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blooxorsista · 2 months

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Blue Exorcist - 3x09: Rin, Izumo, & the Rescue Scene

Okay, I was reading the comments under the latest episode (3x09), and I wanted to type something out, but it ended up being pretty long and I decided I'd just post here instead.

Basically, this post will address Rin and Izumo's character development in this arc, and the importance of the rescue scene in the most recent episode.

I've already mentioned that this arc is probably my favorite in the whole manga (although I'm not currently caught up), but the scene where Izumo cries for help and Rin comes to her rescue is probably one of my absolute favorite scenes in the series.

The scene was just so impactful to me as a reader, which I wrote about in my analysis from when Chapter 60 came out.

So needless to say, I was SO excited to finally see this scene animated! I was also especially excited to see the Nine Tails dance from Izumo, and was slightly disappointed that they may have adapted it too faithfully to the manga, with still shots instead of a moving dance. Maybe they didn't want to assume what it looked like and chose to play it safe. (It's fine, not a deal breaker!)

It wasn't totally apparent in the anime episode, but manga readers know that Rin noticed Izumo crying from the vent. That's why we saw his wide eyes right before he exploded through the ceiling. It was seeing Izumo that caused him to move into action.

It may be easy to overlook since it moved so quickly in the anime, but that scene is extremely important for both Rin and Izumo's characters. Up until that moment, Rin had been struggling internally about fighting humans. When he's trapped inside the giant zombie, he can hear the voices of the humans that were inside (in the same way he could hear Kuro). That's why he was having a bit of a mental breakdown, asking his father what he should do.

He KNOWS that he has to cause harm to humans in order to succeed in this mission. But it's easier said than done for him, because as someone who has been constantly demonized and struggled with his sense of self, he has drawn himself a red line in his own personal code of ethics. To him, the zombies ARE human. And hearing their voices just confirms that for him. They are still conscious inside of their experimented bodies. So in order to fight them, he would have to harm these humans who were essentially innocent victims of this organization.

For Izumo, she finally accepts her true feelings about others, and asks for help. Up until this point, she's put up a strong front, thinking she had to handle everything on her own and couldn't trust anyone. Now she lets all her walls come down and accepts her vulnerabilities.

And it's exactly in this moment that both Rin and Izumo have a synchronous realization. For Rin, seeing Izumo crying, asking for help, in her most vulnerable state -- it's the catalyst for him to resolve his own inner conflict.

In an instant, he has made his decision and strengthened his resolve (either consciously or subconsciously) to harm humans because all he cares about in that moment is to save Izumo.

It's enough to snap him into action. And that's HUGE development for his character. We even see him hesitate slightly at the end of the episode when the zombies fill the room, before ultimately slashing through them with his sword, because he knows that that is what's needed to save Izumo and her mom. In fact, I'd probably argue that this hesitation is due to Rin having to consciously decide to attack them, meaning that when he moved to save Izumo, he reacted subconsciously.

I just felt the need to point this out after seeing so many comments complaining about Rin and Izumo's actions and character development this season. In truth, their actions and motivations align.

Another common complaint I saw was about how Izumo should have taken Rin's offer for help the first time (on the bridge). I'd like to point out that running away wouldn't solve Izumo's problems. Even if she were to be rescued and escape with Rin and the others, Gedouin still has her mother and has already threatened to use her little sister if Izumo refused. In her mind, staying was the only solution, because her goal was to protect her family at all costs.

Despite what we know of the Nine Tails, Izumo believes that she can take control and use the possession to her advantage and destroy her enemies. That way she wouldn't have to worry about them coming after her or her loved ones again.

And for Rin, he's coming to learn that "good" and "bad" are not so easily distinguished. His view of the world has been turned upside down after realizing that not all of the "bad guys" are demons.

And as a side note, I also want to mention the animation style. I know it's been a bit of a controversial topic this season, since the style is so different from seasons 1 and 2, and that a lot of people have complained about some of the episodes. However, I had a feeling that the animation team was just prioritizing the more important scenes over the others (after all, there is a limited amount of time and budget, so it would make sense to spend more time on the biggest scenes, if you have to choose).

And I was glad that this seems to be holding true up until now. I was happy with the quality of the scenes that featured Izumo this episode (much like how I thought her backstory episode was high quality), and especially the rescue scene. And I loved that we finally got to see posessed!Izumo colored and animated!

I'm also curious as to how the next episode will be adapted. I was reading through an old rant of mine from when the corresponding manga chapter came out, so I'll be curious to see if I feel the same way after watching the next scenes play out.

All in all, I'm still enjoying this season and getting to experience the manga come to life with animation and voice acting!

#blue exorcist #blue exorcist 3x09 #blue exorcist season 3 #ao no exorcist #rizumo #original post #ane #rin okumura #izumo kamiki #analysis #read more #also i'm not saying this season is perfect #but i'm still having fun #tags #my analysis #anime #season 3 #3x09

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cowboyhorsegirl · 1 year

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Why do you think the MCU made an ults adaptation instead of a 616 adaptation? I have some theories but lmk know what you think of this conundrum

This is such an interesting question!! I will preface this by saying that I haven't yet read a lot of Ults or 616, and a lot of what I've learned of canon has been gained through osmosis from other, much more knowledgeable people in the fandom (@sineala, I'd love to hear your take on this ask!). That being said though, I think the main reasons why the MCU was adapted primarily from Ults instead of from 616 was because:

Ults had less canon to work with than 616, so it's a bit easier to ascertain a linear narrative that hasn't been rewritten and retconned multiple times. (For example, in 616 Tony had originally helped found SHIELD; this was completely retconned later on.)

Ults isn't as fantastical as 616, or as we all say colloquially, Ults is the grittier, 'more realistic' version of events that happened in 616. This would be particularly beneficial for a live-action remake, where the commonly held industry thinking is that audiences don't have as high a capacity to suspend their disbelief as they might for animation or live theater. The realism of the medium would necessitate a more grounded comics canon to build off of.

Ults origin stories lend themselves to the strategic vision of MCU Phase 1 much better than 616 origins. I think this is most apparent with Steve's origin: in 616 he was discovered only by the Avengers whereas in Ults, Steve was found by SHIELD (though I believe some of the other Ultimates were also there). I imagine this version of events would be much easier to tweak so that each member of the MCU Avengers had their own separate movie establishing background and characterization before throwing them into a very busy ensemble cast.

I don't actually think that all of these reasons for choosing Ults as the main canon to base the MCU on ended up working in the MCU's favor though. Like, Iron Man 1 is clearly set within some sort of nebulous Middle Eastern conflict that the US is involved in, for a variety of reasons. This conflict would have been easily recognizable to American audiences in 2008: at the time, the US has been in war in Afghanistan since 2001 and in Iraq since 2003. You don't have to waste precious movie minutes establishing a war for Tony to be making weapons for when American audiences are already primed to fill in the blanks if you give them the implication of a war in the ME. The setup of a vague Middle Eastern war acts as cinematic shorthand to establish Tony Stark's background and character to a broad audience, and to the many who hadn't read any Iron Man or Avengers comics, this was their first introduction to Tony Stark's origin story. Additionally, the setting acts as a plausible 1:1 retelling of Tony's original introduction in 616 (elements such as Yinsen, the life-threatening shrapnel to his chest, and Tony inventing the Iron Man suit instead of building weaponry for the terrorists who had taken him captive are all taken directly from his 1960s origin story), revamped for 21st century moviegoers by changing the indeterminate Southeast Asian war from the 1960s comics to an indeterminate Middle Eastern war for the MCU.

However, you literally never see MCU movies dedicate themselves to this level of realism again, for good reason. Whatever cultural shorthand you draw on by placing Tony Stark's weapons-manufacturing backstory in the context of an actual real-life geopolitical conflict also comes with the baggage of all the Islamophobia, xenophobia, and imperialism that comes with that conflict. In Iron Man 1, the inciting incident that causes Tony to want to halt SI's weapons production is the fact that his weapons are being used by the terrorists to harm American soldiers. But what about all the hundreds of thousands of innocent Middle Eastern people your weapons harmed and killed Tony?? What about them, huh?! What about the instability that America has wrought in the region, Tony, backing up political capital with firepower that YOU provided to them??

Immediately, the MCU backs off of America's actual real-life military operations as a basis for their fictional world. I like to think that they did this because they realized that it's very difficult to make your billionaire weapons-manufacturer superhero sympathetic in a world where both billionaires and the American military are coming under more scrutiny by more people every day. I'll guess that the real reason has to do with the fact that those story elements made it much harder to sell international audiences on the franchise.

It's frustrating too, because to this day I would say that Iron Man 1 is one of the best MCU movies out there, but in my opinion, the reasons for this aren't that IM1 was the most realistic or the most plausible or the most grounded superhero movie. What drew me to the MCU in the first place was the emotional depth of the characters and the stories, a depth that I think is best exemplified in Tony Stark. As the MCU moved forward and began to (but never fully) shed it's commitment to realism, the movies started to lose their ability to tell emotionally-compelling stories with high stakes that actually leave you in suspense of the ending. The fatal flaw of the MCU is in believing that audiences don't have the capacity to accept emotionality in stories that aren't limited to the bounds of our reality, when the whole point of a superhero story is to challenge ourselves to imagine more fantastical worlds than our own.

#yanderefreud #signed sealed delivered #616 #1610 #mcu #meta #avengers #the irony of the WW2 in CA:TFA being more fictional than the vague ME conflict in IM1 #I suppose they did specify that it takes place in Afghanistan so there is that #i hope this at least answered your question! and probably several others that you did not even ask jfkdjsf #also to go back to your original question it is important to note that they do take a lot of inspo from 616! i feel like as the mcu goes on #it moves away from ults & towards 616 #but of course through the veneer of shittier & shittier CGI

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nuntears · 7 months

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day 5: cannibalism

“i spoil you too much” fox says, cutting through the silence, you were watching some animated show together, and his words came out of nowhere. you look at him, worried, worried that he’ll take the little he gives you, and give you even less. it’s hard, being with him like this, but you try to make the most of it.

“i’m sorry, i—” you say, the word spilling out instinctively as it always does when you think his mood will turn.

“no, no don’t be.” he cuts you off. “it just… it could be worse you know, but i care about you. there are terrible people out there, i would know. don’t you think i would know?” he asks, prompting you. and there’s never room for any other answer than the one he wants to hear.

“yes, you would.” you say, nodding. he’s made allusions, painted vague images of someone who apparently did much worse than him, you go back and forth between believing it. it depended on the day, on how much you hurt. today you were healing, bruises yellowing, stitches scabbing and itchy, you were bandaged and seen to. so right now, you believed it.

“i would,” he said in agreement, pulling you closer until you were practically on his lap. you try to relax immediately, to melt into him. it had taken some time but you knew he liked it better this way, when you were soft against him. never tensing under his touch, no matter how he touched you.

he turns away, eyes training on the tv again. you don’t know if he’s really watching it, but you turn to face it as well. he has an arm around you, his body reading relaxed, his clawed finger tracing light circles on your shoulder. but even with no indication that he’s upset with you, you can’t help but feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. is he thinking about it still? you think, was he just trying to make a point? you mind spins, and you lean your head against his. his moves hand there, as if on reflex, still looking forward. he pets your hair, soft, slow repetitive movements. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling his touch. sometimes you pretend this is normal, makes the days go by easier. you like to pretend until you can’t.

“are you hungry?” he murmurs, still stroking your hair.

“hm..” you start, giving yourself more time to think. you don’t know if this is some kind of test, if there’s a right answer. “only a little..” you settle on. trying not to sound too wanting, too spoilt.

“can’t have that, can we?” he says, getting up in an instant, causing you to almost fall over. he moves quickly towards the kitchen. you debate following. he didn’t really say what he wanted, and you hated having to assume. but before you can even decide he’s back and you perk up seeing him, holding the back of the couch as you watch him walk towards you, plate in hand. you can’t see what’s on it yet.

he sits down next to you, and that’s when you see it. your stomach drops. it’s a slab of raw meat, still wet with blood. you can’t help but look up at him, studying his smiling face, wondering if this was some kind of joke.

“go on then, eat.” he says, eyeing you back, a glint in his gaze, and you knew: despite his cheery tone, this wasn’t a question.

“w-what is it?” you ask, shifting a bit. looking everywhere but the plate.

“oh, this is from yesterday’s show.” he replies, his eyes lowering slightly. you swallow dryly. his show. he had said the fun he had with you inspired him to get back into it, and he does them regularly, at least once a week now. you can’t help the horror that crosses your face, and you know the game is up. you can’t pretend it doesn’t affect you, you’re scared again.

“it’s too much… i’m not that hungry.” you try, knowing it’s useless.

“aw pet,” he starts, before lifting the slab to his own mouth, sinking his teeth in and tearing off a chunk. you watch, unable to look away. he sticks out his tongue to slow you the piece there. he picks it off his lips gingerly, “open up, i’ll feed you.” he says sweetly, before placing it between his teeth and leaning towards you, waiting for you to close the distance. you try harder now to not let your disgust show. this is bad, this is really bad. if you don’t now, he’ll be angry. he’s even offering a smaller piece.

he grows impatient, leaning closer to you, the thing’s practically dripping. his face is against yours and you realize he’s breathing deeply, trying to keep himself calm. that never lasts long. it brushes against your lips, his eyes are half lidded as he watches you. you gingerly try to open your mouth, but the smell of it, metallic, causes you to shut it. you squeeze your eyes closed, your glass eye pressing harshly against the socket it sits in, and you try again. but you imagine the camera on some poor soul as fox cut them, screaming and writhing, and you can’t bring yourself do it.

“please don’t make me.” you whisper, shying away just a tiny bit. you know what this means, but you’ll take your punishment. you can’t live with yourself if you did, as small as the piece was, as little as he was asking of you.

“don’t be a brat now, c’mon. i want to see it. i want to see you eat it. don’t you want to be good for me?” he practically purrs, his words only slightly muffled as he speaks with the meat between his teeth. and you hate that you do, you do want to be good for him because the alternative is so much worse.

“i…” you start, trying to find some pitiful excuse, even though you know there’s none that could justify it him. the sound of the tv fills in the space as your words die in your mouth, it seemed so much louder now.

“don’t make me beg.” he whispers, but there’s a threat under his words. you stare at him, he presses the meat against your lips again and you try not to gag. suddenly, he drops the meat back onto the plate, and stares at you, his frowning face close to yours again. and you regret everything, you regret just not eating it, have half a mind to just grab the meat and shove it in your mouth to keep him from looking at you like that.

he places the plate on the table in front of the couch before turning to you again, his face unreadable. he grabs your wrist, standing, and you follow, hoping denying him will be worth it.

“fine, you don’t like the food i prepare for you. that’s okay.” he says, practically dragging you with how fast he was walking, and you realize too late where he’s taking you. he opens the door to the basement, and you try to dig your feet into the ground on reflex. you can’t go back down there. “maybe…” he continues, yanking on your arm at your resistance “you want something fresher.”

you’re crying now as he takes you down the stairs, you see the door to the recording room and you begin to panic.

“no, no, please, it’s fine i’ll eat it, i’ll—” you sob, but you cut yourself short as you pass it. where is he taking you?

and then you see it, the holding room. he opens the door, giving you no time to think and throws you in. you reach your arms in front of you to catch yourself. and when you lift your head up, you come face to face with a man. he’s curled into himself, shaking. you look down, bandages over a stump where his leg should be. the man isn’t looking at you though, he’s staring at fox behind you, with this burning hatred, with such disdain and resentment. if looks could kill fox would be dead on the floor.

“oh my god..” you breathe out. because you didn’t know this man was here, didn’t know he made it past the first show. you were living on top of someone. unaware. why didn’t you think someone was down here?

“what are you waiting for? you said you were hungry. now eat.” fox sneers from behind you, and you flinch, drawn out of your thoughts.

the man in front of you shakes his head at you, malice replaced with terror. you can’t help but see yourself in him. your tears wet your face and you shake your head too, there’s no way he can really be asking you to do this. there’s no way.

“i— i can’t,” you say with a weak sob. you look back at fox, hoping to reason with him. you’re crawling towards his feet, and he kneels down as you whimper, he palms your face and you lean into his touch, looking at him with the most pitiful look you can muster.

“you’re really testing my patience today.” he coos at you, but you hear the bite. “eat.” he states, simply, as if it was that easy. his claws dig into your cheek to drive the point home. you flinch, a soft sound of pain escaping you. fox pushes you away from him and the gesture makes your chest feel tight.

you know this is it. he won’t ask again, and you know if you argue anymore, it isn’t just you who could get hurt now. you turn again to the man, and he’s staring at you too, shaking his head still, whimpering.

you stand, unsteady, and slowly walk towards him. he shrinks away, kicking with his one leg until his back met the wall, his stump trying to gain purchase on the mattress he’s on and failing. he’s blubbering, sounds that don’t make words but you understand. you look at him, trying with your eye to explain in a look, i don’t want to do this, i would never do this. but he shakes all the same. it doesn’t matter that you don’t want to, because you will. and everyone in this room knows it.

you pick up his arm, and he thrashes and screams and it’s an awful sound, he tries to shove you away. and you see when his mouth was open that his tongue has been cut. you wince, fighting through it, moving on top of him, when he tries to push you again you grab the arm. “i’m sorry” you whisper, so quiet, so soft, but you hope he hears it.

then you bite down. he tries to get you off with his other hand, but you clamp onto him, teeth embedding in his flesh and he screams and screams and you start to sweat from it all. you bite harder, trying to pull, to no avail. you taste blood, though you know that’s not enough. you yank at the flesh. but you fall backwards, teeth sliding off his arm and colliding with each other. he manages to kick you away, and you relent, backing up. you look back at fox, desperately.

he sighs, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. and you want to reel back at the sight. you don’t like disappointing him, don’t like what it means for you.

“get me a knife!” fox yells and his loud voice makes you jump. you wait a beat and a knife is slid under the food slot of the door by an unseen guard. he leans down and grasps it. both you and the man wait, unmoving. you don’t need to see the man next to you to know you both share the same fear at this moment.

fox only takes one step forward, beckoning you with a finger. you stumble up towards him, scared. unsure of what he’ll do now that you’ve failed him. you’re in front of him, but he beckons again, and you tremble, moving closer regardless.

“i’m not feeding you this time.” he sneers, shoving the knife against your chest, uncaring of where the blade pressed. and you begin to understand as you grasp it. fresh hot tears flow from your eyes. for the briefest moment you think about using the knife on him, but you know you won’t. he must know as well. you sniff. then you turn back to the man.

he’s blubbering again, loudly, cowering. all shaking and half broken.

you’ve sat there too. you’ve been scared too. but that’s not where you are now.

you move with more conviction this time. you want this to go by quickly, you want to do him the favor of not making it last. and you’re on him. you grasp his arm, stretching it taut, you ignore his cries, and you start to slice a small chunk from his shoulder. you have to saw at it a bit. he’s trying to push you off but you pull at his arm harder. it’s a piece he won’t miss too much, won’t even be able to see really, it’s a mercy. you’re granting him mercy. the slice is hanging off his skin and you let go of his arm and rip it the rest of the way. you hold the torn flesh in your fist.

and you’re off him. you face fox, knife in one hand, strip of flesh in the other, and you eat.

your face contorts at the taste, you want to gag but you don’t. it’s still warm. the blood gushes from your lips as you bite into it. you chew desperately. but it’s tough, doesn’t give, so you give up and swallow it whole. you gag again, you feel the bile bubbling up in your throat and the sound seems so loud, but you swallow it all again, willing it to stay down. fox watches you intently the whole time.

“open.” he orders, and you do. the only thing on your tongue is bubbles of blood and saliva. he makes a small noise of acknowledgement, then continues “don’t you want more? you’re not getting anything else tonight.” he warns, tilting his head at you, but seemingly satiated.

“no, i was only a little hungry” you reply quickly with a sniffle, your determination gone, only the sinking feeling of what you’ve done is left, weighing on you, crushing you.

“well then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he laughs, bringing you into his arms and you melt into him. you don’t know when you started craving his praise, his validation, but it felt so good. he slips the knife out of your hand and you would’ve given it if he asked. you always do as he asks it seems, one way or another. the man behind you is groaning, has been in fact, but you’ve tuned it out. for a moment, it’s only you and fox, it’s all you’ll allow it to be.

but fox disturbs the moment too soon, pointing at the man “and you,” you hear, but can’t bare to face him, feeling shame as you realize how this must look, “i’ll have someone patch that, push the show a few more days out. you should be thankful.”

and before you know it, fox’s hold is on your back, guiding you out of the room. you know this is the last time you’ll see the man, so you look at him, taking him in. and he glares daggers at you, looking at you with the same contempt he looked at fox. and you can’t help it when the tears blur your vision again, you try with your face to let him know, you need him to know: you were him once.

the door shuts behind you and you hear the man trying to scream at you from the room. you lean further into fox, trying to hide from it, trying not to hear it.

fox begins to lead you upstairs and you sigh, relief filling you as you follow him away from this place. you want to live in this feeling, you want to pretend that this is the extent of it. all he does is touch you softly, pet you, feed you.

when he brings you upstairs, he sits you back on the couch. the man’s screams continue in your head but they’re duller now. you hope some part of him understands that that’s not who you are. your stomach churns still, upset with you, just as upset as the man was.

your eyes land on the tv, it’s playing something different, moved onto the next episode, the sounds are muffled to you, your gaze unfocused but looking ahead regardless. you don’t realize fox left you there until he’s back with a napkin, dabbing at the corners of your mouth. you can’t help but smile at the gesture and he does too.

“so spoilt.” he mutters, but it’s doting. when he’s done he gives you a kiss, gentle. his tongue brushes past your teeth and the taste is back in your mouth but you don’t mind it this time.

he’s right and you know it. and maybe that’s just what he was trying to prove. this really isn’t the worst. at the end of the day, you’re not the man in that room, you live upstairs, you have a bed, you can do what you like for the most part. fox isn’t the worst.

and he would know, wouldn’t he?

#ren hana/reader #the announcer/reader #boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #goretober 2023 #i LIED time isn't real i just wanna post this one cus it's been finished for soooo long and i luv ren sm ioawjeiogjawe #**#singing hymns

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ellascreams · 1 year

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Dannymay Day 3: Blizzard

The supernatural blizzard raged on. The thick blanket of snow made it difficult to see. Snowfall may usually be quiet, but anyone outside at that moment would tell you it isn’t. At least not with such strong winds. In the center of it all was Casper High.

The snow was still falling but it died down around Casper High. Most students were inside the building but the braver ones were outside. They were watching Danny Phantom fight a brand new ghost on the rooftop.

“Just give up already loser!” Shouted the Ice Queen, as she perfectly flipped her long, straight, snow white hair. It was a miracle it didn’t get caught on her crystal crown.

Danny climbed out of a pile of snow. “Don’t call me—“ and more snow fell on him. Ice Queen smiled a delicate and malicious smile. Her teal eyes sparkled like an anime as she shot a cold glare in Danny’s direction. “What was that? Sorry, I don’t speak loser very well.” She said.

Paulina watched as the ghost boy desperately tried not to lose his temper. He was really struggling. Ice Queen must have hit a nerve. Who did she think she was? Coming here and beating up the town’s cutest hero like that. She was pretty and mean, so what? Paulina was too. She was possibly even prettier and meaner. That was when the idea struck.

Paulina almost slipped climbing up the ladder to the roof. She had very high quality gloves, but the ice still made it slippery. She was lucky she managed to make it. When she got there it was the same scene as before. The ghost boy trying to attack and Ice Queen dodging like it was nothing.

“Hey! Ice Queen!” Paulina walked in between the two ghosts. “What makes you think you can come here and try to be some sort of beauty queen? This school is my territory.” Said Paulina. She shot Ice Queen a glare of her own. Ice Queen shivered, and there was no way it was because of the cold.

“Is it now? How fitting. An ugly school for an ugly girl!” Said Ice Queen. It sounded sincere and that only made it worse. “And you’re trying to take it over! How nice. Dreaming big is great and all, but I appreciate a girl who knows her limits.” Said Paulina. Her grin revealed one slightly crooked tooth, but it was the type of imperfection that only made her more beautiful.

Ice Queen dropped the passive aggressive act and grimaced. “Let me guess, you pick on anyone who’s weaker than you? Pathetic!” She snarled. “Yeah, and I’m guessing that wasn’t an option for you?” Paulina looked at her nails. She had gloves on but it had the same effect.

Ice Queen’s pale skin glistened. Paulina’s tan skin had a youthful, lively glow. Ice Queen’s long periwinkle dress flowed in the cold breeze. Paulina’s outfit had a warm and cozy feeling to it, and it made her stand out against the harsh weather. Ice Queen caused a small snow storm above her to give a dramatic and yet gentle look to her pose. Paulina held out a hand and a butterfly landed on it like she were a Disney princess. Where did that butterfly even come from? They were in a blizzard!

Their eyes looked into each other’s with unwavering icy stares. For a few moments, no one moved.

“UGH! FINE! You win, are you happy? I didn’t even care about this dump anyways! Gosh, what a jerk.” Ice Queen kept mumbling complaints as she stomped up to Danny, took his thermos, and used it to capture herself. Immediately the snow stopped, the wind slowed, and the clouds cleared to show a sunny sky. Danny didn’t understand what he had just seen but apparently he had won. At the very least, Paulina had.

“Uhm, thanks.” Danny hesitantly said. “Don’t sweat it ghost boy.” Paulina waved a hand dismissively as she walked away. She climbed down the ladder. It was much easier this time. The ice had already started to melt.

Of course, on the inside she was ecstatic to have saved and been thanked by her crush, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment. She would just play it cool until she got home, then she would celebrate it with Star. She wondered if that was the only reason she felt good. Maybe there was some truth to the stories of kindness making people happier.

Nah that wasn’t it. It was just the crush thing. Definitely.

#dannymay #dannymay2023 #danny phantom #Paulina #fanfic #oneshot #oc #I know this is kinda weird but it was the only idea I had

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milkywaydrinker · 6 months

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Day 3: Crown - 805 words

The confusing scene on the screen in front of her made her want to get up and leave.

She couldn't, though; she promised to be nice. She promised to do her best and try to be friendly. She had to make it through somehow.

"Okay, so now, after picking up the power-up, you unlock new powers," Badyah rambled while seemingly just mashing buttons on the oddly shaped device in her hands. It must have been a remote of some sort since the character on the screen responded to her actions.

"Yeah! In different games, there are different powers too! There's one where you can be a cat or a raccoon!" A ginger kid seated on the floor chimed in with barely contained excitement.

"A tanuki, you can be a tanuki, but yeah, different games have different cool mechanics. There are even racing games." She did something on the controller, and the screen changed into a completely different scenery.

"No offense, but I really don't get how this is fun." Zagan wished she could just call them nerds and leave.

"That's okay; maybe after you try it yourself?" The kid, who had to be someone's brother or something, smiled cheerfully.

She already missed those first few hours when he was too scared of her to talk.

"Like I don't," she grumbled before Norma's "Be nice, please" rang out inside of her head. She clenched her jaw before sighing and finally saying, "Sure, I'll give it a go."

"That's the spirit!" Badyah shouted way overenthusiastically for Zagan's taste and almost shoved the colorful bit of plastic into her hands.

"Hold up, what do I even do here?"

"Weren't you paying attention?" He scowled at her, but a single, perfectly practiced, mean look made him shut up.

"It's easy; those are for moving your character." Badyah pointed to the rubber numbs that could move in any direction. "Those buttons here do all sorts of things; it depends on which powers your character can use." She pointed out other buttons with symbols on them.

"Uh, huh." Zagan pressed some of them and quickly noticed how little force the remote needed to operate. She had to be careful with it.

"Which character is the most powerful?" She pressed some buttons, following the directions on the screen, and found herself in the character select menu.

"Well, if you want to play the easiest character..." Badyah said with a small smirk.

"Not what I said," Zagan huffed.

"Hm, well, you want a challenge, but the character should feel powerful?" She tapped her chin and looked at the kid next to her. "What do you think, Patrick?"

He swallowed loudly and shifted on the floor before responding. "I think Toadette would work. She has balanced basic statistics and can use the Super Crown."

"The what?" Her ears perked up.

"Yeah, it's a unique buff only she can use. It's almost like she gets to be a princess for a while." He began to speak faster again, suddenly encouraged by even the slightest amount of interest.

"All right, let's try that." She confirmed her character choice.

Very quickly, she realized she didn't care about the plot.

Another problem became apparent almost instantly.

She sucked at this game.

Badly.

"Oh, come on!" She growled after falling into another pit.

"It's all about timing. You keep jumping way too early." Badyah pointed out, causing Zagan to grit her teeth.

"Yeah, whatever, it's not my fault those buttons are so damn small." She tapped the button and fell into the pit again. After a few more tries, she finally made it.

"Yay! You did it!" To his credit, he sounded genuinely happy for her. It didn't make it any less embarrassing.

"Oh, is this the crown thing?" Zagan pointed at the screen after hitting a block with a question mark on it.

"Yeah! Go pick it up!" Badyah almost shouted into her ear.

"Jeez, okay, relax." She picked up the item.

A brief animation played.

It was, honestly, rather underwhelming.

"Okay, now what?"

"Well, um, try to finish the level?" Badyah looked at her, clearly confused. "It should be easier now. You can jump way better with this."

"I see..."

She ran into an enemy, got hit, and lost her power-up and her last life.

"Oh, screw it!" She snarled, and before even realizing what was happening, the plastic cracked in her hands.

"Aw, Zagan, it's okay." Badyah rested her hand on her shoulder. "Just, please don't break my pro controller."

With a frustrated groan, the vampire hung her head and passed the device over.

"Hi everyone! We're back!" Norma, Barney, and Az walked out of the elevator.

"Oh, dope, are we gaming? I wanna play Mario Cart!" Az sat on the floor with a thump.

"I'm not playing anything ever again," Zagan mumbled, head in hands.

#dead end paranormal park #parkvember2023 #i'm not really happy with this one but oh well they can't all be winners #I just wanted to torment Zagan with casual social interactions

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maaarine · 8 months

Text

What Are Dreams For? (Amanda Gefter, The New Yorker, Aug 31 2023)

"The videos attest to the apparent universality of twitching: not only do many animals twitch in REM but they start before they’re born.

After finding that sleep twitches in early development aren’t caused by activity in the cortex, Blumberg increasingly wondered whether it might be the other way around—perhaps the twitches were sending signals to the brain.

Hardly anyone had considered this possibility, because it was assumed that the blockade would keep sensations out.

It took Blumberg and his team years to build equipment capable of getting clean brain recordings from tiny, wriggling pups, but eventually, they were able to implant electrodes into rat pups’ brains, recording their neural activity while high-speed cameras captured their twitching. (…)

An electrode readout made the order of events clear: first the pup moved, then the brain responded.

Bursts of activity in the sensorimotor cortex, which coördinates movement and sensation, followed the twitches.

The body and brain weren’t disconnected. The brain was listening to the body.

In a series of papers, Blumberg articulated his theory that the brain uses REM sleep to “learn” the body.

You wouldn’t think that the body is something a brain needs to learn, but we aren’t born with maps of our bodies; we can’t be, because our bodies change by the day, and because the body a fetus ends up becoming might differ from the one encoded in its genome.

“Infants must learn about the body they have,” Blumberg told me. “Not the body they were supposed to have.”

As a human fetus, the thinking goes, you have nine months in a dark womb to figure out your body.

If you can identify which motor neurons control which muscles, which body parts connect, and what it feels like to move them in different combinations, you’ll later be able to use your body as a yardstick against which to measure the sensations you encounter outside.

It’s easier to sense food in your mouth if you know the feeling of a freely moving tongue; it’s easier to detect a wall in front of you if you know what your extended arm feels like unimpeded.

In waking life, we don’t tend to move only a single muscle; even the simple act of swallowing employs some thirty pairs of nerves and muscles working together.

Our sleep twitches, by contrast, are exacting and precise; they engage muscles one at a time.

Twitches “don’t look anything like waking movements,” Blumberg told me.

“They allow you to form discrete connections that otherwise would be impossible.”

While he spoke, I stared, mesmerized, at the rat pup’s twitching paw. Blumberg suspects that it was twitching “to build its sense of self.” (…)

Twitches could add to the confusion in another way.

In waking life, our brain easily identifies sensations created by our own movements because it sees those movements coming.

But, when we dream, we stop anticipating, and we have no way to figure out what’s coming from where.

Perhaps we don’t want to anticipate those sensations because, according to Blumberg, the whole point of twitching is to learn what those sensations are, so that we can find out what it feels like to move our own bodies.

A dreamer is in a situation akin to someone suffering from schizophrenia—an illness often marked by a profound difficulty in distinguishing between self and other.

Healthy people can’t typically tickle themselves, but people with schizophrenia can; yet researchers have found that, if healthy people woken from REM sleep tickle themselves, they often respond to their own touch as if it’s someone else’s.

We seem to be confusing self with other. “That’s at the core of dream experience,” Windt said. (…)

A stuck robot might be better off not moving—and yet it can’t get out of danger until it figures out what’s happened to it.

The roboticists came up with a clever solution: twitches.

When it’s stuck, their four-legged robot, nicknamed the Evil Starfish, moves the mechanical equivalent of one muscle at a time.

Input from the twitches is used by its software to create different interpretations of what is happening; the software then orders new twitches that might help disambiguate the scenarios.

If the robot finds that it’s suddenly tilting thirty degrees to the left, it might entertain two interpretations: it’s either standing on the side of a crater, or missing its left leg.

A slight twitch of the left leg is enough to tell the difference.

In work published in Science, in 2006, the team showed that their Evil Starfish robot could essentially learn to walk from scratch by systematically twitching to map the shape and function of its body.

When the team injured it by pulling off its leg, it stopped, twitched, remapped its body, and figured out how to limp.

Watching the robot twitch, a fellow-researcher commented that it looked like it was dreaming.

The team laughed and thought nothing of it until the fall of 2013, when Bongard met Blumberg when he gave a talk on adaptive robots.

Suddenly, the idea of a dreaming robot didn’t seem so far-fetched. “Dreaming is a safe space, a time to try things out and retune or debug your body,” Bongard told me.

Are the robots really dreaming? If to dream is to make sense of ambiguous bodily signals, then the answer is yes.

But, for us, dreams are a deeper kind of synthesis. As she sleeps, it’s as if a person, her brain, and her body converse imperfectly; their delirious miscommunication is the dream."

#article

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kvetchinglyneurotic · 1 month

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hello terrifying talented friend! i come bearing more ask game numbers than is reasonable so feel free to pick and choose!

2, 11, 13, 17, 35, 73, 81

💚💚💚

Thank you my friend!

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

This was what happened with most of the back half of The Hedgehog’s Dilemma! I intended for Ted to have a fairly minor role, but I wrote his conversation with Jamie in chapter 3 and there was so much of his own baggage with his dad lurking under the surface that it promoted him to one of the main characters. James Tartt also unexpectedly invited himself to practice while I was writing the scene where Jamie picks him up from the train station in chapter 5, and the fallout of that ended up being most of the plot for the rest of the chapter.

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

I know so much about reality dating shows now, including a bunch of research into American shows that I probably didn’t need to do. Apparently after someone gets eliminated from The Bachelor, they have to ride around in the back of a limo with one of the producers until they could get a shot of them crying, even if it takes a very long time (which is maybe more sad than neat).

How much research I do for my fics depends on how much research I have to do in my academic life — when my life was consumed by thesis research over the summer, I hardly did any, but now that I’m mostly onto the writing/editing portions, I do it more often.

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

Writing fanfic! I think I’ve mentioned before that I started off writing original fic, and for some reason I was convinced that fanfic would be way more difficult. It isn’t, and furthermore is a lot of fun.

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

Damn you, inability to remember any line I’ve written after I’ve written it! I’ll go with:

They’d got stuck to each other, these past days, like those little birds that rode around on top of capybaras but if the capybara saved the bird from his shitty bird dad and promised to take him home to see his bird mum, and in return the bird was so blindingly handsome and good at football that the capybara was honoured to have him riding around on his back, actually, even if he pretended not to be ‘cause he was a grumpy old twat.

from THD because I got a lot of nice comments about it, so now capybaras are permanently associated in my mind with people being nice to me on the internet, in addition to already being my favourite animal. I love those funky little guys.

35. tell us about a character who’s very different than you who you love a whole lot

Rebecca! She’s a delightful schemer in season 1, very poised and put together on the outside but kind of earnest and sweet on the inside. I’m also occasionally a schemer, but we’re generally very different people and want very different things out of life — I don’t think anyone would describe me as poised or earnest, and I don’t want a life partner of any kind, and definitely not kids.

73. how do you visualize scenes? do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

I can picture some scenes very clearly, but more often as static images rather than like a movie, so it’s a mix of trying to describe what I see in my head and just writing.

81. if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

You don’t have to write quickly! It’s okay if you don’t make your word count every day or takes days off or set lower goals. In fact it often works better — it’s easier to be deliberate in your writing when you aren’t pushing to write a chapter a week.

#asks #ask games #thank you!#kvetch oc

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schrodingersinteraction · 2 months

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So I've been catching up on High Class Homos...

and was reminded of a particular plot point/character appearance choice that doesn't make the most sense to me, especially in the vaguely historical/fantasy setting of the story. (For context, I'm coming at this as someone who knows a lot about historical costuming, but by no means on a professional or even academic level, this is mostly just stuff I've absorbed over the years engaging with it as a hobby. I know that this series is not intended to be 100% historically accurate, and by no means take this as a serious critique of the work as a whole. I had just been texting my sibling about this yet again and realized I had a lot of thoughts about it)

So. The part that caught my attention was this

Spoiler Alert from this point forward.

This is Odette. She works as a maid in the castle and we care about her cause she and a princess in said castle are a couple of Useless Lesbians™. But a part of her backstory is that she hasn't always been a maid, no, she used to live in fairly remote village where she foraged and communed with the animals and all that jazz. And when she was romping about the woods, she looked like this.

Long, flowing, luscious locks that apparently were never put up or braided? As someone with about this length hair, probably longer, I can tell you that you do not necessarily want it down and in your way, *especially* outside where it can act as a net to catch various leaves, twigs, branches, bugs, etc.

And apparently no one at the castle thought of braiding it either when she goes to work in the kitchen, because part of her backstory is that she *had to cut her hair* (this connection to her past life and all that, I can understand the metaphorical authorial intent) in order to work safely in the kitchen.

Now, this has been a thing in history. Working class people, often young girls, have had to crop their hair pretty short in order to do certain work and keep themselves safe, among other reasons. However, if it was for work, this work took place factories, right at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, in order to not have their hair caught in fast-moving, definitely not OSHA compliant machinery.

The general understanding I have of this world is it's pre-Industrial Revolution, with a touch of fantasy to have things such as magically assisted gender transitions (which I genuinely love). Obviously there's a lot of various anachronisms here that I'm willing to suspend my disbelief about! This, however, not so much. And I was trying to figure out why and as far as I can tell it's because it's so central to her character arc/backstory, and there's a lot of other explanations that could've led to the same result - she used to have long hair, and now she has short hair. (It could be a personal choice to indicate her change of environment, part of her overall character arc as she plays around with presentation and becoming more comfortable with her queerness, she prefers how it feels, there's a lot of options) But the implication that long hair would be so much of hindrance in pre-Industrial kitchen is not really a thing.

Long hair is not that much harder to take care of and keep clean and out of the way. If anything, I'd argue it's easier with the level of technology they are implied to have access to. It can be braided and pinned up and fully covered by a headscarf, brushed out every day to minimize tangles/dirt/grease, all of this keeping it clean without necessarily needing to wash it every day. (Access to running/clean water and enough of it to wash regularly was very much a luxury for a lot of history and I got the vibe it was here too?) And I know this both from various historical sources (people have had long hair in a lot of different jobs at a lot of different points in time), and from personal experience!

There's a lot more specific anachronisms I could get into, but this was the main one that stuck out to me. Overall I have a lot of fun reading the series, I'm also just a wee history nerd and I don't always know when that will completely take over.

#thoughts from the box #high class homos #let me know if you want more stuff like this i guess? No promises I'll be able to deliver #But nevertheless curious #long post

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quaranmine · 2 years

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How to Be a Human Being (Chapter Two)

The Watchers have more powers than just watching. Mumbo learns about one of them.

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

Words: 2540

Slightly shorter chapter, sorry! When I wrote this it was with the intention of it being a long oneshot, so when I went back in later I broke chapters up by theme rather than keeping them all the same length. AO3 link in a reblog or on the masterpost.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“So, uh, what are we doing?” Mumbo asked. They were standing in Grian’s Midnight Alley, near one of the alleys at the back. Grian had brought them there to have some space to practice, but also some privacy from the rest of Boatem. Since his base was a cave, it seemed like a good option. And since it was unfinished, it could be easily fixed if Mumbo broke anything. Although, he hoped Mumbo wouldn’t find a way to break anything this time.

“We’re practicing,” Grian replied. “I . . . Watchers have powers. If you have wings, you probably have them too. You need to learn how to use them.”

Mumbo contemplated this. “Okay. What powers do you have?” he asked carefully. “Because, like, I feel like I should probably know that too.”

“Let’s do this one at a time instead,” Grian suggested. “But uh, the one I want to start with is shapeshifting. It’s kind of hard to use extensively so I normally use it as a useful shortcut.”

Mumbo opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. If Grian had to guess, it was about the existence of his shapeshifting powers. Which he had definitely used openly since joining Hermitcraft, but that Mumbo had apparently forgotten about or not noticed since he had thought Grian was human. At first, Grian had felt a little hurt about that, but had decided to take it in good faith–so long as he had the right to complain about this forever, of course.

The fact was, in their little group, having powers wasn’t particularly special. Neither was being non-human. In fact, Grian wasn’t actually sure how many people on the server were actually human, since he learned a long time ago that a lot of people were more than they seemed. Grian wasn’t even the only person on the server with wings, either! The normality of it was comforting to him. Mumbo had lived with the hermits since he was a teenager. Grian just supposed . . . well maybe, paired with being a spoon, it was just so normal to him that he didn’t think about it much.

That comforted him too. He’d spent a long time caring too much.

“So, to start-”

Mumbo raised his hand.

“This isn’t a classroom, Mumbo, we’re the only ones here. Just speak.”

Mumbo put down his hand. “Will I be able to shapeshift into another person? Or–an animal? Could I, say, be a pig or something?”

Grian sighed. “Didn’t you steal my soul because you were tired of being a pig?”

“Well, yes, but it sounds more fun if I have control over it,” Mumbo said sheepishly.

Grian shook his head. “Theoretically, yes, but it takes a lot of energy so you probably wouldn’t be able to do that often or right away. Also, you should probably wait until you’re experienced to try it since you could turn into something else and then be too tired to turn yourself back, which might cause you to panic. More experienced Watchers tend to use extensive shapeshifting, because it’s a really hard power to use. Something something about having to shift atoms and cells and alter reality. Might actually be more accurate to call it low level reality altering instead of shape-shifting, actually. I mostly know how to use it for minor superficial things.”

Mumbo frowned. “No, no, wait, if it’s so hard why did you start me on this? Aren’t you supposed to ease me up to these things?”

“Well, the minor stuff isn’t nearly as hard!” Grian said with a laugh. It was also the type of thing where if Mumbo was able to get this, it would be easier for him to grasp the rest. “It’s really useful. You should have a small effect on things close to your body, too. Like clothes, for example. Most of my clothes are just altered with magic to account for my wings, instead of sewing it.”

“So you cut holes in my suit for no reason?”

“No, I had a reason. First, you don’t know how to do this yet and you needed the holes. Second, it was funny.”

Mumbo crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, but Grian could tell he wasn’t actually mad. “Continue,” he said.

“So,” he started, “shapeshifting is just–well, why don’t I start with wings as an example. You have a sphere of influence that essentially just extends to your body, which is like your core self. It’s a “base” so to speak, something you can build off of or take away from. So before you stole my soul, you didn’t have wings. But now that you’re a Watcher, or at least Watcher-adjacent, you do have wings. Those are part of you now, part of that core self or base.

“It takes energy to alter this core, because when you shapeshift you’re basically altering reality a little. You’re creating something physical–creating matter–that wasn’t there before. Or, you’re removing it! All this takes effort.”

If Grian had been thinking more scientifically rather than magically, he might have brought up the Law of Conservation of Mass and specifically how they were breaking it, but that was a little beyond their conversation. He wasn’t that kind of teacher.

Mumbo looked confused. “I’m not sure if I follow,” he said.

“I’ll use hiding your wings as an example,” Grian said. “You have wings, it’s part of your core. You can use your powers to hide them, but it will take energy since you are erasing something that is supposed to exist. You’re changing your body and altering which parts of you move through reality. Vice versa, if there was a shapeshifter who did not have wings, but wanted them, they could give themselves wings but it would take energy to maintain them since they’re bringing in something that didn’t exist before and making it exist physically in the world.”

“I think I get it,” Mumbo said, looking like he only partially grasped it. “So I can hide these if I want?”

“Yep! In fact, that’s kind of the first thing I want you to try. It’s not something you can hold for a very long time though; it will sap your energy.”

Grian had hidden his wings, once. It was immediately after he joined the Hermits. He arrived in their world somewhat unannounced and unexpectedly, thinking it was empty when it wasn’t. That had been a stupid mistake on his part as a Watcher, since he should have been able to see that type of thing ahead of time, but it was a happy one. A life-altering one.

Grian didn’t really know the hermits, and didn’t want to attract bad attention to himself so soon after fleeing the Watchers. So he hid his wings, only taking the time to uncover and stretch them when he was alone at his base. Instead, he learned how to fly with an elytra. People found it funny he’d never used one, but when would he have? On Evo they hadn’t existed, and after he was taken from Evo he had his own wings to fly with, of which elytra were a poor replacement.

It changed when he realized that he was far from the only one on the world who wasn’t human. Seeing other hermits who were clearly non-human, mob hybrids, had powers, and had wings made it more than clear that nobody would care about him. So he just began using his wings again with no fanfare or announcement. To this day Grian was pretty sure that some members of the server had never even noticed the change. If they had, few commented on it.

“It’s a little hard to get,” Grian admitted. “More of a feeling than anything. I think the best way might be to start off with just . . .being aware of every part of your body. After all, you’re making alterations to your ‘core’ being, so you should be aware of every part of that before you start trying to manipulate it. Think of your feet, the tips of your ears, your shoulders, your fingers, and then your wings. Just concentrate on yourself–listen to your heart beat. Like, uh, meditating or something.”

Mumbo hummed in agreement and closed his eyes, clearly in concentration. After a while, he opened an eye and squinted at Grian. “How long do I have to do this?” he asked.

“Depends,” Grian said. “Do you feel any different? Can you feel your wings?”

“Well, I’m aware of my own breathing now,” said Mumbo, “so thanks for that. But yes, I do feel ‘more aware of myself’ or whatever now. I don’t think I could forget the wings if I tried though, at least with how sore that is.”

“Use that, then,” Grian suggested. “Focus on the pain and just . . . imagine it gone, along with your wings.”

They stood there for a moment. There was the sound of wind blowing across the front of the alley, but inside the mountain the air was still. It was pleasantly quiet, with just the sounds of the animals in the Magical Menagerie walking around in the distance. Grian hoped to fill the alley with life and sound by the end of the season, though. It wasn’t meant to be a ghost town, it was meant to feel lived in.

Mumbo had his eyes screwed shut, and Grian watched him bemusedly, careful not to laugh audibly at the sight even though Mumbo looked a little dumb. “Has anything happened yet?” Mumbo asked.

“Um, no.”

“Darn.”

“Try again!” Grian pressed.

“This is harder than I expected,” said Mumbo.

“Well, sorry for being a bad teacher. It’s a hard feeling to describe; I don’t really remember learning how to do it, I just do it instinctively,” Grian answered.

“Speaking of which, do you even know that I have the ability to do this?” Mumbo asked. “Because like maybe this soul business isn’t an all-or-nothing type of deal.”

“Ah,” Grian said. “No . . .”

“So what if I just stand here all day making a fool of myself trying to use a power I don’t even have?”

“Well,” Grian started defensively, “If you really took on Watcher traits when you took my soul, then you should have this power. I don’t know if it’s an all-or-nothing deal or not–shouldn’t the person who stole my soul know that one? But it’s worth a try, just to see. And if you do have the power, and you learn to use it now, you can apply some of the same energy towards other things.”

Mumbo shook his head, but it was a light-hearted gesture. He concentrated, his fingers absentmindedly counting as if he was repeating Grian’s instructions of feet, ears, shoulders, fingers, wings in his head. The wind whistled outside. Grian stared at a piece of hair that had fallen down on Mumbo’s forehead, making a mental note to shove the man into a shower at some point later today. The air had a metallic tang from building materials. A cat meowed in the distance.

And then, a flicker.

Phasing out of reality . . .

. . . then back in.

“You just did it!” Grian shouted gleefully.

Mumbo startled, and the effect was gone. “I did?” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, you did! Now do it again! Whatever you just felt, grab onto that and push it further.” Grian felt a little bad for not explaining it better, but it really was just an intrinsic feeling. There’s no technique to show Mumbo, just an internal feeling. It wasn’t like Grian could reach into Mumbo’s mind and tell him how to feel. That had to come from Mumbo himself.

“Okay,” Mumbo whispered, more to himself than to Grian, “I can do this. I can do it.”

We can do this. We can do it.

Mumbo concentrated again.

Two things hit Grian at once: an almost intoxicating feeling of relief, followed almost immediately by intense wrongness. He staggered, suddenly feeling off balance. Like his head had been clear but had suddenly started spinning again, and in a more pressing way, like his entire weight had shifted on the ground. He felt a little lost even though he was just standing there, and he latched onto Mumbo as a place to focus. Mumbo had succeeded in his task, Grian realized belatedly.

“Dude,” he said wearily, “what just happened?”

At nearly the same time, Mumbo yelled, “I did it! I made the wings disappear! Oh, that feels good. The pain was better today, but I didn’t realize how sore they were until they were gone.”

Grian wasn’t listening, though, distracted by the growing dread he was feeling. There was empty air behind him where there shouldn't be, and he could feel cold air on his back where there should have been feathers. Sure enough, Mumbo’s wings were gone too, but so were his.

Where did they go?!

He shoved down panic, feeling very empty and unbalanced suddenly. The wings normally were a heavy grounding presence on his back, and without them it felt like an anchor being lifted from a boat. Like his feet would float if he let them. He hated it.

“Mumbo,” Grian said slowly, “where are my wings?”

Mumbo paused his mini celebration, turning his attention to Grian. “Your wings? Were you demonstrating? I only messed with mine, dude. And I did it!”

Grian gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, congrats. I know that was hard. But I didn’t do anything to my wings. I was just standing here.”

“Well, that’s a little freaky,” Mumbo said. “Did . . . did I do that? How could I have done that?”

Grian thought. By all means, Mumbo should not have been able to do that. Grian was his own person separate from Mumbo, and this version of the power only affected your personal space. It’s not like Grian could see in Mumbo’s head, and he sure hoped Mumbo couldn’t see in his–what a ride that would be. Grian was sure he hadn’t done anything to make his wings disappear, since doing so required conscious effort and energy expenditure.

Of course, Grian could fix it. Unlike Mumbo, it was easy and well-practiced for him–just a little thought and his wings were back in reality. It felt better. Grian liked being in control of himself. Especially his own body. It was the lack of control and unexpectedness that had freaked him out.

The more he thought, the more the puzzle pieces began to fit in place. And he didn’t like the picture it was creating.

Mumbo’s intense concentration. Was it more difficult for him than it should’ve been?

The sense of relief–like carrying something heavy and setting it down, or like getting a good night’s sleep after a strenuous hike the day before.

The sense of relief like . . . pain relief?

My back hurt this morning. I gave Mumbo regen in his coffee for his wings.

Was Grian still his own person separate from Mumbo if Mumbo stole his soul? Could Mumbo affect Grian with his powers? If Grian tried, could he affect Mumbo? Grian had wondered if Mumbo had taken his soul and left him without one. Could they in fact be sharing one instead?

He didn’t drink enough coffee this morning to be having the conversation he was about to have.

<< Chapter One | Masterpost | Chapter Three >>

#hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic #watcher grian #watcher mumbo #quara fanfic #long post

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 1 year

Note

Wait okay what about Lucian trying to talk Peter into accepting ethical vampirism as an option/into not despairing quite so badly?

Lucian is trying his best and Peter is difficult, but what else is new?

On with the fic!

Peter should feel like he was in a dangerous saw-trap house due to his personal collection in his penthouse of vampire hunting tools, but he was still a hunter, damnit. Even if it... seemed bad that he was now one of the people he hunted. Was this like being a hitman against humans? He didn't know.

He tried not to think about it, especially about his situation, but it wasn't easy to avoid thoughts of fangs and blood. All he had to do was look in the mirror and know that he wasn't looking at a human anymore.

He tried to carry on with his life, he still performed his show, still caused trouble for people both in real life and online, and often could be found trying to get drunk off his ass. There just tended to be more panic attacks now, and times where he hid in dark shadows of his home as, apparently, the smallest species of bat in North America, which meant avoiding problems was made so much easier now. The only plus he could think of because of this stupid problem.

Well.

No.

There was another plus, and that was Lucian.

They'd only known one another for less than a month, but Peter found himself latching onto the guy constantly. Both metaphorically and physically when he needed to drink blood. Yes, he had... disgustingly been bringing animal blood into his diet, with the few foods he could actually stomach (which wasn't much, and he gave up quickly on trying to figure out what he could eat because he was tired of being sick), but Lucian's fresh blood was like a damn drug.

Maybe it was because it was offered willingly right from the source, who knows. But Peter always felt horrible after consuming it, even if it calmed the hunger that was always there, in the back of his mind.

He licked his lips, trying to savor every drop, as he pulled away from Lucian's wrist. Always the arm, always the wrist, Peter didn't want to bite Lucian's neck. He watched as the bite marks started to heal already. "I hate this." He said, staring at the wound.

"It's better than the alternative, though is the animal blood helping?" Lucian asked as he pulled down his sleeve, hiding the wound from Peter.

"Ehhh... kinda? I mean, it's not the worst, clearly, it's just... it's not as good as sucking you."

Lucian makes a face and Peter grins before sighing, leaning back against his couch, looking at his ceiling that he was becoming much more accustomed to now that he discovered he can sleep on it, oddly enough. What the fuck kinda vampire is he?

"I'm trying to drink it so I don't have to keep relying on you for my fix. I found that I can mix it with things, not everything tastes great, but I can tell you straight up that blood makes for the best fuckin' Bloody Mary you'll ever drink. I'll have to make you one later today. I also weirdly like it in my coffee, but I think that's cause I cover it up with enough syrups to hide the metallic taste."

"That sounds disgusting."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, pretty boy." Peter snorted and moved to sprawl on the couch. "Look, Lucian, I'm tryin', alright? But I hate this! It... it sucks! You wanna know somethin'? I tried to chew some gum the other day, and my body made me feel horrible about it, so now that's something I can't have!"

He flopped down so he was on his back, and then moved to curl up, facing the couch. "I fuckin' hate this. I never asked to have this happen, I just... I'm always so careful! I used to wear silver all the time to protect myself! And guess what!"

"What?" Lucian asked, placing a hand on Peter's leg, the one he had unconsciously dropped on the man's lap.

"Apparently it burns me! I've had to give my shit away, and that's a lot of silver, mind you. Luckily, the girls in the show were more than happy to take some from me, and the rest I've given away in some fan contest thing online. My PR people like it because it means I'm doing somethin' nice for the fans, but it's mainly so I don't kill myself while wearin' my bling."

"Oh, I wasn't aware that silver was deadly to you. It's rather dangerous for me as well, and for many werewolf-like people. Not sure why, but it's painful. And trust me when I say that I wouldn't wish silver nitrate bullets on my own worst enemies, that was..."

Peter glanced at Lucian, watching his face contort into something that looked very pained, like he was feeling a phantom sensation. He only knew a bit of Lucian's past, that he had been the first of his kind and a leader who had 'died' during the last great battle of an underground vampire/lycan war. He remembered Lucian saying he had been shot and left for dead by bullets made of silver nitrate that liquefied in his veins. Yeah, he couldn't blame the guy for not wanting anyone else to deal with something like that.

"How do you do it, Lucian?" Peter sighed, moving to be on his back, eyes on the ceiling.

"Do what?"

"Just... not be human."

"I was never human to begin with, Peter, so I'm not sure how to answer that question for you."

He groaned and gently kicked the lycan. "I need an answer, I need to know how to handle this, to live as the thing I hate most in the world! For fuck's sake, Lucian, I spent most of my life learning how to keep these things away and how to fight them, just in case Jerry ever tracked me down to finish the job."

He wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tightly, his chest felt tight and he felt a little dizzy. "I'm trying, I'm trying, but I don't know what to do, or how to accept this...!"

He felt a squeeze on his leg, a comforting feeling. "Peter, it's alright."

"No, it's not."

"It's only bad because you can only see the negatives."

"They're all negatives. I don't want to be this, I just want to be human again."

Lucian sighed, rubbing his leg. "What if it had been different? What if someone of my kind had bitten you?"

Peter glanced at him, frowning, then shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know... I don't have beef with you guys, but it would be... bad? Awkward? I dunno the first thing about bein' a lycan."

"But you know vampires, you know how to keep yourself safe, you know your limitations and strengths, right?"

"Not... really? Kinda? I dunno, this isn't a well know species, but I know some stuff."

"That's good, it's a start. How about this, considering you can't undo what has been done, maybe we can find ways to make this work for you? There are pros and cons to being an immortal humanoid being, let's figure out what you like and dislike about it."

Peter scoffed. "Lots of cons there, wolfy. Cons: I'm the thing that killed my parents and girlfriend."

"You're not the same kind."

"Still, a vampire." Peter held up two fingers. "Con: I have to survive on blood."

"Pro: You've found some foods you can eat just fine, and other liquids are not a problem for you at all."

"Con: The sun hurts me."

"Pro: The sun hurts everyone, and you can actually still walk in it, even if only for short periods of time."

"Con: I sometimes eat bugs."

"Pro: Only as a bat."

"Con: I can turn into a bat."

"Pro: You can turn into a bat, and you love it. You told me you like being a bat to escape your problems."

Peter glared at him, damnit, he was right, he actually did love being an adorable, little bat. Especially when he discovered the wonders of just sleeping on one of his big, fancy, expensive bed pillows and just napping for hours like that.

He continued to try and bring up his bad stuff. "Con: Uhh... I get an ugly bat face."

"Pro: It's not ugly, it's fascinating and threatening. You also get a new eye color that oddly fits you." Lucian said with a straight face, but Peter felt his oddly-working heart beat just a little faster.

Fucking charmer.

"Con: I can't get drunk or high like I used to."

"Pro: It's much better for your health that you don't."

"God, you're a killjoy." Peter snorted and Lucian laughed, stupid, pretty, wolf man with a cute laugh.

Lucian smiled at him. "Pro: You're stronger, faster, and more agile like this. You can do things you've never done before, and you're immortal now, unable to age, you get to keep your looks from now on."

"Are you trying to appeal to my egotistical side?" Peter asked. "Cause it's almost working."

"Maybe." Lucian said and went back to rubbing his leg. "Peter, it's going to be difficult, I cannot lie to you about that. I have known many lycans and vampires who were once human that have changed and have had trouble accepting their new lives, but they had found benefits that worked for them, things that made life a little easier."

Peter sighed. "I get that, but... it's the principle of this thing, ya know? I feel like this is a punishment, for all the shitty things I've done. Or Jerry's revenge from beyond the dirt in his shitty, creepy basement where his ashes are laying. And... what's worse is that I was never given a choice, it was given to me against my will, like a bad gift I can never return or trade off."

Lucian nodded, looking like he finally understood what was bugging Peter. "It'll be a long road to accepting, and that might not even involve willingly accepting it all. But through all of this, you have me to help you, or even just to vent to, alright?"

He looked at Lucian and damnit, this man was just... how was it that he was a wanted war criminal when he was so nice and understanding? Peter reached out a hand, taking Lucian's in his own, he felt so hot to the touch, so alive, it was weird to be aware of that.

"Thanks. Just... ya know, thanks." He muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

"You're welcome." Lucian gave his hand a squeeze and they sat quietly in a comfortable silence.

Then Lucian spoke again. "Another pro: You like sleeping on the ceiling."

"Hell yeah, I do. You should try it, defying gravity sleeping in the best."

"I can't do that, even if I can climb on walls and ceilings in my wolf form."

"For real? Dude, that is so fuckin' hot."

"What?"

"Nothin'."

I almost, *almost* wrote them kissing during the pros and cons scene, but I thought, no, too early. Even though Peter unconsciously wants to smooch him.

#lucian x peter vincent #john's drabbles

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sirowsky · 2 years

Text

Part 13 - The Shit Begins

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

Pero's been taken and you're trying desperately to keep track of him, but things aren't exactly as they seem.

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY! I’m happy to elaborate on what to expect from this part via DM.

Word Count: 5128 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

<><><><><><><><><>

Groot was relentless in his pursuit, as eager to find Pero as you were. And Happy remained on his heels, following his direction largely without your involvement. They kept to a punishing pace, but their rhythm was fluid and their feet securely planted, neither stumbling nor misjudging a single step, so you had no problem keeping your balance while the three of you flew through the darkness.

At first, the terrain was fairly flat, only rising and falling in soft degrees, like calm waves on a vast ocean, but soon the mountains to the west changed the landscape, making the hills steeper and the vegetation thicker. And the animals cut through that terrain much easier than any vehicle. It didn’t take long before Groot started slowing down, even stopping now and then to listen, making sure you weren’t barrelling straight into the enemy like a raging bull.

Your pulse picked up speed as you watched the canine work, reading his signals and body-language so you’d know when he found them. The horse still followed his lead, getting sneakier as she noticed her leader getting more careful, watching her step and seeking the easiest routes to avoid large branches or complicated obstacles.

Soon, voices started travelling through the damp night air, just barely recognizable at first, but getting clearer the closer the dog led you. When you could discern the two voices and what was being said, you stopped Happy, and Groot mirrored you, freezing to the spot but standing ready to charge if you so ordered. For now, though, you needed to assess the situation and the threat, which meant getting eyes on Pero and his captor.

Dismounting, you called Groot to the horse’s side with hand-signs, then commanded him to stay, hoping that Happy would follow suit, before you snuck closer to the voices, coming from behind several firs and ferns. Making out Pero’s low voice instantly soothed your nerves, even though you’d been certain that you’d find him alive, since there was little point in abducting someone just to kill them. But it was still reassuring to have it confirmed.

Slowly, you snuck closer, taking extra care to watch your footing, which was maddening when all you wanted was to run to your partner and set him loose. But patience was something you had plenty of when you needed it, so you took a breath, and kept going, and after more than ten minutes of painstaking prowling, they finally came into view.

Pero was tied up at the wrists, ankles and knees, but not gagged, laying on the ground beside the vehicle, while his abductor was trying to untangle it from a tough little bush that he’d apparently thought he could drive straight through. The unknown man was not happy, but trying to work fast, using a knife to cut through the leathery stems of the plant, while his captor did his best to distract and disrupt his progress.

“…wouldn’t be in this mess.” you caught the tail-end of the unknown man’s annoyed grumbling.

“You made a mistake coming after me, Omar. You know that. You know me.” Pero warned, and a chill went down your spine at the acid in his tone.

“I do know you, and I’ve never seen anyone thrive so much in this profession. You were better than all of us. Until you decided that no one else was good enough to deserve partnering with you, just cause that traitor bailed.”

You’d found a good spot between two trees, where you were completely hidden, but had full view of them both, and you saw Pero’s anger deepen, in the lines around his mouth and eyes.

“If I did not already have a mind to kill you, that would have been enough.” he warned through stiff jaws, and the man stopped working to turn and face him.

“Why?! Why did that little shit matter so much more than the rest of us, huh?”

Pero glared at him but kept his voice clear and sharp.

“Because he still cared. He did not kill for pleasure, only duty. Life mattered to him.”

“Oh, so he was better than us? That what you’re saying?” the man spat, obviously offended.

“Irrefutably,” Pero declared, before he added, “And if you think that I will ever work with anyone that talks about him in this way, then you do not know me at all. I would kill you for this alone. But you also threatened my family.”

“I AM YOUR FAMILY!!” the man roared, leaning over his old colleague and pointing a sharp finger at him. But now you could hear pain along with the anger in his voice.

If he perceived that too, your beloved apparently didn’t care. This man had burnt any bridges that might’ve still stood between them, the moment he’d showed up in town. The moment he’d decided to interfere with Pero’s life. So, he had no mercy to give this Omar.

“You were.” he countered, still so filled with rage that even those two little words made his enemy instinctively back away.

“So, what? You’re gonna kill the rest of us? Destroy the company? All the good we do?” the man prodded, and something cold crept into your heart as you heard your partner’s response.

“To make sure this will never happen again – without hesitation.”

Because that was when it hit you. This had been his plan all along. Perhaps not letting himself get taken, which you were now sure that he’d allowed to happen, but certainly going after the company once the immediate threat had been dealt with. Being left with just one adversary had given him a perfect opportunity to get close to his former employers, with a drastically reduced number of obstacles to get rid off in order to kill them and end this, permanently.

He’d promised that you’d do this together, but he’d only been talking about the teams coming after you, not the organization behind them. Because how could he ever include anyone in such a hunt? Who could survive it, other than him? The only person on the outside that knew all their methods, their operations manual, their tactics and thought processes. He was the perfect man to destroy them. Probably the only one that could.

But at what cost? He’d kept this from you because he knew that you’d beg him not to go. That you’d have no other option than to plead and grovel until he caved, which would’ve meant living with this threat hanging over him, and by extension your family as well, for the rest of your lives. And he wasn’t willing to live like that. To make you live like that. So, he’d made the only choice he could.

Under different circumstances you might’ve been angry with him, or at least disappointed that he kept something from you that would so ruthlessly affect you both. But right there and then, all you felt was sadness. For him, for yourself, for the fact that this had happened at all. He deserved to have the happiness that he’d found with you, that he’d longed for all his life without even knowing it. So, how could you be upset with him for doing what he had to, in order to give himself a real chance to have it?

“They want you back alive, Tovar. That’s the only reason I didn’t kill you. So, you can stop pretending that you’re the only elite operative here.” Omar growled, clearly not seeing the bigger picture, and Pero had every reason to let him stay oblivious, so he merely played along.

But you were suddenly trapped in an impossible seat. If you stayed back and let this man steal him away, you risked losing his trail and any chance to help him down the line, should the opportunity arise. On the other hand, if you attempted to assist him now, he risked losing what you assumed was his only way of discovering where the company executives could be found. Because that had to be the only reason that he’d allowed himself to get captured, so he’d be brought directly to the people that he was looking for.

While you tried and failed to reach a decision, since neither option seemed any better than the other, Omar finally managed to free the vehicle from the obnoxious vegetation and started hauling Pero back into it. You were out of time. If they kept to roughly the same route, providing that your sense of direction was accurate, they should reach the interstate soon, where you assumed that they’d stashed a different mode of transportation, you’d lose them.

You timed it so that the sound of the engine starting drowned out your dash back to the animals, climbing up on Happy and sending Groot after the ATV once more, hoping that you’d be able to buy some time to come up with a better plan. Or any plan at all. But as you began to hear the sounds of the interstate echo through the woods, confirming your suspicions, you still hadn’t thought of anything feasible.

Your only hope at this point, was that the Falcons had worked under the assumption that they’d be able to subdue Pero and escape without any losses, meaning that whatever vehicle was waiting for them would have to be big enough to carry four people, with one tied up. Because if that was the case, the space left open by the lack of people, might just be enough to sneak a stowaway onboard.

<><><><><>

He didn’t let himself think too much about you, as he bounced around in the backseat of the vehicle, even though that was the only place his mind wanted to go. Despite the short time you’d been together, you already knew him better than anyone ever had, and you were smart enough to put the pieces together. So, he knew that it was only a matter of time before you’d figure out his plan, but for all the faith he had in how well he knew you too, he couldn’t predict what your reaction would be.

You’d be disappointed, of course, probably a bit hurt too. But would you understand? Would you accept the necessity of what he was doing? Those were the questions he couldn’t answer and thinking about them made him anxious and unfocused. There was no way to know until he got back. And even if he had to run through Hell itself, he was going back to you.

He’d been surprised that the Falcons had brought in outsiders. That was about as far from the rules and established procedures as they could get, but he assumed that it was because they’d learned that Dean had dogs. And even though they couldn’t have known just how well trained those dogs were, they still knew that they’d be outnumbered, and had chosen to attempt to even the odds.

That was how badly they wanted to get their hands on him. But he’d warned them all, the day he left, that if anyone ever came after him, they wouldn’t come back to base. Ever. Obviously, meeting you and suddenly having so much to lose, had tipped the scales a bit, made him more vulnerable, but that was also precisely why he’d decided to do this.

Because as long as they knew that he had a soft spot, something they could use to force his hand, they’d never stop trying, and that was unacceptable. The choice he’d faced, had been between leaving you, or ending them. And that had been a very easy decision. But he hadn’t lied to you that day when you’d threatened to go to the press, he’d meant it when he’d said that you were in this together.

He probably could’ve taken out all three Falcons by himself, but not realistically without suffering some damage, and the thing was, this was as unprotected as the organization would possibly ever be. So, if he was too badly injured to go after the head of the snake, the effort would’ve been for nothing.

He’d needed your father and the dogs to give him the advantage, and… even if he could’ve persuaded you to stay out of it (which he highly doubted) having you there only made the enemy that much more predictable. He’d known that they’d split up and try and snag you. Which was why he’d been on the roof of the stables when Nico had dragged you outside, and he’d been ready to save you with a perfectly aimed throw, when you’d done the job for him.

His skin had stung with the thought that you might think that he’d abandoned you, or wasn’t there for you, but he’d had to let it go, sprinting across the roof to go after Omar before he got to your father. He’d dropped his knives before confronting him, to make it a more even fight, and then given the man a more or less open goal, dropping to the ground and playing possum while his adversary dragged him off.

Omar was all that was left now, between Pero and the executives. Two men by the names of Fredric and Oscar Diggle. Brothers. One an expert in all forms of combat, strategy, stealth, an aficionado of The Art of War. The other a certified criminal psychologist, an expert on broken minds and dark desires, but also a weapons specialist and former CIA-agent. Together, their combined skillsets made them the perfect teachers to the kind of students that they plucked out of society and moulded into weapons.

That was what he thought about as he waited in that backseat. How to best the people that had taught him everything he knew. And before long, they were coming up to the interstate, where a large black SUV was parked and waiting in a secluded spot without any lights, backed right up to the treeline. His captor stopped right behind it, and started working to transfer Pero into it, so he made a show of struggling, as if he was trying to find an angle to escape, busting Omar’s lip in the process, which earned him a kick to the ribs.

“You piece of shit! Keep that up and I’ll break your fucking arms.” he spat, before renewing his efforts, dragging his captive towards the large boot.

After a bit of a scuffle as it wasn’t the easiest task, lifting a seemingly unwilling and tied up passenger into such a tall car, the tailgate closed behind him, and he settled in for the ride. He suspected that it might be a long one, given the locations that he knew the company to have been based out of before, which were all in big cities where it was easier to blend into the background. He estimated somewhere between two and four hours of driving time, so he took the opportunity to rest, even dozing off a few times.

The windows in the back were very darkly tinted, but he could still discern when they reached more densely populated areas, as streetlights became more frequent, highlighting the taller buildings that started to appear alongside the road. Neon signs flashed by and traffic sounds and redlights became more prevalent. They were close now.

When the car finally stopped, it was in an alley without any lighting, and once the tailgate opened, a less than pleasant smell filled the space. Old trash, mould, something rotting, and definitely urine. Omar reached in and dragged him closer to the edge of the boot, where he looped another zip-tie through the specialized hand-cuff version around his wrists, and wrapped that one around his neck, tight enough that he couldn’t pull it over his head. That way, his hands were locked to his own neck, making it extremely hard to use his upper body to fight.

“Alright, tough guy. I’m done carrying your heavy ass. I’m gonna untie your legs now and if you try anything, I’m gonna shoot out your knees,” he warned, pulling a gun from the back of his pants, “and I’m gonna enjoy it so much more than I should.”

From a pocket on his thigh, he pulled out a small wire cutter and cut the ties around his knees and ankles, making him considerably more comfortable, and obviously able to climb out of the boot and walk on his own. That would be Omar’s last mistake. One of many that night.

As soon as the man had showed him which backdoor that they were heading for, and thus, the correct building to go looking for his quarry, Pero quickly kicked the gun out of his abductor’s hand, before body-tackling him into a wall, where a hard elbow to his throat crushed his larynx. He looked so shocked as he drooped to the pavement, clutching his neck and feebly attempting to force air through the broken passage.

“I told you I would kill you for coming anywhere near my family,” he reminded the dying man, leaning over him, watching the life drain from his eyes, “Did you really think you could stop me?”

The man’s mouth hung open, twitching as if he wanted to say something, but even if he’d had enough time, his vocal cords had been destroyed. He died without a sound, joining the rest of the trash that littered the ally. Like every other operative within the company, no one would miss or claim him. Somewhat awkwardly, Pero dug into the pocket on his thigh, finding the cutter and freeing his hands, before turning his attention back to the door, but just as he was about to break in, a sound came from inside the car behind him.

A sound he knew. He reached for the handle to the backdoor on the passenger side, opening it to reveal something hiding under a blanket behind the driver’s seat.

“Groot?” he whispered, and the dog stood up, shaking the blanket off and bouncing up on the seat and out of the car beside him.

With a wagging tail and a happy grin, he accepted Pero’s confused pets along his head and neck, settling into his side as if nothing peculiar at all was going on. Meanwhile, the human was utterly dumbstruck, trying to understand how it was possible that your dog was there with him.

You must’ve sent him on the ATV’s trail, but he wouldn’t have been able to sneak into the car on his own, so you had to have been there too. Had you taken one of the horses? Followed them, caught up to them when they got stuck? If you’d overheard that conversation, he could believe that you’d figured it all out. And your response had been to secretly help him? Give him a better chance, better odds against whatever enemy he faced.

He assumed that the dog could be tracked, so you’d probably thought that it was also the best solution to have a chance at coming to his aid yourself, although he hoped you wouldn’t. Or at least, that you were too far behind to get there before it was already over.

“Hey, boy,” he crouched down, meeting the dog’s eyes, “Let’s go and end this, yes?”

Groot just kept staring back at him, that same carefree grin on his face, making Pero chuckle and shake his head a little. But once the moment passed, he steeled himself for what was to come.

“Okay, then… War.”

He watched the dog instantly go from happy companion to fighter and protector, at the sound of the most serious command the animal had been taught. ‘War’ basically meant that he should consider everyone a threat and be prepared for chaos. He would still protect his family, but now his primary focus was finding and eliminating the enemy.

Together, they walked to the door, Pero broke it open, and they stepped inside to meet his makers.

<><><><><>

Your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing for the entire drive and your eyes stayed glued to the device that displayed the real-time tracking data of Groot’s chip, while Dean drove as fast as he dared. He’d patched up the dog that was injured and Abby had stayed at his house to keep an eye on it, with one more dog at her side for protection, just in case there were any more unknown variables to this fucking mess.

The remaining two canines were in the car with you, and both you and your father were now in bullet proof vests, and there was a pistol resting heavy against your right thigh. You weren’t licensed to carry one, but with a military father, you sure as hell knew how to use one, even with your non-dominant hand, and right then you were about ready to do anything to make sure Pero got out of this alive.

Jones had been there when you’d gotten back to the house, cursing the mess of bodies that the dogs had left behind on the front lawn, some of whom were unidentifiable. But she’d not once suggested bringing her colleagues or forensics there, so she seemed to have accepted that this was a mess that was best kept hidden, for everyone’s sake. She may have grumbled about it, but she’d started hauling the bodies off the lawn herself, unbidden, bringing them to a rockier area where the remnants would be easier to wash away once the bodies had been dissolved.

She hadn’t liked the idea of you going with Dean to find Pero, though, just because of how dangerous it would be, made even more apparent by the fact that your father insisted that you be armed. But you’d had no intention of being left on the side-lines, and she knew you well enough to know when there was no point in trying to hold you back. That aside, you were as scared as you’d ever been before, sitting there in the car, following Groot into a completely unknown situation.

Dean turned into an alley where the black SUV was parked. You recognized the plate-number as the one you’d snuck the dog into while Omar was wrestling Pero into the boot, too distracted to notice that the rear-door moved. And since the indoor lighting came on as the tailgate was opened, there was nothing to give away what you were doing, as long as he didn’t look or move to the side of the car. But you’d had to make a mad dash away from it, once Groot was in place, because there was no adequate cover close to the vehicle. Thankfully, the thumping of your feet had been drowned out by Omar’s own frustration.

It was abandoned now, unlocked with the keys still in the ignition. And a quick inspection of the area revealed the abductor himself, slumped and lifeless against a wall, not far from a door that was clearly broken into. Whatever you’d been expecting, you weren’t surprised by what you saw. This had been Pero’s life for a long time, and he was good at it. But you’d only seen glimpses of that until that night. Pete had been something else, whereas this painted a very clear picture of the mercenary of his previous identity.

Your blood started rushing with the understanding that this was it. He was here, on the hunt, potentially in danger, but most certainly also extremely dangerous himself, and that you were about to risk your life to find him. You. The quiet artist that hated complications and always avoided trouble as best you could, only ever fighting, physically or verbally, when you saw no other option.

That night, it seemed, your heart made that choice for you. Because you never once considered turning back, trying something different, looking for ways to avoid the danger. You ran straight for it. Dean let the dogs out of his car, and together you headed for the door.

“From this point on, no verbal comms. Only hand-signals. If you run into trouble, though, scream your lungs out.” your father instructed, and you nodded, drawing your weapon as he did, and then you followed him inside.

The building was fully lit, and once you’d gotten past the first two corridors, it looked to be an automated factory, opening up into a large room where simple robots were shifting merchandise from conveyor belts to cardboard boxes. It was unlikely that your targets, either Pero or the company executives, would be down here on the factory floor. More likely they were somewhere upstairs, in offices or other spaces.

More than likely, this place was a front, although probably a legitimate business, hiding the real activities going on behind the curtains, allowing the Falcons to operate from a safe base that to the outside world looked like any old building. So, you searched on, quietly directing the dogs to either follow or lead, depending on the situations you came across.

As it were, what you mostly did come across were more bodies. Lots of them.

<><><><><>

He hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t expected the company to have expanded so much in such a relatively short timeframe. It used to take a decade to train new operatives, but he’d come face to face with a small army upon entering the upper floors, all of whom were expecting him and fought using the same methods he did, albeit not quite as well.

They were younger, though, and in better shape, and he was outnumbered, but he had one clear advantage (aside from the fierce fucking dog). Namely that certain things seemed to have been excluded from the recruits training these days, probably to save time. Most notably the ghost-movements that he’d always mastered better than the others. It had awarded him precious seconds of confusion among his opponents, allowing him to maintain the upper hand, again with tremendous help from the canine.

But moving like that had still drained him of considerable strength, so when the brothers had come to the aid of the final pair, both him and the dog had ended up captured despite their best efforts. Not smug or arrogant, the brothers had treated him like a family member they’d lost and missed and were only happy to have returned, even though he’d practically destroyed their company along the way.

So, now he sat there, once more tied up, to a sturdy and actually very comfy armchair this time, which he was destroying the upholstery of by bleeding on. His wounds were minor, though, mostly small cuts and a few bruises, nothing he was at all concerned about right then. What he was concerned about, was the fact that Groot was tied up in the same room, with his tracking chip transmitting his exact position to you.

Because he knew that you’d come after him. No matter how dangerous, you wouldn’t sit back and wait for someone else to rescue him. If you’d been that kind of person, you wouldn’t have gone after Abby alone, or taken out Nico on your own. When you felt threatened, you didn’t freeze, you worked the problem and tried to fix it. So, there was no question that you’d come, only how long it would take you to get there. And he had no idea what the brothers would do to you when you inevitably failed to free him.

Determination and guts wouldn’t be enough here, not against these people. Not even your father was skilled enough to best them on their own turf, especially not with the simple but effective surveillance system that would alert them to your arrival. A fear made painfully real when that very same system started beeping in alert while Oscar was talking to him.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this just perfect. Your family’s here, Tovar.” he held his phone screen towards Pero to show him the image that the system was recording live, of you, Dean and two dogs sneaking through the back entrance. “Let’s give them a warm welcome, shall we, boys.” he added, speaking to the last operative pair, loitering in the back of the room.

“Oh, and don’t hurt the dogs, if you can avoid it.” Fredric chipped in. They both loved animals and were active participants in the fight against the ivory- and rhino-horn trades. Bizarrely enough.

Pero stayed quiet, trying not to play into their hands, even though he knew that once they had you, they’d be able to force him to do anything they wanted. Something he already hated them for.

“I’m sorry that we had to go after you like that. You’re probably wondering why, given that our ranks obviously haven’t suffered since your departure,” Oscar started up again, still sounding like he was just chatting to an old friend, not a captive killer that wanted nothing better than to break his neck. “The truth is, though… all the recruits over the past ten years, admirable as their devotion has been, none of them have come close to you or the teams from your time.”

That was pretty much what he’d expected to hear, given that six pairs should’ve been able to stop him in his tracks, even with the dog’s presence, if their skills had been anywhere close to his. Oscar carried on.

“Back then, our success-rate was 100%. You guys never failed, not even when nothing went according to plan. Whereas today, our average percentage of completed assignments is at best, somewhere around 40%. And that’s unacceptable.”

Abruptly, Pero was too angry to keep silent anymore. This was too damn stupid.

“You are telling me, that an innocent family has been targeted, because you are unhappy with your own failure to create good killers?” he pressed, feeling a menacing smile spread through his features. “You had better hope I never get so much as an arm free, because I will use it to rip your tiny fucking balls off.”

His smile vanished, however, when barking dogs could be heard nearby. They wouldn’t do that if they were still on the hunt, so they’d either been cornered or caught. He glanced at Groot, but the dog was still, only his ears pricking occasionally as he listened closely to the continued barking, somewhere on one of the two floors directly below, Pero guessed.

And only a short while later, the door opened, revealing a subdued but fighting fit Dean, giving both of his captors a hell of a match as they tried to keep the small mountain of a man under control, and only just managing it. His canines had to have been locked in a room downstairs, which would explain why they kept barking, but couldn’t come to their master’s aid. More importantly, though… where were you?

===============

Link to Part 14

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#the stranger in the bar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x fem!reader #modern!pero #pero x fem!reader #pero x reader #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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