her kids and the other women’s kids. Anyway, how do we like Daryl’s pov? I really, really struggled with it bc he’s such an asshole (I mean that affectionately.)

Shit really goes down this chapter. You guys have a slight breakdown, but it's been a long time coming. Character development ig?

also, do we want more stories from when the Reader, Daryl, and Merle were together?

Word Count: 4.8k

The first time Daryl ever saw you, the blood-soaked orphan with a far-off stare who’d barricaded themself into the corner of his father’s cabin, he felt a prickle of annoyance travel up his spine. 

He didn’t know why you were out in the woods, or what had happened to result in you being covered in the crimson liquid (though, if his father hadn’t just been eaten in front of him, he would’ve assumed it was a pig slaughtering gone awry), or how you got into the cabin. He, especially at that moment, hadn’t even cared. He knew immediately that Jess wouldn’t have left you behind, cursed his father’s half-brother and his bleeding heart, and reduced you to nothing in his mind but another mouth to feed — a weak, sniveling mouth at that. He wasn’t ever keen on being around kids, smart-mouthed teenagers even less, and he didn’t really want to have to handle the collapse of society with anybody who couldn’t fend for themselves. 

You showed him, though. You really did.

In those few days when it was just you and him after Jess took that fall off the truck when you officially became his responsibility, you proved you weren’t weak. You adapted to the end of the world quickly — learned to be quiet when you needed to be, to be useful most of the time, and to just eat whatever he managed to catch. And then you took on Merle in a way that nobody really dared to, most nights ending with you sending his older brother a heated gaze over the fire, the flames reflecting in your y/e/c eyes. Now, he still wouldn’t leave his life in your hands if he had the choice, even after you shot that man clear in the head back in Fontana and walked it off, but he knows for sure that he can trust you to handle your own — and, even if he doesn’t really appreciate being wrong, he can’t help but admire you for it… though, he’d never admit it aloud.

Standing in a long-abandoned lab building in an overrun Atlanta, the redneck stares down at the whimpering kid they picked up with pure disdain. His lips are curled back over his teeth in a sneer and his eyes are slanted as he stares down, internally picking apart every little thing the teenager does. That is what he expected from you.

What a shit show this little expedition-slash-rescue mission has turned out to be.

Not only was Merle not where they left him — currently down one hand and on the run through the sweltering pit of hell that has become of the once lively city — but now they’ve lost Glenn, too. If Daryl’d known that the younger man was going to get taken hostage by a bunch of wannabe gangsters and hold them up like this, he’d have left before these assholes could’ve even thought about getting into the truck with him.

He wanted to be the hell out of dodge three hours ago. “Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won’t protect your family or put food on the table— you’re gonna give that up for that kid?”

Both of them give him a stern look, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, the kid is nice and all, and half the camp (including you) would be really pissed off if they came back without him, but they can’t give up half of these guns. It’s either Glenn or a better chance at survival and he picks survival.

“If I knew we’d get Glenn back, I might agree. But, you think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?”

Daryl nods in agreement. There’s that, too. They have no idea for certain if giving up the guns will even get them what they want. It might just be a trap that gets them all killed.

“You calling G a liar?” Their hostage— Miguel, was it?— inserts himself into the equation.

His mind once again drifts to you. If you were kidnapped, you wouldn’t be this stupid. You’d be smart enough to not mouth off to the people who held you captive, smart enough to figure out how to get yourself free, and smart enough not to make promises on his behalf that he might not be able to keep. You’d be mute, sitting there and watching your captors with those dangerous little eyes of yours.

This kid, though? Christ.

“Are you a part of this?” He crosses the room and leans down over the kid, slapping him lightly. “You wanna hold onto your teeth?”

T-Dog continues on, ignoring the violence. “Question is, do you trust that man’s word?”

“No, question is what are you willing to bet on it? Could be more than them guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?” He holds Rick’s gaze.

Truth be told, Daryl doesn’t quite get risking why anybody would risk their life for someone who wasn’t their blood. Glenn wasn’t any of their brother, son, or cousin — he was just some (former) pizza running kid that was on the highway, in the right place and at the right time when Shane spearheaded the group and lead them off the highway. Merle is probably the only person in the world that the redneck would even think to sacrifice anything for.

(Except maybe…)

“What life I have I owe to him. I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't.” Rick loads his revolver and sticks it in his pocket. “Neither will I.”

Daryl scoffs in his soul. “So you’re gonna hand the guns over?”

“I didn't say that.”

The sheriff's voice has now taken a quality that has his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“There's nothing keeping you two here. You should get out, head back to camp.”

T-Dog winces from his injuries, rubbing his head with his hand. “And tell your family what?”

Daryl and Rick stare at each other for a beat, a silent conversation happening between them, before he sighs shortly and reaches for a weapon. You’d probably be really pissed at him if he didn’t try, and he doesn’t want to deal with an emotional teenager right about now.

“Come on, this is nuts.” The boy sits back down when Daryl holds a hand out to him. “Just do like G says.”

The redneck ignores the whining boy and starts loading a shotgun. He needs this to be over as quickly as possible, and he needs the gangster assholes to go down without a fight.

He made a promise to come back alive, after all.

──────────────────

Jim has a heatstroke. Or, at least, that’s what Shane keeps dismissing it as. With the current state of the world, it could’ve very well been post-bite fever or a psychotic break.

He’d been digging for reasons unknown and unintentionally ruined the good news of the incredible amount of food they were going to have tonight in the process. Shane went all cop on him, which didn’t really surprise you after what happened with Ed, and the whole ordeal ended with Jim being tied to a tree after ranting and raving about how he left his family for dead. Everyone seemed to move on after that, the mothers dragged their children off to do schoolwork and a few of the other adults started setting up for the fish fry, but you found yourself a little nauseous.

It looked like he was digging graves, and why did he go into such intense detail?

Hiding away in your tent, you lay down on top of your sleeping bag and throw a ball of socks up just to catch it as it comes down. You hoped the action would be therapeutic — something to take your mind off the image of Jim’s poor family and how it bleeds into the image of your own — but the socks lack the weight of a real ball, and you can’t get out of your head.

Had washing your parents’ blood off your skin absolved you of any responsibility in their deaths? Were you doomed to end up like Jim?

Would you also, someday soon, have a psychotic break?

“Hey, Y/n?” Lori’s soft voice drifts through the thin fabric of your tent as he speaks timidly.

For a beat, you decide if you want to be silent and let her think you’re asleep. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Shane’s gonna teach Carl and Sophia to clean fish. He wanted to know if you’d join.”

You already know how to gut an animal. Squirrels, rabbits, and even a deer, once — Daryl had always been very big on you learning how to survive in the time you spent together, and that learning involved getting over the grossness of animal entrails very, very quickly. You were living through the end of the world, he’d reasoned, you don’t have time to be weak-stomached.

And you don’t want to spend time with Shane. That’s at the top of the list of things you don’t want.

But you’re not going to tell the woman that you dislike the man she was sleeping with, so you say, “I already know how to.” 

There’s another beat of silence, and you can see the shadow of her willowy figure shift through the wall of the tent.

“Can I come in?”

You, certainly not expecting that, pause. 

“Uh, sure.”

You sit up and push yourself to the back of the tent, watching as Lori unzips the door and ducks down inside. She’s got sincere eyes. So sincere that when she crouches down in front of you and meets your gaze, your skin starts to crawl.

“You feelin’ okay?”

You hate that question. Something burns behind your nose and you snuggle, shrugging pitifully. “Dunno. Pretty shit — what happened to Jim, I mean.”

Lori nods thoughtfully. “Yeah… it is.”

She looks a little pale. Surely, the death of children doesn’t sit well with a mother, even if they aren’t her own.

“I, uh, I understand that you’ve had a rough time.” The brunette doesn’t seem to know what to say to you, and you almost feel bad. “I mean, I don’t. Not really. And you don’t have to tell me anything.” She stresses that point with a sweep of her hand. “But I know something must’ve happened because everyone has something happen.”

You nod along, fiddling with a loose string on your jeans. 

“I— Daryl and Merle don’t exactly seem like the easiest people to talk to, so if you ever need anything, me and Carol are right here, okay?”

“…okay.”

She smiles softly at you, and you spare one back. Lori and Carol are perfectly nice women, but you almost prefer Daryl, who has put a ban on personal questions and mostly ignores the emotional side of everything. You know you aren’t going to go to Lori and tell her things.

You wouldn’t even know where to start. 

“Y’know, Carl likes you? Like, a lot.” 

“Really?”

“Mhm. Sophia, too.”

Deep down, you know this is her trying to coax you out of the tent, but you let it boost your ego anyway. There’s something so incredibly normal (and endearing) about being looked up to — even if, sometimes, it gets a little annoying.

“And I’m guessing they would really, really like it if I went out there and helped Shane gut fish with ‘em?”

“Yeah. They would.”

Pursing your lips, you stare at the woman through slightly narrowed eyes before sighing and giving in.

“Alright…”

She grins widely and it kind of makes up for it.

Shane seems to be getting frustrated with the ordeal when you arrive, correcting Sophia’s stance with a tightness pulling at his smile as Lori gently nudges you along. You take the seat next to him without a word, pretending you don’t notice how he and the woman exchange a look, or how Carl shifts toward you on the log. It’s a hundred degrees out and he’s attached to your hip already, watching with those big blue eyes of his as you silently grab a fish off the pile and get to gutting it. 

You can remember the steps well: descale, cut a slit in the belly, remove the guts and fins and head, and rinse. 

“Look at you.” Shane compliments in a drawl, finally getting Sophia to do what he needed her to. “Like a swan to water.”

With a wrinkled nose, you drop fish innards into a bucket and turn to look at him as you shake the blood off your hands.

“Yeah, well, you spend enough time with the Dixons and you’ll learn how to gut anything.”

Something dark flashes across his face but you don’t care. You turn back to the fish, making a little joke to Carl about fish eyes that makes his entire face scrunch up and draws a long ‘Ewww’ from his lips. The laugh that bursts from you rattles in your bones.

──────────────────

“Hey, Dale, you got a?—“ The question dies on your lips as, upon stepping over the threshold of the RV, you stumble upon Andrea.

Every cabinet in the mobile home’s little kitchenette is open and she appears to be rooting through them desperately. At the sound of your voice, she pauses, looking up at you like she’s an animal and you just caught her looking through your garbage cans.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” You retort, shifting your weight. “Do you know where Dale is?”

“No, but I wish I did.” She heaves a sigh and runs her hand through her hair.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the woman quite so frantic. Somewhere down the line, Andrea Harrison was a lawyer, and it’s hard to imagine her standing in the front of a courtroom, prim and proper and ready to kick some ass, with her standing in front of you like this.

“Can I help you any?” You ask just as Dale finally responds to his summons, stepping over the threshold with a quiet, “Did I hear my name?“

“Yeah.” Both you and Andrea answer at once, but you step back and gesture to her. “I think she needs help first.”

The blonde spares you a nervous smile.

“Alright. What do you need?”

“Wrapping paper, color tissue, anything?”

(Okay, maybe you regret letting her go first. At this rate, you’ll never get that bandaid.)

You stare at her with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up face. 

“Seriously?” Dale shares in your confusion, glancing warily between the two of you. You offer him a shrug.

“How could you not have any?”

“Had I been informed of the impending apocalypse I'd have stocked up.”

Your snort at the old man’s dry words earns you a particularly derisive look from Andrea. “What? It’s the end of the world and you need wrapping paper. Shoot me for finding that amusing.”

“It’s Amy’s birthday tomorrow.” She says it like you should know that (probably because you should.) “I've been marking days on the calendar just to make sure.”

Your eyes wander over to the calendar on the wall of the RV as she lifts the necklace that she stole for a gift to her sister. Surely enough, Andrea has been crossing out the days on it. 

Despite what you expected, there is no big circle over Amy’s birthday or anything, but you then figure that would probably ruin the surprise. Your older (in age and not maturity) blonde friend had come to you earlier in the week and lamented to you about the situation. While you’d always known that Andrea was the older of the pair, you didn’t know just how much until Amy filled you in on the ghosts of birthday past; she told you all about the older blonde’s broken promises to return to the nest for her little sister’s birthday, about how, more often than not, college and other things got in the way. She must’ve seen the calendar, too, and been disappointed by the apparent lack of acknowledgment that it was growing closer and closer to her favorite holiday.

“You can’t leave a gift unwrapped.” 

“Oh, it’s good that you got something. I think she thinks you forgot.” That was told to you in confidence, but you stretched the truth a bit, so it isn’t that bad, right?

Dale and Andrea both look at you for a moment before he nods his head slowly. “Alright. Deep breath. I’m sure we’ll find something.” He turns back to face you. “What did you need?”

As if a lightbulb turned on over your head, you lift up your hand and the handkerchief that’s been wrapped around your minor flesh wound. “Carl cut me while I was demonstrating. I just need a bandaid.”

The old man shakes his head at you and steps around Andrea to go get the first aid kit, muttering to himself about the youth of today and how you’re going to lose your limb if you aren’t more careful.

──────────────────

As the grating summer sunlight fades into the darkness of dusk, taking the heat with it, the whole group (excluding the men in Atlanta and Ed, who refused to show his face around camp) sits down for the biggest meal most of them have had since the end of the world.

Cold beer and water are handed out as serving trays full of fried fish get passed around between the clusters of people who gather around their fires, the murmur of their happy chatter and soft laughter cutting through the blanketing sounds of the night. After the big fight and Jim’s foreboding breakdown, it’s nice to see everyone smiling and knowing that nobody’s going to ruin it this time — even if you can’t really find yourself joining in on the festivity.

“Pass the fish, please?”

“Here you go.”

“Man, I missed this.”

Sitting down on the end of one of the logs and feeling a little removed from everyone else, you wrap your coat tighter around your frame and let yourself worry about the group of men who went into the city. You don’t know Rick Grimes too well — he didn’t exactly give you the chance to get to know him, did he? — but you do know Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl. You know that they’re very capable men and that, in certain circumstances, most of them have more experience with geeks than you do, but you can’t help but worry. The sun has long since set, meaning that the men, wherever they are, are stranded out in the dark. You don’t really remember the nights from when it was just you and Daryl (a combination of many sleepless nights and too-high adrenaline made the memories blur together), but you know enough to know that things do get worse when the sun goes down; geeks aren’t exactly quiet, but they can really sneak up on you when there’s no light and your body wants to sleep.

Experienced or not, they're going to be tired eventually, and, if Merle doesn’t try to kill them, something else will.

“Hey, Nervous Nellie.” Shane draws your attention to him by nudging your leg with his boot, “Yeah, you— how's the fish?” 

Your eyes flit down to the bottle in his hand. Beer surely makes him a little looser.

“It’s alright.”

The ex-cop cocks a brow and echoes your response. “Alright?”

You really wish he’d just leave you alone. 

Truth be told, you don’t really like the food. It’s bland and it tastes fishy in the worst way, and (even if you’ll admit that you’ve been eating it like a death row inmate getting their last meal as if indigestion isn’t a thing), chasing it down with water isn’t helping. Sure, it’s better than the food you’ve been eating for weeks — better than measly mushrooms, canned rations, and whatever game the Dixon brothers could hunt up — but it’s not great.

“It’s no cheeseburger.” You shrug, stabbing some more of the pale flesh with your fork. “But beggars and choosers, and all that.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Morales interjects lightheartedly, tipping the head of his beer in your direction. You smile a thin-lipped smile.

The arrival of his long-lost best friend has made Shane rather… unsettling. Whether it’s because of how cold Lori has been acting toward him or his superiority complex, you’re not sure. You just know that you want Daryl to come back, even if that means putting up with Merle for the rest of his life.

“I’ll be right back.” You dismiss yourself quietly to Jacqui when the temperature changes and your discomfort proves to be too much. She nods absentmindedly, too engrossed with whatever Dale is saying to really respond, and takes the plate from you when you hand it over. 

You slip away into the darkness pretty easily, retreating to your tent in search of a sweatshirt, a breather, and maybe some reassurance that the redneck you’ve grown to like could survive whatever came at him. 

With a press of your hand, the nylon flap of your tent opens and you step in. Pausing briefly to turn on the little electric lantern on the floor, you then scan the small space with your eyes, looking for anything that might pass as something with long sleeves. There’s already a pile of dirty clothes forming in the corner and most of your stuff is strewn about, but you ignore that and grab for your bag— an old duffel that belonged to Daryl’s deceased father. Curling your fingers around one of the fraying straps, you pull it up and toward you, rooting through the stuff in there until you find it. A red and black flannel.

Somewhere down the line — just like most of your stuff did — the flannel belonged to one of the Dixons. It hangs loose on your frame, the sleeves too long for your arms and the length stopping mid-thigh. 

Buttoning it up, you cuff the sleeves and fiddle with the ends for a few minutes until they sit in a way you like. 

Just as you’re able to breathe a deep breath and feel remotely at peace, a blood-curdling scream, followed by many more, cuts through the quiet dark of the night. Adrenaline is the first thing you feel, your heart beating in your ears and your lungs squeezed of air, and worry is the second, fear for your friends forcing your legs to move and push out of your tent again. Though, before you can do that, you’re greeted by two rotting hands shoving their way through the opening and grabbing at your shoulders in a surprisingly iron grip. The shock of seeing a geek so up-close causes you to stumble back, but your ankle twists harshly — sending you sprawling to the ground with the monster right on top of you. 

“Oh, god!” The cracked scream leaves your lips, the now-shattered glass from the lantern digging into the skin of your leg.

The walker is — or, was — a man. It gnashes its teeth and pushes toward you, the sound of the bones clacking together making you whimper. Is this what your parents felt in their last moments? Jim’s wife and kids? Very quickly, your arms start to tremble under the weight of the much larger body, and you decide to not resign yourself to the same fate. Craning your head, you search for a weapon. 

There’s no way for you to reach your gun right about now, which you can’t really shoot with one hand anyway, but there has to be something else — anything you can use.

As the walker claws desperately at your shirt and groans miserably, you have to make the rash decision to remove one hand from its chest and give yourself less leverage to reach blindly behind you. Panicked breaths puff past your lips and your head starts to feel light as you grab at your stuff. Your fingers tightening around your sleeping bag, you give a harsh tug and hear the faintest sound of objects clattering around. The walker pushes down on your forearm as your fingers touch what feels like the hilt of a knife. Daryl must’ve thrown it in with your belongings a while back.

Letting out a strangled and panicked sound, you take the weapon and stab the walker with all your might.

The steel of the blade pops the walker’s eye upon entry and slides right through to its brain. Closing your eyes and mouth, you whip your head to the side as a mixture of ink-like blood and gel-like eye fluids drip down the hilt of the knife and onto your face. Its body, now eerily still and limp, falls on top of yours, making it hard to fully inhale as stuttered, panicked breaths rack your chest. As the sounds of gunshots and screams continue from outside the tent, you roll the body off you and force yourself up on your knees, gasping breaths through frightened sobs as you try to tug the knife out of the dead head.

As you pull it free, another walker stumbles into your tent and tries to pounce on you. Before it can bite a chunk out of your body, the tent door is being pushed open and a bullet is shattering its skull.

“Y/n!?” Glenn’s voice is just audible over the deadly mixture of your heartbeat and painful ringing in your ears, his eyes wide as he hopes what he just shot was actually dead before he shot it. “Y/n?!”

“Glenn.” You whimper, kicking the other dead body away from you. Your alleviation that the men from Atlanta are alive is short-lived.

“Oh.” He breathes in relief and slings the gun over his shoulder, reaching out to hold your forearms. “Oh. You’re okay. Oh, god. That’s good.”

“Daryl— is— is Daryl?” You can barely form words, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“Daryl’s fine. C’mon. We have to get out of here!”

He ushers you to your feet. The pain in your calf worsens as you stand up on shaky legs, every movement causing the glass to shift in your skin, and you stumble forward into his chest.

“I can’t— I hurt my leg.” You hiccup and Glenn sighs softly, wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders so he can half carry you.

“I have you.”

Glenn leads you out into the chaos. What’s left of camp isn’t very different from what Sedalia was like all those weeks ago — bodies, both rotting and fresh, littering the floor and the once-contained fires roaring loudly against the stones. Howls of anguish and sobs fill the air. 

“Y/n! Y/n!” Daryl’s southern drawl echoes through the remains of the camp, worry, fear, and anger lacing his words. “Where the hell is the kid?!”

The survivors are all gathered around the RV, and you watch as he shoves Shane lightly for getting in his way.

“Where are they? Did you leave them alone?” Rick tacks on as T-Dog tries to get in between them, his son in his arms. “Has anyone seen Y/n?”

As the moonlight casts a blue shadow on your blood and grime covered skin, you let go of Glenn and find it within yourself to shout. “I’m right here!”

The redneck’s head snaps over to you and he abandons his antagonism against the ex-cop in favor of running over to you. Daryl grabs your face in both of his hands and starts scanning over your features.

“You alright? Any of this blood yours?” He whispers gruffly.

“I’m… I mean I hurt my leg but otherwise I’m fine. No bites.” Your hollow voice cracks slightly as you speak, and your gaze flits away from him as he bends down to check your leg. “Is that?…”

Andrea sits, crumpled at the foot of the door into the RV. In her lap is Amy. Sweet Amy. Amy, who missed texting more than most and still had this beautiful ability to wonder in her twenties. Amy, whose birthday is tomorrow.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

Your blood runs cold and your stomach drops so fast you might fall over as the older blonde’s bloody hands brush across your dead friend’s pale skin. 

“Don’t look.” Your guardian orders once he’s followed your gaze, but it’s too late.

Tears, burning hot and long coming, spill out of your eyes and down your cheeks. Daryl sighs and, because the attention isn’t on either of you, lets you curl into his chest, his hand rubbing down your back in an attempt at comforting you.

It’s useless, though. 

Andrea’s sobs filter through the air as a heavy silence overcomes the rest of the group, each and every one of them consumed with the weight of what they’ve lost.

──────────────────

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[paris-geller-was-straightwashed]

everyone shh be quiet I’m thinking about the scale between henry/001, kali and el and the differences in how they all, as isolated and deeply hurt children, view others and the world around them.

Henry/001

on the far side, we start with henry, who will in time become the murderous vecna. once we finally have the curtain revealed in ep7 through his monologue, it’s clear, that from the beginning his character was set up to be a villain.

in his isolation at feeling ‘different’ and anger towards his family & a world he didn’t understand, he processes this all into a gradual tirade of hurt and violence - beginning by harming woodland creatures and creating horrifying illusions, to in the end, murdering all his family save for his father. he says, how he would end up hating both his mother and father bc after peeking into their minds, he saw what he believed to be things so terrible they were inexcusable (though I still don’t totally understand why; I’m assuming he thought that about his father bc victor killed ppl in the war, but it’s not really clear what he says his mother did, but I’m assuming it’s for fearing what he was capable of and wanting to send him away? not sure). and then finally in the lab, it’s revealed that he was the one who murdered all the other experiments. in his own eyes, henry can justify this, either by claiming it was deserved or how regardless, everyone is just waiting to escape this cruel world around them anyways. becoming so warped from his own feelings of being an outsider and no doubt trauma wrought from brenner, he has turned to harm as a comfort, as a way of control, and something, to put it plainly, he has no issues handing down.

either way he tries to justify it though, it’s clear from the scene, that he is dangerous and craving both destruction and violence - aka, a villain, plain and simple. it starts, with a quiet, sensitive boy, who feels so unattached from the world and people around him, that he found comfort from his isolation in hurting and overtime, it grew completely into evil villainy.

Kali

my love, my life. kali stands as an interesting tie, between both henry and el. kali is no villain, but she too, has found comfort in taking the lives of others - but only the lives of people who’ve actively done harm, namely people involved in the traumatic abuse she had to undergo.

unlike henry, kali has still retained some of her humanity. she’s is kind and gentle towards el, saying how upon finding her she felt she’d become whole again. and before even knowing who el was, stopped axel from possibly harming her, not wanting him to hurt some innocent kid. she’s helped those in her crew, ‘saving them’ according to sunshine. she very much wants to help el, wants her to become stronger, to help save herself from the lingering affects of her trauma (their shared trauma).

but at the same time, she can also be cruel. while I would argue that kali taking the lives of child abusers isn’t exactly the same as henry slaughtering whoever he saw fit (including literal children), the fact still remains, that they both have decided on their own terms who deserved that cruelty. on their own terms, they’ve taken it upon themselves to decide who will live, and who won’t. both see the world as cruel and unjust for their own reasons, and so, hurt from what they’ve experienced, find a new purpose & go about their own ways of ‘fixing’ things. henry wanted to ‘restore order’ to a world he didn’t understand, and kali is also wanting to be restorative in her actions, by getting rid of the people who hurt her & others and therefore make things better.

both of them have felt isolated from their past in the lab; henry tells el that brenner sees her as nothing more ‘than an animal, a monster’, and kali too, in trying to get el to reconcile with her past, says that ‘we will never be anything more then monsters to them (brenner & the lab).’. they also both, use anger as a motive. both of them tell el to call upon a memory that makes her upset, and use it as a way to fuel her power. again, both of them, for perhaps slightly different reasons morally, have taken to anger and vengeance as a way of motivating them.

it’s wild actually, as I go back and look at ep7, how close their ideas and motives are - but still, when it comes down to the actual killing, there is a difference. kali, specifically, hurts those who hurt others - she’s after the lab and the lab alone. she never kills unless for a very specific reason, and where henry thought killing the other experiments was ‘saving’ them, kali would never hurt anyone, let alone kids, who’ve done no harm. it’s clear to me that kali only chooses harm when someone else is being hurt (a lot like how el does, in some ways); an innocent such as she & el were in the lab, being harmed by another. to henry though, he’s dwelled enough in his hurt that everyone he comes across, is already guilty and worthy of punishment.

kali still has a heart. unlike henry who felt his differences and powers made him alone, kali is able to bond her story of struggle with those of her friends, and even when they’re at the gas station, kali tried to deescalate rather then attack the upset owner, saying how ‘they’re on the same side’ - she is able to empathize (like el, though with not as strong of a bleeding heart as el has), where henry cannot. but she too, has started to warp in her bloody crusade for justice. and just as henry made his parents (and later max & ppl in hawkins) see their worst fears, kali makes el see brenner, a person she is still deeply afraid of and cries upon seeing him. again, motives are different (henry to scare and horrify the victim, whereas kali was trying in all the wrong ways to make el confront her past), but still, the actions are the same. she’s definitely not villainous, but her actions can’t be called morally pure either.

(also, tangent - what is up with the different powers? all three of them are different. henry shows he’s capable of both visions and telekinesis, which is interesting that he has both abilities. kali, as far as we’ve been shown, is only capable of visions, and el has only used telekinesis. does this mean they both developed one each, from the DNA brenner extracted from henry? but then I wonder, why is it that all the other experiments showed in el’s flashback only use telekinesis? why is it only kali has the ability for visions, if we’re going by the DNA theory. OR, was kali sought out kind of like how henry was - she held a sensitivity to the supernatural, and then was found and taken by brenner who wanted to use her for them. so many questions, but back to the main topic).

I feel like the difference is, is that kali has a very specific purpose, and a deep sense of justice (hence why the writers named her as they did), and I think that flame she holds to help people cast down and make things right, is what saves her from falling into her cruelty. at the same time, holding onto that anger could prove to be a great downfall for her, if taken too far.

El

that leaves el, at the opposite end of the scale. el has proven herself, time and time again, to be different then her siblings - in that she is very gentle in nature, and takes on a great deal of empathy for the hurt she encounters, whether caused by her or not.

she defies both her siblings when they ask her to hurt someone else. henry uses it as an out for her, to join his mission and escape the lab and brenner, and kali tells her that killing the lab worker who once tortured them was a way to both heal her trauma and restore justice. but in those moments, el sees only one thing. she sees the brutally murdered kids taken by henry’s hand, and she sees that killing this man will only end in a dead body and two little girls without a father. and in both moments, el says no - and chooses mercy instead. she refuses to be the one to take a parent away from a child, and she, seeing who henry really is, refuses to let him get away with any more killings.

almost every time el has ever used her powers, hurt someone on purpose, was either bc she (& her friends) was/were in danger, or bc she felt like she was being threatened. the only outlier was when she knocked max off her skateboard - and then outside of that, were just accidental outbursts, like tossing lucas (or just for cheeky, harmless fun, like spying on the boys and such). and EVEN in times when she’s done a cruel act, like hitting angela harder then she meant to, she’s shown to be deeply upset by it despite how angela treated her. all through s4, el is wracked with misplaced memories of the lab massacre, deeply upset and haunted by the notion that she might’ve been responsible.

when it comes to hurt, when it comes to cruelty, there are no excuses for el, unlike her two siblings who’ve created their own ways to justify it. el sees someone in pain, or is instructed to inflict pain (such as the cat in the lab), and there’s nothing to her that makes it okay. she stands up to a powerful foe like henry to stop him, or she risks the traumatic punishment of the dark room for refusing to kill the cat, bc with such a sensitive heart, she can’t stand to see any more pain.

el has undergone just as much trauma as both henry and kali experienced while in the lab. she too, has felt isolated and different, has felt like she had no place in the world. she’s been deeply hurt by the world and people around her over and over again, being handed more cruelty then she would ever give. for her siblings, they have used this in their own ways, to become destructive.

but el has refused. every opportunity she’d had to hurt, she’s chosen love. it’s love, after all, that allows her to defeat henry; love of her friends and family, that helps carry her through all her battles. she’s had such a cruel start, and yet she, is so soft.

Overall,

I think both the similarities and differences between all three of them and how they’ve each come to see the world, are really fascinating. they’re all interesting character studies, all different outcomes for how they each moulded themselves after experiencing very similar, if not the same, trauma. henry took his pain and isolation, his hurt at feeling like an outsider and anger towards others, and used it to hurt people under a guise that he was ridding the world of wrongs. kali took hers and tried to make it righteous, tried to make sense of her trauma by making those guilty pay for it, and while uses it to help save others from possible pain, is still leading a murky path. and el instead, holds onto her pain, and refuses to weaponize it, or let anyone else get hurt.

but with each character’s outcomes, I feel like there is a tying piece that connects to one of the biggest threads in the show - and that’s about the love for each other. it’s the love of el’s mom that helps her stop henry, it’s the love of her friends that she uses to guide her. it’s the love from her friends that saves max from vecna, the love from joyce (and jonathan) that saves will from both monsters that try to take him. el chooses love at every critical turn, never harm. kali has taken a dubious path, but it’s clear that she loves her sister, and that she cares about her and her friends - a driving force, even in her angry vengeance, that wills her to stop anyone from hurting them or others again. but with henry, that’s not a factor. his motives aren’t powered by care for others, despite trying to say that he was doing a righteous service - rather, he has rendered everyone at fault, calling humanity a ‘disease’ of which he wants to extinguish bc they did not understand him and he didn’t understand any of them. different from kali’s and not at all like el’s, he carries no compassion in his drive. he’s consumed entirely by vengeance and violence, and, in the end, it’s what costs him his (mortal) death.

there’s always more to dissect, but this has gone way past lengthy. I just wanted to touch on the fascinating dichotomy, of giving three characters very similar history but having it play out in various different directions, based on who those characters are at their core. anyone else is welcome to add-on and discuss!

[lariskapargitay]

Encanto history head-canons Bc I can’t imagine a family of basically Gods who had it drilled into their heads since they were young they had to use their gifts to help and service people just hung out when they were alive during two world wars, even if Colombia never sent actual soldiers into battle during either war

In addition to Spanish being their native language, Pepa speaks French, Julieta speaks Italian, Bruno speaks German, and Alma speaks Russian and English. She made them all learn different languages when WW1 broke out and she was concerned about an influx of refugees not being able to speak Spanish that well and she wanted to make sure they were taken care of as well if they found themselves in the Encanto. When WW2 broke out she also made the entire family, in laws and grandchildren included, learn Hebrew for the same (heartbreaking) reason

The worst blizzard in Russian history happened twice. When Napoleon tried to invade, and when Hitler tried to invade. The first time was natural. The second was Pepa sneaking into Russia and forcing herself to imagine her children and husband dead to stop him

The medics could not, for the life of them, figure out how a teenage girl in WW1 and then untrained woman in WW2 was a better nurse then every single trained military surgeon and medic, or how she could bring people back from the brink of death in a matter of minutes (or why she carried around a shit ton of arepas in her pack)

Bruno did his best to share the future and let the Allied leaders know which way the battles would go without letting them know he could tell the future but the first time a general ignored him and got his entire platoon slaughtered, Bruno couldn’t take that amount of guilt and heartache again so he just shared his visions with Julieta and Pepa so they could know when and where they needed to be to help

Camilo wanted to go to Germany with his mother and Tia. He was a shapeshifter, do you know what kind of amazing spy he would make and fuck up different orders? Alma was all for it but Pepa and Felix refused and threatened to cut Abuela out of their and their kids lives if she sent Camilo overseas without their permission

Dolores and Isabela also wanted to help but their parents all agreed they were also too young. When they pointed out the triplets were only 16 when they were sent to help during the first war, they agreed they could come help when they were 16. They considered the fact that VE Day happened 3 months before Isabela turned 16 and 5 months before Dolores turned 16 nothing short of a miracle

You would think 16-18 year old Pepa around a bunch of young good looking GIs would be a recipe for disaster but she had her boyfriend Félix waiting for her at home. It was actually Julieta who fell in love with a Colombian-American GI. She swore up and down she was in love with him until she had to go back home and she realized it was more lust than love

The sheer amount and the content of racy letters Pepa and Félix sent one another when she was overseas, both when she was an older teen and as an adult would have made a whorehouse blush

Pepa and Julieta shared a little apartment in Germany during WW2. One night, three years after Bruno’s disappearance, they got a frantic phone call from a man named ‘Jernando’ who knew way too much about them and their family for it to be a prank, telling them to get out of the apartment and get out !NOW! because the Germans had been getting intel reports that two women who seemed to be supernatural lived there and they were coming for them. Not even an hour after they left, the girls watched, safely from a roof across the street, their apartment being raided by German soldiers

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 6

summary: given some time alone to think, the pieces begin to fall into place. you go to confront the darkling be he avoids you at any given cost, until one night you go into the one room you were never granted permission to enter.

warnings: cursing, talks about violence/torture and death, alcoholism

A/N: the truth finally comes out. This is all over the place bc I was trying to rush getting it out. 5.9k+ words and 12 pages later, here we are. not proofread, will comeback later to edit.

ANA KUYA’S voice echoed in the back of your mind as you laid on your cot, calling out for Mal and Alina as they ran away from her. It was the day Grisha came to the orphanage to find out if one of their own had been whisked away into a place like this. You examined the walls, cracks running up and down them. The windows barely opened, and when they did, they let out horrible screeches. Water leaked from the bathrooms, the annoying drip a constant on your mind.

Maybe you should’ve gotten up from your bed and got tested by a Grisha. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to stay in such a run down orphanage. The Duke was rarely here, so no one really cared about his orphanage no matter how infamous he was. But being Grisha meant leaving Mal and Alina behind, something you couldn’t do because they had become your only family. Besides, Grisha don’t get sick, therefore you weren’t a Grisha.

You could never be a Grisha.

-

AS you phased into consciousness, you could hear someone muttering something in the background. Your hands were so cold, you reached out for something- anything that could give you warmth. You tried to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, nothing seemed to work. The person rushed to your side, clutching both of your hands in one as the other stroked your cheek.

“Go back to sleep.” He said, brushing your hair back. Closing your eyes, he assumed you had fallen asleep already. He resumed his mumbling, the words slowly becoming coherent as fell back asleep.

“It’s...too...soon..”

-

THE painful pounding of your heart had subsided as the Grisha left. Mal walked into the room followed by Alina, who was sporting a new wound on her palm that Ana Kuya had scolded her for.

“Come on, get up!” Mal urged, knowing from the look on your face that the pain had already left you.

“Where are we going?” You said eagerly, scooting to the front edge of your bed to lace up your boots.

“To the meadow.” That was all you needed to hear before running out the bedroom door. Mal and Alina’s footsteps padding behind. The three of you started a mildly competitive game of tag, the other two making sure you didn’t exert yourself.

In that moment, you were who you were supposed to be. Three children lying on the field, making stupid promises to each other.

“We can’t hide forever, but we can run.”

-

THIS time when you find yourself in a field, there’s a man laying next to you. It was the same man from your dream, shoulder length hair and clean shaven face.

“Aleksander?” He lets out a hm, awaiting your question. “Where am I?”

“What do you mean, my darling?” Aleksander- General Kirigan- or whoever the hell he was turned to look at you, laying one of his arms upon your stomach. His hand keeping a firm grip on your waist. From your peripheral view you could see him studying you.

He started with your eyes, taking in their color and your long lashes. He moved from the curve of your nose until he got to your soft, plump lips. You stared at the sky, afraid of what you would see, who you would recognize if you turned to face him.

“We’re at our meadow.”

-

WHEN you finally regain consciousness, you find yourself alone in a nearly dark room. Only one lantern had been lit up. It was just before dawn, you could see the sun beginning to peek out. Someone had changed you into a nightgown, you didn’t know who it was. Perhaps it was Alina or maybe the Darkling, maybe neither. Either way, you were thankful they decided to change you out of the robe you had fainted in.

With great struggle, you propped yourself up, your elbows taking the brunt of your weight. You crawled to the foot of your bed to put on your night slippers. The rug under your bed only went so far before it hit the cold floor. You slowly made your way to the desk, sitting yourself in front of the mirror.

The magic Genya had performed on you days ago had worn out by now. How long were you out for? The dark circles under your eyes had returned, seemingly worse. Your skin, although already dull, became more dull and pale. Whatever shine you originally had was gone. Your eyes look sunken in. While your hair was frail and also lost the shine that Genya gave it.

“Saints..” You whispered to yourself as you raked a hand through your hair. You were basically a dead person walking. You considered fetching a servant to bring you Genya, but decided against it. Throwing on a robe, you silently made your way to the war room, hoping to find the Darkling there. When you entered it remained empty, along with the bed he usually slept in. You walked the halls looking for one of his oprichniki, yet they weren’t around either.

There was no use in barging into his bedroom when it seemed like he was gone. Plus you didn’t want to invade his privacy knowing that he could have you killed for going into his room without permission if someone had seen you. You spotted one of the palace guards, walking up to him as you placed your hands into the pockets of your robe.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where the General is?” You asked, staring into the guards eyes.

“He left a week ago, accompanied by his personal guards.” Was all he said, not disclosing why he had left. A week? Had you really been unconscious for a week? This usually never happened to you, not like this.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“In a couple of days.” He said, not giving you an exact day. You quickly thanked him before making your way back to your room to change for the day. The dull ache of your heart was finally leaving, allowing for you to feel more like yourself. You were able to spot the sun in the sky as you finished changing. You thought about basking in its light when your stomach growled loudly.

I suppose I should eat, you thought. It’d been nearly a week since you were able to feed yourself, your last meal being breakfast. You could remember someone feeding you periodically throughout the week, now knowing the Darkling had left, it was most likely Alina. You rang for a servant, asking to be brought breakfast when she arrived. Surveying the room, you decided that the Darkling wouldn’t mind if you did a little retouching.

You moved the table towards the window, wanting to eat in the sunlight without having the harsh winter winds freeze you. Opening the curtain allowed for more sunlight to stream through, a grunt of triumph leaving your lips as you looked at your new setup.

The squeaky wheel of the servant’s cart alerted you of her presence, rushing to open the door before she could knock. You took the tray from her hands, closing the door with your foot as you skipped towards the table, eager to get some food in your system.

The food they had given you was practically the same, sweet pea porridge, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of grapes. It wasn’t your favorite, but you ate it anyway. Savouring the familiar crunch and sweetness of the grapes. Sitting in the sun had left you feeling giddy and warm, excited for summer when you would be able to go out whenever you could and feel the sun on your skin.

It was the same warmth you felt whenever the Darkling touched you, even when you saw him in your dreams, there had always been a lingering sense of familiarness-- and affection. You saw the look in his eyes just seconds before you passed out, the shock as you said his name, the concern visible in his eyebrows. Him whispering, stay with me, please. It was all foreign to you. In fact, his behaviour was strange to you.

You’ve always heard of the Darkling being cold, menacing, someone you had to fear. There were stories of him ruthlessly slaughtering the Drüskelle, using the Cut to separate multiple heads from bodies in a matter of seconds. Yet he welcomed you into his home without a second thought. He fed you, gave you clothing and a place to sleep, even gave you a tour of the Little Palace himself. You were sure he had never given someone the treatment that he had given you, so what made you so different? What made you so special to him?

You didn’t miss the look he gave you when you first entered the war room, recognition and longing bright in his eyes. He tried to hide the emotion, but you were able to catch it before he returned to his dark and empty gaze. It would explain the memories, but only fueled your confusion and curiosity more. Had you shared a past life with him? If so, why were you back? How were you back? Getting lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the person knocking until they opened the door and announced themselves.

The familiar red hue of his kefta brought you comfort. You were too trusting lately, you’d only met Fedyor a week ago. Just the sight of his kefta had calmed something down in you. This palace was changing you, bringing out something from within you that never existed. Being this trusting on the fields would get you killed.

“Good morning, Fedyor. What brings you here?” You greeted him. This time you already had your boots laced up, the tray in your hands ready to be disposed of on the table by the door. “Going to escort me to combat training?”

“Actually, the General forbade you from stepping foot on training grounds again.” You let out a loud gasp as you whipped towards him. Thinking there was something wrong, Fedyor stepped forward, reaching his arms out to steady you just in case anything happened. In your anger, you slapped his hands away.

“Oh just you wait until he gets back,” You seethed, “Who does he think he is? Taking away my combat training privileges?”

“He’s the General, he can do that.” Fedyor responded, a small smile on his face.

“So what am I supposed to do then?”

“Well, you could still go to the library.” No, you didn’t want to risk running into the Apparat again. “Watch the Grisha train.” He offered a meek smile. “Walk the grounds.” Perhaps you could go on a horse ride later, but right now there was one thing on your mind.

“Is Alina training right now?” The heartrender gave you a nod, “I guess we’ll be going to her room then. She has something I want to borrow.” With the flick of your hand, the two of you were on your way.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer then that’s okay.” Fedyor squints his eyes at you, before motioning to continue. “Has the Darkling ever taken up any lovers?” The question makes Fedyor stop in his tracks, a baffled look on his features.

“Well..I..” He struggled with his words, not knowing if he wanted to tell you. What would the General do to him if he told you? It was common knowledge that General Kirigan had been alive for a couple centuries now, he thought everyone knew of his endeavours. “The General has been around for many years, so naturally he has...had sex before.” The mention of it made Fedyor blush. “But he’s never settled down with someone. The closest I ever saw was with Alina.” This didn’t surprise you, Alina herself had told you about what had almost happened between the two.

“In the tent, when he tested her to see if she was Grisha, I saw something in his eyes. It was admiration, but there was also a defeated look in his eyes. As if he had given up on something because he found Alina. Reasonably, it could’ve been relief, since we had finally found the sun summoner.” Fedyor pauses, thinking wisely about the next words he spoke. “Alina and the General were growing close. Everyone saw the look they gave each other the night of the fete. But any public traces of their affection for each other had disappeared that night. The two are only seen interacting when he visits her for a gradual check-in.”

“And he’s never spoken of any other lovers?”

“Not consciously, no. On the very rare chance where we ride in the same carriage, sometimes when he falls asleep he’ll whisper about a woman. Moya dorogaya, he’d call her. That’s all I know.”

Moya dorogaya, my darling. It was the same name the Darkling had called you in your dream.

“May I ask you a question?” He inquired, you nodded your head, allowing him to proceed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

A smile so bright that could light up the room came to your face, “My friends down near the south Ravka border. A pair of siblings that taught me to fight before they defected from the First Army.” You confessed. “One of them also introduced me to my love of epic poetry.”

When Alina’s door came to view, you didn’t bother knocking as she had already left. After fetching what you needed, you quickly exited her room.

“I haven’t seen them since they left.” You rubbed the birthmark at your throat. Besides Mal and Alina, the siblings were also the closest thing you had to family. They considered you as their sister, even begging that you left with them. But you told them your place was here in Ravka, with Mal and Alina.

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon. Once Alina and the General get rid of the fold, we will have access to our docks again.” He said, trying to comfort you.

“I hope so.” The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable silence as you fiddled with the edges of the red book. As you neared your door, Fedyor stopped, telling you he would be just outside if you needed anything. Without wasting another second, you ran to the chair in front of the window.

The Istorii Sankt’ya glistened in the sunlight. Something about it had been calling out to you, urging you to read it and find out more. You flipped through all of the pages of the saints until you found the one that had been calling out to you.

Sankt Ilya in chains. Ilya Morozova. Morozova’s herd.

“One day. When the war is over and the shadow fold is gone, you will bear my name. You will become Mrs. Morozova. I swear it.”

The voice of the Darkling rang clear in your head. The memory made your heart come to a stop as you struggled to find a possible explanation for his words. The only conclusion you could inevitably come to was that you were the sole lover that Fedyor had been talking about.

As the sun began to set, you looked at the drawing once more. The stag, sea whip, and firebird all depicted. You called out for Fedyor, asking him to come into your room.

“Can you bring me dinner for two?” You politely asked.

“Sure, were you planning on eating it yourself or shall I fetch someone while I’m at it?”

“No. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk while we eat dinner.” His face paled as the words left your mouth.

“Oh...okay.” Was all he said before he scurried off to get the food. You tucked the Istorii Sankt’ya under a pile of paper in your desk to hide it. While you waited for Fedyor to return, you lit up some candles and lanterns now that the sun was going down. It was no fun eating in the dark.

Well, sometimes it was. You thought back to the orphanage. Night where you, Alina and Mal would sneak out of bed to have a piece of bread. The bread was never enough, but the excitement had always spurred the three of you on enough to make it a nightly routine until Ana Kuya eventually caught on.

When Fedyor returned, he rolled the cart over to where you had been seated. He placed a golden tray in front of you and another for himself right across from you. He also brought a big pitcher of Kvas for you to share.

Lifting the cover from your plate, you found yourself staring at some sort of meat pie with a side of root vegetable soup. Fedyor had the same meal but had pickled herrings instead of soup.

“Ugh, I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” You said with disgust. “I’m glad you guys don’t force me to eat that.” Although it was common peasant food, it never appealed to you. It was something you’d always hated.

“The kitchen staff have a strict list of foods you like and dislike.” That made your head snap up to meet his, who made the list? You had a scheming suspicion that it wasn’t Alina, leaving you with one suspect.

“Tell me, Fedyor, do you know what the General plans on using Morozova’s Stag for?” You inquired, feigning curiosity. You saw his hesitation, clearly uncertain if he could trust you. “I was, after all, one of the last trackers to spot it.” You reminded

“The stag is rumored to be an amplifier created by Morozova himself. Whoever wears it would hold the greatest power known to mankind. One that could rival the General’s.” He said, taking a bite of his meal before continuing, “He plans on giving it to Alina in order to get rid of the shadow fold. She’s strong, but not strong enough to get rid of it on her own.”

“What about you, do you believe they will be able to banish the fold together?” There had been a swirl of doubt pooling in you. The shadow fold was the one thing that had kept Grisha safe from the rest of the world. With the permafrost in the North and the mountains in the South, Ravka had practically been perfectly disconnected. Yet the Drüskelle and Shu still managed to slaughter Ravkans and Grisha alike.

“Yes, I do. It’s something very important to the General. That the sun summoner reversed what his ancestor, the Black Heretic, had created.” He explained.

“Right, we’ll then what happens after? It’s been so long since West Ravka has been able to connect to East Ravka. Who’s to say that they don’t want to create a monarchy of their own?” Fedyor paused at your words, he hadn’t thought much about what the West Ravkans wanted. He only knew how much his people longed to be free of the shadow fold.

“One step at a time.” He ensured, not sure if he believed the words he just said. He didn’t know what would happen if West Ravka decided to break off and become their own sovereign state. Whatever trade and weapons they had obtained came through the trading ports of the docks in West Ravka. Without it they’d have nothing. They would be nothing.

You finished the rest of your meal, occasionally talking about your time being stationed in the South while he talked about his Grisha adventures. When it came to an end, you helped him clean up and wished him a good night as he rolled the cart away. The pitcher of Kvas laid untouched, your fingers twitched at the thought of having a drink. You stared at it as Fedyor rolled it away, your throat begging for something to drink. Instead of giving into your urges, you chug whatever leftover water you had laying around.

As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help the strong feeling of loneliness overcome you. You tried to push those feelings away when you jumped into bed, not wanting to have a miserable dream.

-

WHEN you wake, you find yourself in the deadly permafrost of the Fjerda-Ravka border in nothing more than your lace nightgown. The snow under your feet melted as you walked around, searching for another sign of human life. You didn’t feel the familiar nip of the cold at your fingertips or toes. It was that same warmth you felt with the Darkling.

You caught sight of your own breath as you whipped your head around, the snow catching in your hair. As you stumbled into a tree, you felt the recognizable carving, stating that you were now in Fjerdan territory. Your feet had walked on their own accord, not knowing where you were going until you stumbled into a clearing. The same clearing where Dubrov and Mikhael had died, slaughtered brutally by the Fjerdans. The clearing where you had killed two of their own without a second thought.

The clearing where you had finally found the stag.

The very same stag that had now stood in front of you.

You inched closer to it with careful and calculated steps. It didn’t back away as you approached. It showed no signs of aggression as you laid one of your hands upon its antlers, your other going to stoke its fur.

It was giving you that same look it gave you when you first encountered it with Mal.

Mercy. Respect. Most of all, understanding.

-

IT had been two days since you dreamt of the stag. You hadn’t dreamt of it since then, in fact, you hadn’t been dreaming of much since you saw the stag in your dreams. You thought about bringing it up to Alina during breakfast, but decided against it, the conversation somehow drifting towards the General.

“I was giving him a report of my progress last night-”

“Last night?” You interrupted, “As in a couple of hours ago?” She nods, confused by your behavior. “When did he get back?”

“The night you woke up.” She replied, as if you had been informed already. No one told you he had returned, you hadn’t even seen him once. Fedyor didn’t even tell you of his return during dinner. With a huff, you got out your chair, moving towards the door before asking Alina one last question.

“When did you mention me to the General?” She gives you another confused look, not knowing what you were talking about. That was the only answer you needed as you made your way to the war room.

He knew you. Even before he discovered Alina and took her to the Little Palace, he knew you first. Your thoughts ran around rampant and unprovoked, trying to come up with a viable explanation as you stomped towards his hall. Before you could even reach the doors of the war room, you were stopped by his oprichniki.

“The General wishes to be alone right now.” She said, hold up a hand to stop you.

“Tell him that I want to speak with him.” You replied, she looked you up and down. You wore no kefta or guards uniform. You were merely just a First Army soldier in her eyes.

“I doubt he would want to talk to someone like you.” Great, you were dealing with a Grisha Oprichniki with a horrible superiority complex. With a scoff, you turned away and walked to your room. Holding back every urge in your body to punch her.

-

WHEN night came, you found yourself struggling to get some sleep. After your encounter with that rude oprichniki, you tried your best to at least get a glimpse of the Darkling. You tried walking in the gardens in hopes to see him, no luck. You walked past the singular window of the war room, only to find the view obscured by the curtains. You paced the halls as subtly as you could, waiting for him to exit the war room. But he didn’t leave. Not once, so you just gave up and decided to try again the next day.

The black silk of your slip on did little to soothe the irritation you felt. In fact, it seemed to irritate you more as it slipped around even at your smallest movements. With a sigh, you got up from the bed and walked towards the dresser with the intention of changing into something that would provide better comfort.

You ran your hands through all the different laces and fabrics of the nightgowns until it landed on the gold kefta. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You took it off it’s hanger, before walking towards the mirror. You examined it closely. The fabric itself had shimmers of gold, the black thread similar to any other kefta. As you surveyed the back of it, you noticed the handiwork of a fabrikator. Someone had tried to mend the rips of the kefta, but they were still visible up close.

The kefta had fit like a glove when you put it on. It gave you a sense of belonging. That maybe as an orphan you had finally found a home. You ogled at yourself in the mirror, the golden fabric had practically made you glow. You placed your hands into the pockets, surprised to feel something in one of them.

Grasping the object, you pulled it out. It was a letter. Covered in blood, dirtied and ripped at the corners, but still a letter nonetheless. You contemplated reading it, making the motion to put it back into the pocket before a thought crossed your mind. It wasn’t like anyone was going to find out.

You opened the letter and began to read it:

Dear Aleksander,

My darling, I don’t know why the universe has continued to bring us together. But I am thankful that they’ve given us a chance to be together once more. I have loved you for all of my lifetimes, and nothing could change that.

At least, that’s what I thought. But you’re no longer the Aleksander I once knew. Something dark has taken over you, your lust for power consuming you. I don’t know who you are anymore.

That’s why I’m doing what’s necessary, you’ve been in power for too long. It’s time for you to stop. It’s time for Ravka to be whole once more.

I’m sorry. I hope with whatever love you have left in your heart for me, that you could forgive me.

Eternally yours,

Y/N

You froze as you saw your name signed at the bottom of the letter. Lifetimes? As in more than one? This could wait no longer. Shoving the letter into your pocket, you threw open your door. The halls were empty, his oprichniki were either on a break or a shift change. Either way, you didn’t care.

You barged into the war room, expecting him to be hunched over a pile of maps, but he wasn’t. The next place you looked was his sleeping quarters that had connected to the war room. This bed was empty too, the sheets still cold. You knew of one last place he could be, and didn’t care about the risks.

You walked towards his door, each step filled with the burning curiosity you felt. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you didn’t expect it to turn. You would’ve assumed he kept the door to this bedroom always locked. But then again you were the only person who would dare enter his room without permission. After entering his room, you shut the door. Not wanting to raise suspicion to anyone who might’ve walked the halls perchance.

You paid no mind to the layout and decorations of his room as you fervently searched for him, only to come up empty handed again. Where could he possibly be? Perhaps he went for a midnight stroll. Or possibly he left the Little Palace again. But before deciding on going back to your room, you were adamant on searching the entire ground for him.

As you made your way back towards the door, your eyes briefly flashed to the portrait above it. You were frozen in your tracks as you did a double take. There in the painting was you, depicted in the gold kefta you had put on mere minutes ago. Behind you was the General, who had one hand clasped around your waist, the other resting on your shoulder. The two of you smiling brightly, it had practically been one of the only other times you’d seen him smile.

The letter in your pocket felt like it weighed a ton, your mouth going dry. In your panicked state of mind, you didn’t notice the shadows jumping up and down the walls.

“My darling.” You never heard him creeping up on you until he started talking into your ear, his whisper making you involuntarily shiver. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

Turning around, you didn’t expect to find his hair dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to look at anything but him.

“Don’t call me that.” You spat out, he reached one of his hands out to touch the kefta you had put on. His touch lingered from the black stitching to the collar of the Grisha jacket, his fingers ghosting over your neck. “I’m going to ask you one more time, have we met before?”

The General saw no use in keeping the secret from you any longer; you had worn the kefta he’d made for you centuries ago, most likely read the letter in its pocket, and now you had just seen the portrait he’d hung up of the two of you. It was evidently clear that you knew something was going on.

“What do you remember?” He deflected, not answering your question.

Flashes came to your mind, ones you had dreamt, others were new.

“I remember...my death. The night those soldiers shoved a knife in me.” You confessed. You also saw other things. Horseback riding in the woods. Long nights in bed spent talking about the future. Him training you, teaching you how to wield a sword. The birthmark at your ribcage, the one on your neck, and the long ones on your back. They had all been scars. Marking all the deaths from your previous lives.

Three scars, three separate lifetimes with him. You reached up to touch the scar on your neck, “They..I-”

“This one, the Fjerdans gave you this one. We were hunting for the stag when we had gotten ambushed. They killed you for the sole purpose to see me in pain. I begged them to take me too, but they found too much joy in my grief. The Drüskelle held me on the ground, my hands spread apart, as I watched you bleed out.” You can see the tears form in his eyes as he recalls the events of that night. He walks around you, tracing the rips of the kefta. The rips had consequently been placed exactly where the scars on your back were. You could tell by the familiar pattern he traced, a once soothing action that now caused you great anguish. “The Fjerdans also gave you these ones. They tortured you for days on end. When I finally found you, it was too late. There was no healer that had the power to help you. All I could do was hold you as a heartrender calmed you, minimizing your pain.”

“I can’t remember that, why can’t I remember that?” You panicked, to which the Darkling turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs rubbed your face in a reassuring manner.

“It’s not often that you fully remember what happens to you. It’s your brain's way of protecting you so you don’t get overwhelmed.” Well you certainly felt overwhelmed now. It was all too much to take in at once.

“The shadow fold..” You hesitated, removing yourself from his grasp. “Was that because of me?”

“Yes,” he confessed, “I created it after you first died. A way to protect all Grisha. I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. But it was one less threat we had to worry about.”

“I don’t understand. Why me? Why is it always me? Why do I always come back to you?”

“There’s a reason why the universe has continued to bring us back together, my darling. My other half. My life.” He walks up to you, grasping your face in his hands. His touch was different this time, it was cold yet welcoming. It felt familiar. The shadows engulfed the room as you felt a power rush over you. His eyes darted towards your lips, hesitating before leaning in. You close your eyes as you feel that familiar warmth consume you. His kiss is soft, gentle, yet you could tell he was holding back from ravaging you.

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You kept your eyes closed, lost in the memories.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered. When you had closed them, the whole room had been taken by his shadows, leaving the two of you in darkness. But as he stood in front of you, his hands on your cheeks, the whole room had been illuminated. “My sun summoner, I have loved you all of my life. For all of your lifetimes.”

“Maybe one too many.” What else was there to say? You always knew, somewhere deep down inside of you, that there was something special different about you. You didn’t know it until now, until you were reunited with your other half. “But I thought Grisha couldn’t get sick.”

The smile falls from his face, “I believe..that this could possibly be our last lifetime together.” He disclosed. “Neither heartrender nor healer could explain what was happening to you. I think it might be the consequence of avoiding eternal death for so long.” He joked, his eyes meeting yours.

“I thought your last life had been our final one together. I waited hundreds of years for your return. When I had caught wind of a sun summoner being found, I thought it was you. When it wasn’t I felt as if my heart had shattered all over again. That you would never return to me again.” The Darkling squinted as the light around you grew brighter. His touch was making you unstable.

“But Alina-”

“Can’t know. No one can. I can’t risk your life again. Not anymore.” He replied, “Especially when this could be our last time together.”

You struggled to find a name to call him, the General felt too formal, and to you it seemed too early to call him by his given name.

“Aleksander, my darling. Call me by my name.” He said, withdrawing his hand from you and letting the shadows shrink back to the ground.

All your life, you had subconsciously fought the Grisha within you. You had always been Grisha. Using the powers you had been born with had given you back your strength, albeit not all of it. You enjoyed- reveled the rush it gave you.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

-

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[violettelueur]

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || LITTLE CAGED ARTIST

| featuring : ryomen sukuna ft. itadori yuji 

| warnings : mention of emotional abuse and murder as well as grammar errors

| form : imagine

| word count : 1691

| published : 22 december

| request : Hello, idk if your request are open but feel free to ignore, but just, imagine another reencarnation au (those imaginw of yours are my favourite) where the reader was a painter and Sukuna's personal favourite so he took her and kinda abused her psycologicaly to the point where she would just draw him and only him and he loved that, and in the future she's still an artist that draws Yuuji bc theyre friends but when she sees the tatoos she again draws Sukuna and he feels guilty for the way he treated her and her art in the pastIf It's angst i would apreciate but it's not really necesary

| barista’s notes : hi there~ i apologies for the extremely long wait for your coffee order but now it is there ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ right now it is nearly 5am in the morning and i have no idea why the hell i am awake, but oh well ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ  DONT WORRY THOUGH! after this, i am going to sleep and rest up since today it is Fushiguro Megumi’s and Kageyama Tobio’s birthday today ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but other than that, i hope you enjoy your order of a cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and i hope you come back soon! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

“Sukuna….please leave me alone...leave the village alone, I beg of you please,” you whimpered to the man that was standing tall and proud with a sadistic smirk painted on his face, while you were on your knees tightly holding onto his large wrist - somewhat slightly covering the black ring marking - as if your weak physical strength could do anything to stop his raising them up and giving a rain upon hell to the people that was residing in the small town you lived in.

You have no idea how you had managed to catch the attention of the most feared curse to both humans and jujutsu sorcerers nor did you know how you managed to become acquainted with the man in front of you. All you knew right now was that the situation you were in at this current moment and time, was not ideal to anyone at all.

You were just a simple artist. A simple village girl artist that was blessed to be hired by the nobility and aristocracy to paint their family portraits with the finest colours that they would offer you, for you to be then paid so you could provide for your village. However, as luxurious as it sounded, you were in love with the idea of just placing a sharped piece of charcoal on a piece of paper or cloth you could find anywhere and sketch your heart designed.

“Leave you alone?” Sukuna questioned you in his deep voice, before slowly crouching down to become face to face with you. “I could never leave you alone, not when you have caught my attention with your craft little one,” Sukuna then stated, as he gently placed a hand on your cheek before using his thumb to caress the soft skin he was touching. 

Ever since Sukuna had caught sight of you delicately painting a portrait of a noblewoman with such care and gentleness, he couldn’t help but wonder how your hands were so carefully and how patient you were to make sure every stroke was perfect to your desire. Slowly, he began to wonder what it was like to be the subject of one's view. A subject that someone desired to recreate on a simple piece of paper. However, compared to his past sightings, you were the most talented as well as the most beautiful he had ever seen and once he was able to gain a clear view of the noble woman that you were illustration, he was surprised at how much detail you were able to encapture in your work and just like the noble woman’s reaction, they both were extremely happy with the result of the final product.

“How about this?” Sukuna suddenly asked, causing your head to suddenly shot up leading you to meet eye to eye with the King of Curses, “if you come with me and draw me and me only for the rest of time, I would leave this little village alone as well as the people residing in it. How does that sound, little one?”

‘Come with him? Where? Why? What’s going to happen to me?’

“If you don’t accept this deal, every single person here will die. Burned, stabbed, slashed, any way possible I can. Men, women and even little children’s lives will be gone, and it would be all your fault.”

‘My….fault? But-’

“You know I’m not a patient person little one, I might as well start my massacre while you take your time to think, it will be-”

“NO PLEASE! DON’T, YOU CAN TAKE ME, JUST LEAVE THE VILLAGE ALONE, PLEASE!” you screamed in desperation, as you tighten the grip of his wrist that was within your grasp to keep him down, as you didn’t want to risk him getting away from your sights for the safety and protection of the people  within the little town you had lived in since the day your life had started.

With a large cruel grin, Sukuna had somehow managed to pry his wrists free from your tense grip before sliding an arm under your knees as well as an arm around your body lifting you up in a bridal position, while you were just expressing a face of shock and fear, confused and fearful on what you had just accepted in exchange for your life. Where were you going? Was this the end? Were you going to die? How much longer have you had left?

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you, you’re too precious to be slaughtered little one,” Sukuna answered - as if he knew what you were thinking - before placing a ghostly kiss upon your temple leading you to freeze still, petrified on what he would do with you had moved a single inch.

This was your life now. 

A caged artist.

                                               ꕥ

Here you were, sitting on a wooden platform outside with a sharpened piece of charcoal that Sukuna had kindly given you, in order for you to sketch a portrait of him. The second you placed the charcoal upon the paper, Sukuna couldn’t help but stare at the light movements of your hand as you lightly stroke a few lines to create an outline before watching your hand suddenly pause, causing the King of Curses to switch his view from the sheet to you, only to find your look at him with such a frightened look.

“I’m sorry…..I shouldn’t look at you, should I? I apologise deeply,” you softly muttered before quickly turning back to the portrait that was right in front of you - you didn’t want to do anything wrong in his eyes, you knew he could go back on his words and harm the people that you cared about. However, it seemed like Sukuna didn’t care at all, he had managed to trap you into his life and had the power to demand you to draw him every time he would mention he could go back to your little village and burn it to the ground. He relished in the idea of being the subject of your attention.

This is what he wanted. 

His little caged artist.

                                               ꕥ

1000 years later and here you were. 

Here you were sketching a picture of your best-friend Itadori with a picture of him that you had managed to capture on your phone. Itadori first came into your life shortly after you had enrolled into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Techincal College around the same time as your other classmate Kugisaki did. 

You have no idea what drew you into the boy with the pink hair, but something within you pulled you towards him causing the blooming and somewhat hilarious friendship to start, even causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to wonder what was going on in your mind to somehow relate to the boy - yet, they didn’t mention their questions since they didn’t really think you knew the answer yourself, and they were correct.

However, as you continued to smoothly glide your pencil across the page, applying different pressures to construct some definitions as well as shadows within the photo you were copying from, you began to suddenly realise that you were starting to draw marking upon his portrait. Markings that were so familiar to the ones the person within him had.

Ever since that day at the Eishu Detention Centre, the sight of Sukuna standing in front of you with his shirt ripped off showcasing his black marking caused a trigger of unknown memories to suddenly flood into your mind, causing excruciating pain that was so unbearable, you thought you were going to pass out from the intense pressure, maybe as even close to dying from the immense pain.

From what you could even recall from the sudden flood of blurry images that appeared in your mind, there was a picture of you drawing with a piece of charcoal with the infamous King of Curses seating right beside you, watching you draw will whispering in your ear the threats that he would bombard you in order for you to make sure that you were only drawing him and him only.

Slowly but in a shaking manner, your drawing hand continued to sketch in Sukuna’s markings that would appear on Itadori’s body as you were somewhat extremely afraid of what the King of Curses could do to you if you didn’t - just how you left 1000 years ago.

Although unknown to you, your best-friend Itadori was standing right behind you, having a clear view of what was happening to you as well as the drawing right in front of him. Seeing your shaking figure with slow but clear teardrops landing on the sketch book as well as the drawing evolving from him to the curse residing inside of him, made him realise how damaging Sukuna was to not only him but also to the people around him. Carefully, Itadori placed a hand over your hand that held the pencil, causing you to flinch before finally noticing that it was your friend that was holding it and not the special grade curse.

Within his Innate Domain, Sukuna also had a clear view on what was happening to you and slowly but strangely began to feel something drop to his stomach with the feeling of his throat closing up at the sight of you slowly breaking down into a small state of insanity. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want his beautiful little one to become lifeless and paranoid like you were now.

Even after 1000 years after your death, your incarnation was carrying the feeling of fear, despair and numbness that you were weighed upon the second you had given your life away to the King of Curses for the sake of your village. Even though you had more freedom then you did then, you still left trapped and lost within the metal cage that Sukuna had enclosed you in. Even with the small hint of guilt that was manifested within the cruel curse’s heart. 

You were trapped with no escape out.

You were trapped forever with no key to open the door that was clearly right in front of you.

Forever his little caged artist.

[plan-d-to-i]

Hi Plan!!! I've been thinking a lot abt my immediate repulsion to jc's reaction after the fall of lotus pier. Like the way he screamed and even held it against wwx was... not it. Like i hated him so much after that. And now i think i know why. Its bc he didnt see wwx as someone that lost something too @ the fall of LP. Like, jc didn't see wwx as part of his family like so many of the jc stans saw their relationship as. If he did, they would mourn together. But i also just hate whiny people lol. Can't stand that theyre in the middle of a war and he had time to be like that.

ahh I feel you!! that part is enraging and it encompasses jiang cheng's character so well! He's incapable of taking a moment to think how something will affect someone else. He's incapable of empathy for another person. He's perpetually drowning in sympathy for himself but remains untouched by the suffering, sorrows or trials and tribulations of others.

The most fascinating part of those moments is we see that jiang cheng's first impulse is to blame Wei Wuxian. He goes AGAINST HIS OWN LOGIC! - to blame Wei Wuxian for the Wens attacking. Like HE KNOWS the Wens were going to attack regardless. HE THINKS IT! but then he chooses to base his reaction on this made up, imaginary possibility that maybe, perhaps, let's fantasize the Wens could have, attacked later if WWX hadn't saved everyone in the Xuanwu cave! AS IF IT WOULD HAVE MATTERED. AS IF Yunmeng Jiang hadn't been doing fuck all to prepare for anything regardless!!! They HAD TIME to prepare post Xuanwu!!! YZY was busy ranting about Wei Wuxian's dead mother and punishing him for doing the right thing! There was no escape plan in place! They did nothing. They acted like the Cloud Recesses hadn't been burned down for no reason.

After the chaos of the Xuanwu of Slaughter in Dusk-Creek Mountain, the ‘Sector of Indoctrination’ that the Wen Sect had set up at Qishan had disintegrated completely. All of the disciples returned to their sects. On the other hand, Wen Chao didn’t follow up immediately either. Taking the opportunity, Madam Yu gave Wei WuXian a harsh talking-to and ordered him not to take one step out of the gates of Lotus Pier, not even to play in the lake. Thus, he could only shoot kites with the Jiang Sect’s disciples, day after day after day. No matter how fun a game was, playing it every day would eventually become tedious. And so, about half a month later, the boys’ interest dwindled.

Yunmeng Jiang preparations were : punish WWX for doing the right thing 😀. Reminder here that Lotus Pier WAS NOT BURNED DOWN like the Cloud Recesses. jc did not have to rebuild it. He just had to get disciples back which WWX ably attracted with his reputation during the war.

"The gates of Lotus Pier were tightly shut. Outside, lights glowed brightly. Fragments of moonlight flowed along the crystalline water. Dozens of large lanterns in the shape of nine-petaled lotuses floated by the dock in silence.

Everything was the same as before. Yet, it was because of how everything was the same as before that it tormented the heart."

And then we see jiang cheng's longstanding propensity to blame WWX for everything, his resentment and envy towards him coalesce into hatred.

In his heart, Jiang Cheng knew clearly that back in the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter at Dusk-Creek Mountain, even if Wei WuXian hadn’t saved Lan WangJi, the Wen Sect would have found some reason to come over sooner or later. But he had always felt that, if the whole thing with Wei WuXian didn’t happen, maybe it wouldn’t have been so soon, maybe there would’ve been some way to turn things around.

It was this torturing thought that filled his heart with hatred and wrath. Unable to be let out, they cut up his innards.

Even when logic and reason tell him differently he choses to still fabricate a reason why it's Wei Wuxian's fault. That's not "famiLy" that's fucked up. & jiang cheng DOESN'T EVEN THINK OF YANLI:

The first to move was Wei WuXian.

Hands on his legs, he managed to bring himself up. He spoke with a hoarse voice, “Let’s go.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t move at all. Wei WuXian pulled at him and repeated, “Let’s go.”

Jiang Cheng, “… Go where?”

His throat was dry as well. Wei WuXian replied, “To the MeishanYu Sect. To find shijie.”

Worst leader. He really ís like a master class in self absorption and egotism. And we see that feeling of hate and blame towards Wei Wuxian is not a one off.

When [Jiang Cheng] heard Nie MingJue mention the incident of his sect again, hatred sprouted within him.

The hatred was directed at not only everyone who was seated in this room, but also Wei WuXian. (chapter 73)

By the time he sets up the duel with WWX in the Burial Mounds jc's world views have solidified. They are perfectly in line with his mother's. There's not a trace of the YunmengJiang moto, no trace of his father's legacy and jc is unrepentant about it.

“…” Jiang Cheng murmured, “My mom said that you do nothing but bring our sect trouble. It’s true indeed.” He laughed coldly, talking to himself, “‘To attempt the impossible’? Fine. You understand the YunmengJiang Sect’s motto. Better than I do. Better than all of us do.”

He sheathed Sandu. The sword returned to its sheath with a clang. Jiang Cheng’s tone was indifferent, “Then let’s arrange for a duel.” (chapter 73)

He's not doing this because YunmengJiang Clan is not powerful enough, or because he's thinking of "the safety of his pEople 🥺" lol. He's doing this simply because helping the Wens would be inconvenient for him and deep down he's festering in hate laced blame towards WWX.