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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 days

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|| My fellow Colonel

Y’all asked for it and here it is. Whew, I wrote all of it today so here’s to hoping it is tolerably alright. Also, as an aside, I am just shy of 1k followers and that’s astounding to me. I had to rebuild this blog from scratch in December after two previous deactivations where I lost a similar amount collected over a far longer time. I’m truly so grateful for each of you who take an interest in sharing this little corner of the internet with me. Thank you, thank you!

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ with additional chapter warnings for gore and violent character death, brief mention of racial discrimination and a very dark headspace for Ida at times including brief yet crassly recollected sexual assault

April 1945, escape spoilers ahead

“Bitte.” Ida kept her hands placating, outstretched and harmless by her side, the most open expression on her face that she could summon as she stared the woman down, “Bitte nicht!”

For eleven days she and Smith and Cleven had managed to scrounge their way westward, evading recapture or altercation. But eating from the dead horses on the side of the road was out of the question, agricultural fields were churned to sludge by Amtrak’s and the small amount of wheat berries they found in one abandoned supply truck had long since ceased to fuel their weakening bodies.

They had passed by a camp, one that they observed from the shelter of the woods to be abandoned or liquidated, once used for civilian labor, judging by the signs. After a careful reconnaissance it was agreed that Ida should go and act on her hope that the commandant's empty dwelling may not have been completely ransacked. That there might be some leftover provisions either there, or in the homes of the other personnel. She had had no luck at the commandant’s, it had been empty, no luck in the next idyllic little shack either, only the eerie knickknacks of some bygone person whose vocation it was to deal in pure evil.

In the third house she had found jars of spoiled milk, tubers of some sort gone to sprouts but she did not care, she grabbed a ratty towel lying on the floor and made a sling for them. She was in the process of prying a loose floorboard up, anticipating some root cellar below when the whining creak of a sneaking step sounded behind her in the still place.

She whirled around in a crouch, half expecting either one of her companions or else one of the many starving children they encountered on the road. Instead, silhouetted inside the bright doorway there was a woman, in the uniform of a guard and with a Lugar poised at the ready. Ida felt a cold spike of fear at the flashing recollection of her last encounter with such a female, at the horrid misery that was Ravensbruck, the complete and entire lack of respect shown to her or her girls by these indoctrinated tools.

Ida’s grasp of German had been sufficient enough to keep herself and her companions away from suspicion in their occasional interactions with passersby. While she wore the heavy overcoat of a military man, it had no markings, and it was just as likely for some freezing civilian to steal it off a carcass as it was for an American female officer to be on the loose. Ida knew this and she tried to play at being dumb, pointing to the food, explaining in unstudied desperation that she was starving.

The female guard observed her coldly, her impassive face showing a certain lack of curiosity or even remote interest in Ida’s narrative that made her heart quicken with a presentment of a swift and sudden execution. She has seen these guards lift a gun, squeeze the trigger, and move on boredly all in the matter of a second. What about her own features or story were so compelling to prevent it?

“Bitte nicht!” She repeated again, choosing to take a step forward, eyeing the woman’s grip and posture, professional, soldierly, the woman left little opening for Ida to capitalize on, but she would rather get a bullet in the gut while fighting than be shot hunkering over stolen potatoes.

There was a darkening in the doorway, it caught Ida’s eye right before she timed her launch. It was Cleven. His appearance made her hesitate a moment too long. He had his arm barred around the guard’s throat in an instant but the pistol was out of his reach and one stride too far away from Ida’s grasp. Unlike the hapless children in the forest that had attacked them days ago, this officer had bullets. Ida felt the searing tear of its bite smart her shoulder, blurring her vision in pain before she rushed in, clasping her own hands around the pale wrist.

Cleven had the woman’s eyes rolling back with his grip, her grapple at his forearm growing feeble as her oxygen ran low. Another shot rang out, a bullet embedding in the ceiling rafters as Ida managed to wrench it away at last. She turned it on the woman and fired, only to find her luck run out again, as well as the chamber.

There was a knife in the guard's boot, both women seemed to think of it at the same instant as the guard became possessed with a final animated struggle to reach for it, desperate to break out of Cleven’s strangle. But Ida wasn’t about to watch another friend die, or miss her chance to go home, to bear witness to what her girls, her men, her brother were yet enduring, not to spare herself a fleeting moment of misplaced mercy. She dove for the boot, wrenched the knife free from its sheath and drove the blade in under the sternum, carving it upwards as she herself rose to her feet. Her wrist was fully in the chest cavity, arm covered with warm still living blood, by the time she saw the guard’s head loll impassively against Cleven’s chest, the soul finally gone dim behind the eyes.

“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back from the corpse, letting go. Ida felt the weight of the body in her wrist as her grip on the knife was all that kept it standing. She tore the weapon free with another sickly gush, and blearily observed it crumple to the floor.

“There are spuds.” she told Cleven as she braced her hands on her knees, nodding to her abandoned sack of potatoes. The edges of her vision were blurring from the exertion, her coat sleeve was soaked to the elbow, but she had a weapon now and a dead Nazi at her feet. Both sat well with her.

The potatoes bought them another days walk, with Smith using the ratty towel to wrap Ida’s shoulder, it was only a flesh wound. That evening they had another run in, but this time it was with the friendly faces of gum chewing yanks who were welcoming with their smokes and their K rations. Poor infantry boys, they were bamboozled by the existence of a female officer, the experiment of integration having only added to the flyboys somewhat derisive glamor. But it was mostly awe, and a healthy amount of respect, that they showed for the blood smeared lady Colonel.

“That make you one of Brady’s Banshees?” one bright corporal made conversation with Ida as he allowed her a seat beside himself on the hood of a tank, it was a hitched ride into Belgium.

“She is Brady.” Smith drawled for her, enjoying far more than Ida how gobsmacked the man was to be in the presence of feminine greatness.

They were welcomed warmly everywhere by their fellow allies, ferried like heroes on any conveyance possible. Smith was their cheery intercessor, knowing her superiors were of so torn a spirit and conflicted of conscience as to be half inclined to go back to where they came from. In truth, Ida could hardly bring herself to board the last plane -an unbelievable courtesy taking them from Paris straight to Thorpe- as all she could think on were what repercussions might have been exacted on the others for their escape. And what cruelties she had left her brother to endure without her.

Cleven was not much better; Egan, Maureen, all of them still left behind. As they took their seats on the benches, felt the old nostalgic rumble of the engines, not of a Fort but of a Gooneybird, what should have been a lightening of spirits as they soared over the channel was instead a dismal camaraderie of guilt.

That fateful night when they had all agreed to escape before crossing the Danube, the organization had been infuriatingly chaotic yet the groups were chosen with emphatic pragmatism. The guards were used to watching certain persons in company with their favorite fellows. The Bradys, the Buckys, Smith and Murph, each had some comrade the Germans expected to be their partner in any subversive endeavor. With this in mind, their agreed-upon groups were intentionally fractured to confuse their captors, each hoping to meet up somewhere on the road or in the forest.

Cleven and Ida had waited only a few hundred yards in the tree line for over an hour, hoping to be joined by their fellows. In the end only Smith came, with the word that the gig was up, Egan had been detained, John Brady never even began to saunter off before they closed the perimeter. No more were coming. It took all of Smith’s vicious logic to keep the officers from going back, she had to lean on reminders of reprisals and certain death, how they could in no way alleviate the suffering of the others by rejoining them.

What they could do was carry through, escape, go back to England, spread the word, liberate.

Despite this inner turmoil, Ida felt like kissing the ground when her feet landed on East Anglian soil. Or, rather, the cement of the old familiar runway. Instead she settled for Crosby‘s cheeks, the beaming fellow being so utterly honest in his welcome that some tiny part of her melted in momentary relief at having actually made it. That hadn’t really sunk in, not until there was an English mist pelting her face and Harry’s crinkled cheeks between her hands.

“A major?!” she repeated his rank and felt prouder than his mother in that moment while Harry blushed scarlet under the affirmation.

“A-and a father.” tumbled out of his mouth as a deflection except, that subject made a great hullabaloo too, with even Cleven growing exuberant in his congratulatory shoulder slapping. “What am I doing makin’ you stand out here, get in the jeep sirs, I’ll take you to a hut, or-or the club? Or the doctor?”

Both Ida and Cleven stiffened in their swing into the jeep at the last suggestion, a brittle defensiveness tightening their smiles, “Bed and board are all we need, thanks Crosby.” Gale gave him one of those devastatingly final little nods of his.

They kept him occupied and rambling on the ride, updates on new crews, new buildings, Jeffreys, Meatball, the improvement of rations, tales of bombing Berlin, the prospect of victory within reach. By the time he’d parked outside Cleven’s old barracks, Harry knew next to nothing about their own experiences, and he felt that somehow to have been quite calculated.

“There’s still a ladies sector, Colonel,” Harry assured Ida, much to her confusion as to why there wouldn’t be, “I’ll take you and Smith there.”

The old hut was as she remembered it, same as all the others, curved metal amplifying the patter of rain and the monotonous comfort of Air Force regulated bunking. It hit then, no more wooden combines or roadside shelters. She was really back.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Smith asked, the place eerily quiet, even for midday.

“There at- there at work.” Crosby offered haltingly.

Suspecting something dreadful, or as Bucky liked to say of her instincts -sniffing out bullshit- Ida slowly turned to Crosby and gave him a stare, one she recalled having once effectively shrank the man by a few literal inches. Perhaps because it was remarkably similar to her brother’s. Harry bore up under it better now, oak leaf cluster on his breast or a hard three years adding some spine to him, she didn’t know, but still his expression wavered guiltily.

“At work?” she repeated his phrasing, “That what the kids call war these days?”

“A few, a couple, -some,” he settled on, “are on missions. We’ve been uh, we’ve been running a lot of missions. Picking up prisoners -like you guys.”

“The rest?”

“At work.”

“Where’s this work?”

“Uh, well, various posts, you know how it is-“

“-grounded?” She supplied.

“Well, yeah. Just like Douglass and me and-“

“They badly hurt? Who’re we talking about?”

“Colonel,” Harry begged her, looking mildly close to drowning on dry land and sending a wet eyed sos at Smith, “dozens of them are posted here. Grounded yes, but, in good positions, required positions-“

“Did they get corresponding promotions?” Ida hit back, “Were they grounded because they were too valuable or were they hurt? Or did they just get squirreled away in some cupboard with a typewriter?”

“Look, uh, sir,” Harry chuckled nervously, “a lot of them are on missions, some of them are at their jobs -where I should be right now. But, it’s true, uh, the brass thought that, well they weren’t sure, Ida, when we got word you’d escaped we wanted to welcome you back right and uh, we didn’t know what to expect. We’ve had a lot of reports. Some reassuring and a lot…not. Not reassuring at all. And uh, we didn’t know what to expect, they didn’t know and uh, depending on how you were, it could affect the morale. So they thought, clear the place out a little, yeah? Make sure you were -you were…”

“Didn’t wanna scare the kids.” Ida supplied, tone softened, suspecting she probably did look half witch from all her trials.

“We didn’t know what to expect.” Harry repeated, a significant amount of relief bleeding into his voice, like he was going to get choked up on her mere continued existence.

“Well I need a change of clothes, and I need a shower.” Ida smiled at him until he gave her a fastidious look while glancing at her blood stained coat and she sent him a sour glare in return, “And a nap. And then I dare say nothing about me will be cause for alarm, not even for general LeMay.”

Harry was back to chuckling nervously as he walked his way backwards out the hut. “Of course, yeah, uh, we tried to supply uniforms, laid them out -best we could scrounge, for now.”

“Thanks Croz.” Smith offered, trying to soften the ending of this interaction.

“Before you go,” Ida stalled him, “tell me a little about the new ones? Who should I know? What should I know? Hate to wake up in here and have to start making acquaintances from scratch.”

“Colonel,” Harry answered her in the most mournful voice, “there aren’t any new ones.”

That old whiff of cold dread was back. “Crosby.”

“They uh, after you went down, colonel they, they scrapped the program.”

“You cannot be-“ Ida rubbed at her throat, trying to get it to open up, wondering what the hell it must be like to be Gale Cleven and get to come back to Thorpe Abotts and nothing be different, get to be home and get to find everything where it should be because your own higher ups aren’t fighting against you right along with the bastards with the flak and the barbed wire and the endless taunts about women being made for breeding. “Crosby what do you mean scrapped? They shut it down?” she wished she sounded angry, but she knew it was a cry, and to his credit he looked ready to cry for her.

“Colonel I’m so sorry, the reports were so alarming and the-“ he shook his head, “-they grounded all female servicemen right after. Cut the program, if it wasn’t for Kidd they might’ve sent them all back, discharged or moved to the WASPS. Well, they stayed, but, it’s not- it’s not what it was, colonel.”

Ida bit her lip, that old throbbing pain from the old injury of her cheek bloomed again, it felt like arriving at the stalag in one too many ways. “Y-you said something about, you said some were up on missions.” She wracked her brain for it and found it, that one bit of hope and she clung to it like a woman drowning.

“Yeah!” Crosby was over eager to soothe the pain with the modicum of good news he had, “They are! Rosenthal he uh, he’s over the squadrons now and uh, he’s seen to it they are allowed up. Mostly uh, mercy runs or behind allied lines, they don’t want anyone captured but, they’re up. They’re getting their thirty missions. They’ve uh, they’ve changed the number, since you were here.”

“Thirty.” she repeated numbly.

Harry’s footsteps had long ago receded along the gravel outside by the time Ida allowed herself enough movement to sink atop the pristinely made bed in her filthy clothes and just stare at the opposite bunk of equally pristine sheets and all of it so pristine and so rigorous and so proud and so pristine and so-

The echo of her own scream startled her, banging off the tin walls and circling back to her. Ida felt more than saw the implacable Tallulah Smith jump in fright beside her, but that level headed woman knew better than to soothe her officer. Not after what they’d just learned. She bit her tongue and busied herself sorting amongst the clothes and provisions for towels, combs, soap, toothbrushes. Ida watched this rich display of care on the part of their fellows with a snarl bending her lip, she could taste salt and knew she was also crying and all that she could hear amongst the cacophony in her head was a desperate wail -she didn’t want combs and towels, she wanted her squadron back.

Some aspect of this heartbroken petulance must’ve shown on her face as Smith extended both a comb and towel to her with forceful kindness, “LeMay didn’t lay these out.” was all she commented. “Think of it as Harry’s hospitality. You look a mess, and won’t get any respect for it.”

Smith had some vantage point from which to speak, Ida knew. Native American with bronzed skin just shy of being segregated twice over, getting screwed over was something Smith had made into an art form of cat and mouse. Ida had long admiringly observed it; she never thought she’d need to adopt a similar posture to this degree. Not when she felt like grabbing at the knife still in her trench coat pocket and making a charming scene and all it would get her was confirmation of the reports.

Whatever those were. Alarming reports, apparently. It was so very upper brass of them all to find the enemy’s methods unfortunate and so shoot themselves in the foot like it evened things out.

“I’ll be along in a minute.” Ida insisted to Smith from her bunk, refusing more than the towel and comb.

They’d all been through hell for daring to be combatants. But Ida, at this news of her loss, was beginning to recall particular parts of her own hell she had not dwelt on since they occurred.

Colonel -the way each had called her that, sneering at the mere concept of a colonel with a cunt, an officer so easily breached, a leader made by her Creator to be bent over and taken. She’d had a squadron then, and no amount of scorn or cruelty could take that from her; no, only her friends could take that away.

And they had.

Robert Rosenthal was giving himself a little pump up speech as he stalled outside with his hand on the door knob, knowing he needed to knock first and that knocking would buy him a little more time to ready himself, and so he really should go ahead and knock. The pattering drizzle on his hat brim should have been human incentive enough to get inside already, if duty and honor and admiration weren’t quite cutting it today. But he stalled, even went so far as to cast an indefensibly juvenile and furtive glance over his shoulder at the shrinking form of the accommodating lady who’d passed him on his march here. A Lieutenant Smith, who had told him she was glad to be back and that her famed superior was still inside-

“Angry as God after catching the Israelites worshiping cows at Mount Carmel.”

Rosenthal knew Ida Brady had every reason to be utterly furious, hell -he was furious for her, with her, about her. And he had no right to stand there and wish she wouldn’t take it out on him, to defend himself with shitty excuses like the fact a few of the girls got to see the top of clouds because he had put his shiny and promoted boot down and asked for it. He wasn’t exactly the problem, perhaps, but he was, by sheer implication of it being men like him unable to require better treatment, at fault. And so, Rosie stood in the drizzle and gave himself one last minute to think about Colonel Ida Brady as she had been the last time he’d seen her, terrifyingly formidable and utterly kind.

“It’s no worse than your dread of it, I swear.” she had told him and Nash that night before their first time up, “I was relieved to have seen it.”

What had she seen since? He stared at the little leather binder in his hand and scoffed at the administrative mission that carried him here. To hell with it. He knocked, he waited, he knocked once more, and he went in.

The stipple of rain on the roof of an empty Nissen hut was a calming background noise he himself savored whenever possible. Despite their bare aesthetic and extreme practicality, there was a serenity to them as well, and on spotting a seated figure a few bunks down from the entrance, he felt a pang of empathy for the desire to just decompress.

She looked up at the sound of his footfalls, not startled in the least. Not angry. In fact, she looked utterly dazed, like the men he’d helped out of their forts after a bad run of it. A face he’d seen in the mirror once or twice or a couple dozen. There was a docile listlessness in her gaze that he knew better than to be comforted by, despite the selfish feeling of relief at not immediately being eviscerated about her squadron. She was gaunt, understandably so, her strong jaw so pronounced he could cut his thumb on it, the pallor of her skin jarred unsettlingly with her dark brows, set off in stark relief by her tangled, jet black hair. Her overcoat was half muddy brown, half doleful rust. There was a bloody story there, a recent one, not washed away by a hard rain or bath. Rosenthal didn’t have any doubt how that struggle had ended for her assailant: she was here, wasn’t she?

He’d never seen anything more magnificent in all his life than this battered figure sat on a pristine cot with dawning recognition in her eyes.

“Welcome back, Colonel!” he ventured, keeping his tone soft as befitted the setting, yet unable to keep the creeping happiness at her return from showing in his voice.

“Mm, yes. Rosenthal.” Ida was straightening automatically, rising from her seat, shrugging off her clumsy overcoat and standing near to attention at sight of the brass on his lapel, “I remember you. A Colonel now, I see. Well done.”

Rosie felt his cheeks burn, another juvenile thing, her hand extended itself to his surprise and he clasped it warmly, maybe a little too firmly. “Well that’s kind of you, Ma’am. Very kind. Welcome back, Colonel.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Apologies.” he stumbled, releasing her hand in hopes of regaining his thoughts. She didn’t look angry yet, she looked wary, “Just glad to have you back. There was…a lotta concern.”

“It was touch and go but -here I am.”

“Right.” There was silence after that, it was so thick that the quirk of his kind lips and the gleam of his eager eyes slowly dimmed and fell as no small talk resumed. “Uh, colonel,” he ventured, “due to those aforementioned concerns, uh, I’ve been asked-“

“Aforementioned? What kind of talk is that?”

“Ha, well, lawyerly talk I’m afraid. I need to get a report from you, colonel.”

“For God’s sake man, I just got here, maybe with a shower and a nap and a cup of joe I might have a report for you but- I just got here.”

“Yes.” he refused to wince, he refused to. He was a colonel now, he had to require unpleasant things every day from his friends. Today it was required from a hero. Small difference in a war. “And if it were up to me I’d give you weeks to do all that before asking a thing from you. But I can’t, colonel. They wanted an immediate, preliminary report. It’s -it’s the same as an integration after a mission. Less interaction beforehand, less time to confuse the details- you get my drift.”

“You’re under orders.”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you say? God’s sake Rosenthal.” she was close to angry now.

“Sorry, ok, Colonel I-“

“Why the whole welcoming committee schtik? Just say what you mean.”

“It’s not a schtick, Ma’am,” he insited, heatedly, “it’s a genuine honor to have you back with us and a relief to see you safe. And yes, I have orders to get a preliminary report.”

“In future you can save us both precious minutes of our lives by being this forthright, please?”

“Understood.”

“Right, well. What’s wanted? What kind of report?” He didn’t fail to notice the sudden and very studied nonchalance that took over her gait, the way she leaned against the railing of her footboard, almost a slouch that made the lean line of her look entirely unperturbed. He wasn’t a good lawyer out of naïveté about such posturing. She was braced like hell for this, probably worse than he was.

“On uh, on your general treatment. Ma’am.” he decided to summarize it thusly.

“Well Colonel,” he had forgotten what a nice voice she had, it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t gruff, it was simply nice, “if Gale Cleven’s under eyes didn’t tell you the food was meager and hardly nutritious, I’ll go on record to say so. But they did try, I think I can give them that. Looked like everyone was starving by the end.”

“Conduct of your guards?” he had his stupid little leather case open on his forearm and the not quite soggy notepad in it was being dutifully filled with scribbles.

“I’ve little to say against the Luftwaffe, they were honorable for the most part. I think you’ll get that same report from the others. There were a few incidents, but we were enemies. To be expected.”

“Right, uh,” the pencil drug a little “this is a general report so I’ll spare an inquiry into those incidents.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?” Ida tried to smooth her face, she really did.

“Colonel -yes.” she watched him as he deliberated for a moment before seeming to recall her scathing admonition of before, and carried on resolutely in the bluntest manner he could summon, “Regarding your prolonged detention before the stalag. It’s our understanding you were not always under Luftwaffe jurisdiction?”

“That’s correct. Combatant status was not recognized for four and a half weeks.” Ida gave a clipped nod. “We were even briefly detained at a concentration camp.”

“I can’t imagine what you must’ve seen there.”

Ida stared back with some slight emotion flitting over her mask-like face at long last and Rosie felt maybe his own showed it, too, “From what I’ve heard, we may be the only ones to have left alive.” she said at last.

“Your testimony, what you saw there, it could become-“ Rosie drew in breath, “-invaluable.”

“I’d do anything to see justice done, Major.” she agreed, “Sometimes I think I dreamed such mass cruelty. Seems too large to be real, too awful to be abetted for so long by so many.”

“I saw what was left of one of the smaller camps. In Poland.”

“Mm, so you can imagine.” she retorted, but it was a kind retort.

“I don’t see much else when I close my eyes.”

“Mm.”

“Right, back to this uh, report, the question is, how were you treated before civilian status was adhered to?”

“Is this a personal report or a general one?” Ida inquired suddenly.

“The assignment was to ask about your own observations as senior officer of the female contingent of-“

“-then in that case, the treatment was barbaric, Major Rosenthal.” Ida informed him forcefully, “The Luftwaffe used plenty of rough tactics and one officer was particularly cruel to Cleven. I was informed my brother was dying and that my obstinance in denying giving them information was prolonging his torment. All of that I was prepared for, it was one soldier’s attempt to break another. The gestapo, on the other hand, were beasts. And the SS -sadists. They dealt in cruelty for the pleasure of it and my girls went through hell. Once in the stalag there was a reprieve. Then the Luftwaffe were relieved of command and it began again- if you expect details, come back with a larger notepad.”

Rosie gave a curt nod of his own in understanding, his brow creased at the implication.

“No one wants to see justice done for them more than I.” Ida went on, “But they’re still out there, and I’m here. And I-I don’t know that those are my stories to tell, Colonel. What I saw is plenty enough to hang a village. And it wasn’t just toward my girls.”

“At…at a later point, you’d be willing then?” he ventured, softly, no longer professional, “To tell me what you saw?”

“Larger notebook, Rosenthal.”

“Yes ma’am.” he knew a dismissal when he heard one, he even felt a brief and heinous relief at the prospect of slipping away on a high note. The dreaded scrapping of the program still undiscussed. “I’ll uh, leave ya to that shower.”

“It’s good to be back, Colonel.” she called to him while he was still maneuvering through a somewhat meandering exit, she called out this concession as if it were meant only in regards to him, “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

Well now that was -that was kind and that was unexpected and Colonel Robert Rosenthal may have let the door hit him on the way out.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #mota imagine #those who can #integrated au #Rosie x ida #mota fanfiction #Rosie Rosenthal #Robert Rosenthal #Nate mama #rosie rosenthal x oc #Rosie Rosenthal fanfic

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zzthekaiju · 2 days

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Best of the Reptiles in Media - 01 - Godzilla (Monsterverse)

I figure that while I'm using this blog, I might as well post my ramblings on a subject dear to my heart: That being the representation of reptiles as characters in media. And not just villainous or vile ones like we're so used to. I'm talking about ones that inspire me. The ones that are legitimately compelling to me. And these posts are an excuse to espouse why.

Plus, it's just fun. You can thank the likes of @tyrantisterror and @bogleech for inspiring me to do these.

So who better to start with than with the lizard who's been an inspiration to me for almost my entire life. That being the one known as Gojira. AKA...Godzilla.

This is the one character in these posts who probably needs no introduction. Ever since his debut in 1954, the walking embodiment of the horrors of nuclear war, among other things, has been nothing less than an icon. This is the beast people think about when they hear "giant monster" or "kaiju". This is truly the King of the Monsters.

My introduction to Godzilla was a children's book called "Godzilla on Monster Island". It was a fun read full of neat monsters living together and teaming up to stop an evil plan. And it left me wanting more. I wanted more stories of these fantastic yet friendly beasts being friends and living together while having fun adventures. Little me was a bit disappointed to find that Godzilla spent more time fighting his fellow kaiju and trashing cities instead.

The truth, as I would find out, was that Godzilla is never just one thing. He is a fun defender of the Earth. He's the terrifying consequences of our tampering with both nature and science. And in recent memory, he's been a lot of other things. But most of the time, he's either hero or mankind's hubris on two legs. To me, he was a giant dinosaur that could fire thermonuclear breath, and that was all that mattered. It was after hearing about the historical significance of him that my respect doubled.

Back then, I would tell you that my favorite Godzilla from a design standpoint was the 2002 version. Personality wise, almost every Showa appearance post-1964.

But in 2014, everything changed. In came a Goji that seemed to have everything I could ask for. So, we're going to look at the one that resonates with me the most. The Monsterverse version.

That right there is perhaps one of the most awe-inspiring entrances I've ever seen in a cinema.

Before the release of Godzilla (2014), the franchise had entered something of a slump period. The last film was all the way back in 2004, and sadly, the kaiju genre was still something of a niche thing growing up. Here in America, you either liked superheroes or real-life celebrities as a kid. If you liked monsters, let alone giant monsters, you were one of the weird kids. That, or one of the kids who never lost their passion for dinosaurs. But those were rare.

Then Gareth Edwards unleashed this film, and while one could argue that Pacific Rim (2013) got the ball rolling, THIS ultimately resurrected the entire franchise of the Big G, and got him a degree of general respect from most film-goers (so long as you ignore the irritating internet drama regarding screen-time back then).

But let's get to the meat of this post. Why is this Godzilla so much better to me than the rest? A few things, really.

First off, there's Godzilla's role in the Monsterverse's narrative. For the most part, he is a guardian of the natural order, a means of bringing balance to imbalance. He is a metaphor for how nature is capable of righting itself, and how we either have to deal with it, or live with the consequences. In practice, Godzilla ends up going up against almost every monster, most of which are only a threat because we awakened them/created them. Yet despite this, he doesn't go out of his way to destroy us. He's not mindlessly destructive or particularly vengeful either. He knows we're a part of the world too. We just tend to grate a bit more on his nerves because of how much we screw up. If there's one thing this series isn't afraid to show, it's that...well, "the arrogance of man is thinking nature is within our control, and not the other way around."

Design-wise, this is one of the best Godzilla's around. He's bulky, has a killer stare, and there's something oddly endearing about how...well, meaty he is. He's like if my aforementioned previous favorite design, the 2002 one, put on both a lot of muscle and weight. It also ties into his fighting style, said to have been inspired particularly by bears. Even the sounds associated with him are amazing. From that hype-inducing charge of his thermonuclear breath to what might be the best rendition of the classic roar.

Then there is the body language. This Godzilla's usual gait is slow, almost plodding at times. He shows clear signs of exhaustion in some scenes. What he goes through is hard, and his job is even harder, but he still does it. It really helps sell his personality most of the time.

Part of why I like the Monsterverse so much is that, for the most part, the kaiju are treated as characters in their own right (that's not to say they weren't in previous iterations, far from it, but it's a bit more pronounced here than most of the post-Showa stuff). Sure, some films in this verse are better about it than others (more on that later...), but I like how you can glean what Godzilla is thinking of just by looking at his eyes. Of particular note is how they widen in "Godzilla: King of the Monsters" when Ghidorah gains the upper hand during the final battle, his absolute sneer of anger in the first movie when the male MUTO approaches him, or...this.

This scene. This one right here encapsulates so much of what I love about this iteration. Where Godzilla, dazed and thoroughly battered by both the fight with the MUTOS and having a building fall right on him, locks eyes with a tiny little soldier. You see a sense of tiredness, of pain, of acknowledgement, and maybe even a little wonder. This is not just some mindless beast fighting for its turf. It's a thinking being. And he's hurt. The most powerful creature on the planet isn't invincible, neither on the outside and definitely not on the inside.

And you know what? I've been there. There are times where I feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world, that there are things too heavy to bear, and its suffocating. Godzilla constantly shows throughout the Monsterverse that his job as a living balancing act is wearing on him. He gets put through so. Much. Crap. From getting buildings dropped on him to being personally dropped from a distance above the clouds to watching his symbiotic partner/mate die, it's almost unfair how we're expected to not really sympathize with him as much as...I'll get to that later.

But he never gives up. Despite all the pain and fatigue, he gets back up, and he fights. And he fights. And he continues until the deed is done. Someone has to rise to the occasion, and it might as well be him. If not him, then who?

That is the biggest reason I resonate with this Godzilla. His awe-inspiring design is one thing, but he gave me the strength to persevere. I don't give up, because he never did. Never before had the Big G been such a hero to me. Such that in 2014 I found myself silently sobbing to myself when it seemed like he was dead near the end even though that was clearly not the case. It's hardly a surprise that I based my personal Godzilla AU on him, albeit with the more sympathetic traits dialed up. Stuff like this made G14 and KOTM some of my favorite kaiju flicks...

...which made it more than a little disappointing when Wingard took the helm and basically said "screw that, this is about the monke now!" Yeah, GvK is the weakest entry in the series for me for a reason. Godzilla's more redeeming qualities are buried under a narrative that clearly is not interested in giving him the time of day or even the benefit of a doubt. Both it and it's successor, GxK, are Kong movies through and through, and that means poor Big G is put out of focus.

I cannot tell you how much I HATE this idea that the only way a monster can be relatable is if it either looks almost just like us or is really cute. Yes, I understand the universal appeal, but they had such a good thing going for Godzilla! And they throw almost all of it away just so that they can make Kong look better by comparison.

Credit where it's due, these issues are slightly improved in GxK. It's not only firmly established that Godzilla is an overall benefit to the world for keeping the other Titans in check, but we get some interesting bits with him like how he instantly responds and prepares to answer the call of the Iwi and help them. It shows that despite his tenuous relationship with humans, there are ones he clearly gives a lot of thought to. And there's also how he makes the Roman Coliseum his own personal bed. Not only is it kind of hilariously adorable, but if you remember how in KOTM he had his own man-made temple, you get the impression that he has a bit of homesickness. That's the kind of thing I like to see! More of that and less "he's only ever angry and he only ever fights, character is for primates only".

Also, while the Evolved design has nice details, I WANT THAT GUT BACK! it just looks weird otherwise with that disproportionately skinny waist.

But thankfully, our prayers might be answered:

With GxK's roaring success (ha!), it's more than likely that the next Monsterverse entry will finally give Godzilla an overdue character arc that doesn't begin and end with "destroy everyone and act big and scary and nothing else". Just please make sure that he doesn't have to die to get that. There are plenty of ways you can make us invest in the guy's story without having to kill him. I WANT to see more of that emotional vulnerability teased across the movies. I want to see him come to terms with how he's been going about his job. And more importantly...I want to see a more explicit Mothzilla scene. A nuzzle and everything. But that's just me.

Whatever the quality of his current status, nothing is taking away how much I love this version of Godzilla. He's taken me out of some very dark places, and for that, I say long live the king.

Also, he brought Mothzilla into the public sphere and every Mothzilla pic made since is the cutest thing ever, so I just love him even more.

#best of the reptiles in media #ramblings #godzilla #gojira #monsterverse #godzilla 2014 #g14 #godzilla king of the monsters #godzilla vs kong #godzilla x kong: the new empire

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followerofmercy · 2 days

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Idk if I already screamed about this but I'll do it again. The way Childe realizes there was a disconnect between his opinion (or what he'd been told) about Arlecchino and the reality her kids live in, and then IMMEDIATELY jumps on the opportunity for more information.

He's a smart lad! He's sitting around getting juiced up by a child without adult supervision like "this isn't how kids act when their father is insane and evil. What gives?"

(also that these kids are alarmingly similar to his own siblings and that he can't keep his head in the sand about how much he cares. They're not faceless Hearth soldiers anymore. He's invested)

So he goes up to Alrecchino later and the Traveler is conveniently there to give him extra leverage, so he just starts asking Arlecchino questions! And he threatens her!! Because while he is willing to change his mind, he's just gotta let her know that he cares about those kids and Will fight her about them.

Which in turn, massively improves Arlecchino's opinion of him! I feel very strongly that she wants people to see her as an antagonistic force against her own children so they're more likely to support the kids. The whole "omg your dad sucks. I'm here for you whatever you need." So, when Childe threatens her, she's like "Ah. You're doing exactly what I had hoped you would."

I forget if he threatens her before or after she actually starts answering questions. I think the theory stands either way, but there's more evidence if she gets much more forthcoming AFTER he threatens her

Idk. It's a huge mark for a character's intelligence that they can piece together THEMSELVES that their ideas are wrong and then go out and correct them.

#childe #genshin spoilers #Genshin #Arlecchino #character analysis

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onesidedradiostatic · 6 hours

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Real talk

Im sooooo tired of Vox always being portrayed as the victim and Alastor the only one 100% responsible for their friendship falling apart

Did we all suddenly forgot that Vox is a terrible person too? He brainwashes his audience, he supports Val, he is willing to offer his lowest employees for Val to kill, he's also prob abusive to his employees as well, he stalks pretty much everyone, he has like 5 cameras inside Angel's dressing room, also it's like implied he's jealous of Angel because he gets Val's attention, him being jealous of Angel for being a victim of abuse is pretty messed up if you ask me. Oh he also told Sir Pentious to fucking kill himself and he also gets hard of seeing people in pain and get hurt! (Sure it was Alastor but still messed up)

" he looks so sad at the end of stayed gone when Alastor threatens him I feel so bad for him:(("

Really ? Well maybe if he had just kept his little hate boner for Al to himself instead of feeling to need to start publicly slandering him it wouldn't had happened. Just saying. Also I don't see how people feel bad for him. If anything he looks so extremely pathetic it's laughable I want to kick him

Okay this is kinda out of the point I want to make it's just many people who make him the victim seem to forget he's a terrible person so I just wanted to friendly remind everyone that he's as awful as Al ^^

Anyway

I think, we should acknowledge, that it's a complicated, and probably tragic, situation. What if, maybe, they're both as equal at fault for shit going down hills for their friendship. Vox because he doesn't respect others wishes and cannot take no for an answer, he prob tried forcing Al to move on with recent technology, which Al hates. ((His request to Al to join the Vees also prob meant catching up with the nowdays stuff and new technology, like the rest of them)) and Al because he was prob unnecessary cruel and brutal with his rejection.

I don't think Al was just using Vox like I've seen many people say. He allowed Vox to take a picture of them together. For Al to do that I think it confirms their friendship was genuine. "Ah but it's Alastor so that means it was fake cuz he's an evil manipulative bastard who only cares for him-" You're wrong, but also right lol. He's an evil manipulative bastard, but , he's also capable of genuine friendships with others (( did y'all forget Rosie lol? )). What I think happened is that, time passed , things changed. Vox became obsessed with new technology and tried to force Al to follow in, Al didn't like that, but instead of communicating with eachother and solving their problems by talking it out and respect eachother's wishes, they had an unnecessary argument and fight. They're both to blame for this, they're no victims in the situation and it's okay you can still sympathise with eithers side

Also people who make Al the villain for like not returning Vox's confession and feelings in most One sided Radiostatic videos/fics I've seen-- yikes.. I really hate that I have to literally say to PLEASE don't villiantise the aroace character for being aroace and rejecting confessions. It's extremely ace/arophonic (and yes I get to have a say to this, I'm a replused aroace videos/fics like this genuinely make me feel negative emotions) even if he was extremely cruel with his rejection -- villiantise the fact that he's an asshole- not his rejection.

yes I agree!! this is essentially a consolidation of points I've made before ksdlfglg

like yes, alastor's an absolute shithead but I think there are some people who forget that vox is also... not a good person. I don't think there's anything wrong with there being sympathetic aspects to vox but I feel like there's such a huge amount of fanwork where he's the only one portrayed sympathetically without showing his own bad points in their relationship, and I absolutely hate it when alastor is fully blamed for how vox is now and vox is seen as

yeah

vox got pissy at a rejection, that's not being able to take no for an answer, that's incel behaviour LMAO

feel like there's something to be said about people feeling the need to sympathise with the one with unrequited feelings compared to the one who has to deal with someone expecting romance from them when they don't feel the same. does it have to do with society's expectations about romance that unrequited feelings are more sympathisable?

but yeah I am glad that at least the "complicated" part of the description of their relationship implies to me it won't be as simple as "vox was the poor victim and alastor was just using him", I think it is much more interesting if there's no clear victim and both were at fault in a way

#ask #osrs.txt #I'm gonna avoid heavy tagging because I don't wanna attract discourse #onewaybroadcast #okay to rb if you want though

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obstinaterixatrix · 3 days

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I recently got my first office job where I am interacting with my coworkers regularly. do you have any evil conversation skills that you think i should learn first

1. Figure out the easiest/most comfortable ways to say the whole spectrum of soft no’s to hard no’s from a scale of ‘genuine regret (invites future attempts if scheduling allows)’ to ‘polite deferral (respectful and evasive, somewhat firm)’ to ‘stone-cold shut down (professional Fuck You)’; you gotta know them all and you gotta be able to deploy them as needed. or at the very least, you gotta know how to give yourself time so you don’t automatically say ‘yes’ when you don’t want to.

2. The easiest way to make a good impression on people is to balance being useful and making others feel useful, which means offering some of the specific knowledge/insight you have and also asking for/acknowledging the knowledge/insight of others. offering/asking can be a weird balance, sometimes for some people in some contexts it comes pretty naturally, other times I find myself parsing out one (1) resource bit by bit to gauge whether someone’s actually looking for it or if it’s received in a lukewarm way. If ‘useful’ can’t really be a selling point at the moment (e.g. starting with zero experience rather than having an established knowledge base in a new environment) then you can always swap out ‘useful’ for ‘interesting’. know a charm point you have that can hook other people’s interest, know how to find and highlight other people’s charm points. If you want a mutual relationship it’s better to make an effort to share equally (for some people that means intentionally holding back, for other people that means intentionally speaking more), but if you’re just trying to coast it’s usually easiest to keep turning the conversation back on them and track topics the other person can get chatty about (pets, kids, shows, how they’re doing, etc).

hang on those are too reasonable and not evil but I’ve typed it all out so I’m not deleting. so, there’s a bunch of worksheets about ‘rules for fighting fair’ and if you ever meet a coworker you fucking hate then you wanna take those rules and do the opposite of all of them in order to have an on-purpose bad faith conversation and to make it as miserable for everyone as possible

1. If the coworker you hate is trying to talk about one specific problem, disagree with whatever their definition is and refuse to compromise

2. Bring in as many stupid tangential asides as possible so their original point gets buried

3. If you want to be legit evil, always imply or directly state that whatever they’re going through is a personal problem and a Skill Issue

4. Always find a way to vaguely disagree with your coworker. If they have a good point, say ‘Well, no, it’s actually like [basically rephrasing their point]’; you can either be subtle about this (negging) or blatant about this (The Mansplainer)

5. There’s a limit to how disrespectful anyone can be as a new employee. Find that limit and keep just short of it.

6. Always deflect and blame someone else, or if there isn’t someone to blame, have different excuses at the ready for anything that anyone might take issue with.

to some, evil communication skills is to win. but I think the most successful (insufferable) application is when the point is to make everyone as miserable as possible. I’m not trapped here with you, You’re Trapped Here With Me. also I wouldn’t actually recommend doing many of these things if you want functional working relationships. but it’s good to keep in mind if you’re ready to go nuclear! but more seriously, I do think these are important evil communication skills to learn because if you recognize someone using them against you, it gives you the chance to make strategies based on their behavior. 1. If someone is disagreeing with you any time you try to express a problem, shut down the conversation and reengage with a mediator that will be fair to you; 2. if stupid tangents keep showing up, it’s up to you to be the terrier with its teeth sunk into the mailman’s leg; etc. anyway this has gone too long and someone else should probably be giving more legit advice

#ask #anonymous #whoops this got long #oh almost forgot #congrats and good luck! hope you don’t have to use the evil skills!

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alexalessandro · 2 days

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I had a dream about the bad kids and they were playing the next episode and during down time brennan says something to riz and he utters the phrase:

“Why, WHY? I earned my shit beans with chungledown bim! Not now!”

And then after a fit of laughter from the intrepid heros gorgug says “honestly riz don’t you feel bad that even if we ever encounter/fight chungledown bim he will not be looking strictly at us but beyond us? (At fabian)”

And then i woke up. I don’t remember much more context but murph was probably rolling either mystery or relationship on an evil person like maybe stardiamond

#thank you for coming to my ted talk #fhjy #d20 fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #fantasy high: junior year #fantasy high junior year #chungledown bim #gorgug thistlespring #riz gukgak #fabian aramais seacaster

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ophelian-darling · 10 hours

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𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Yandere Suguru Geto x Female reader.

Summary : Blessings form in different shapes and bright in different colors; Love being the fairest and liveliest one.

TW : Obsession, minor character death, discrimination, pregnancy, manipulation.

enjoy ♡

It is divine to think how hell would be regarded into grotesquely crimson images within the human imagination: Sufferance is too common, wounds as a thorn prick and lasts as a heart's ache, Yet consider this when we think of heaven: purity- innocence of Eden in its prime, everything that sources its beauty and continence from a glass sphere no soul ever stepped on, farthest from the nearest paradise which we -so far- know of. Every now and then, the glass sphere's page of the sky would rain glossy drops, bright in the charm of a moon's haze, kissing earth's soil ever so gently after a long fall through the dark space. The drop; a seed of everything that derives all good in this life, either blooms into flowers, little joys that are worth living for, or even people- lost angels on devil's land.

Suguru believes he has an eye for perfection: the images of others reflect on his irises and pass, be a fragment of a forgotten dream and ghost in a corner within his anamnesis. life ought to be lived as a sort of a sweven, destined to be erased once the reaper sinks in its teeth; Not like you have much of an option as a sorcerer, you just keep fantasizing and drawing rose-colored glasses about a life you know you can't have, sighing when conjuring a dear friend's lineaments, feeling a warmth under an eyelid when a beloved's smile flickers through a faint image of cogitation. a needle of duty had sewed up every passage to his heart; there was no horizon to look up to, except that one of exorcising curses to no end, saving that little part of happiness that was rightfully his to others who already had a fair share of it.

Suguru would burn the candles of thought and wander around a series of scenarios: what would it be like to love? What color is romance and what taste are kisses? There must be a reason why the moon was put on a pedestal of artistry, or a color of blood to abridge all tongues and words of ardor. There had to be a reason why someone was so eager and willing to hand their hearts on a platter to someone else, someone who was looked upon as the apple of eye. It seemed absurd: humans are merely products of vice, planted to sin and harvested to destroy, every letter and word they utter weighs nothing heavier than a lie, So why would such a morbid creature empty the jar of heart on another morbid creature? It is a wounding, shameless lie.

Cease to feel and halt to sense, there was no meaning in draining the amphora of emotion on someone, a one who can't taste curses to know how much of a grace it's devouring. it's pointless to break the glass of heart over a bod that ignores your agony to indulge in its little world of pink lies. He just wishes- Only if, if he slices that part of him that screamed of humanity everyday, the part that made him extend a wing to shield the helpless from their demise… He hated having a heart.

Once during a green summer, one that had a breeze of May and the pink warmth of Valentine's day, The sphere wrapped a blessing in a curse's fabric; a gift so pristine it competed with the glimpses of eternity with a smile and tore the horizon's edge with a kiss, a form of life that its existence on this cursed land was the vilest injustice ever committed towards its chastity. The Angel; now blossoming from the sphere's seed into a human with flesh and blood, nerves and bones, eyes and a beating heart, is left to be stained and tarnished, munched and swallowed by the imperfect- the bad seeds, the swirl of everything evil. a tear of a curse could lace a sea of blessings, and you had to be protected: from the serpents, the devils, the flawed, or anyone else that wasn't him.

"Y'know, Suguru, sometimes when I look through your eyes, I can see you fighting yourself, as if you were your own worst enemy" You started the conversation like this, so casually, with no hint or intention of digging too deep into his psyche.

July, casting blazing rays and nearly melting the shadows outside, while the pair of you decided to remain in class for no obvious purpose. Suguru didn't mind having you around, aware that you weren't going to engage in tittle-tattling, leaving him with the room to think. It's been a long year.

With a strike of sudden concern, and maybe a little suspicion, He directs his whole posture towards you, noticing your relaxed position on the seat beside his. a silence of something that was about to begin stretched before he asked "What do you mean?"

a Winter night smile drew itself on your lips. In a movement of Bonnie Parker leaning on her motorcycle, you faced his confused comportment, rolling your eyes playfully before replying "You thought that no one would notice? That's cute. but I must admit, you're so good at hiding it, even Satoru wasn't able to see it, I'm surprised!" something brightened in your expression, contradicting the words you just said. As if you were Suguru's Anima; you spoke so confidently, insisting on extracting a part you didn't like of him.

And that confidence stirred a certain sentiment within him. something he would see as… vulnerability?

He stared.

Another silence, silence of an absurd play, one that the audience certainly didn't need to absorb the scene.

You continued "Amanai was a human like any other, someone with dreams and hopes, fears and triggers, and a family- and a lot of friends. she lived her life to the fullest… Well, maybe not completely, but at least she had some taste of blessing before her death. people aspire to horizons, living enough to reach it and sometimes not, savoring both sweet and bitter times before kicking the bucket. But that's not what we're talking about here"

His eyes couldn't get any wider, the images played slowly and vividly while the cassette of that memory didn't seem to stop.

"She's a vessel that can be replaced. Lord Tengen wasn't in that need for her anyway. But are we sorcerers any better? no. we're replaceable as well, unless you are Satoru, which we aren't. Yes, we are strong, but still replaceable. The Jujutsu world needs to continue existing or else cursed spirits will blow everything to bits, and of course, we're the only ones who can keep it going and exorcise these creatures."

Your fingers twiddled with your necklace, rolling it slowly as your tongue flowed. "I wanted to go everywhere too, I wanted to have a lot of friends to love without worrying that they'll die at any second. I wanted to wander around and behold flowers and snow without seeing an ugly cursed spirit…"

His tongue wouldn't unwrap, au contraire to his thoughts. his mind moved as fast as forgetfulness would spell, drinking in all of your heart's tears. Perhaps, after all, he wasn't the only one who awakened to a harsh knowledge.

You, are special.

"It's not fair… why should I be the one who gives up on their happiness to save people who know nothing of my sacrifices…"

"I-.." your rant comes to a halt, a veil of guilt slides down your expression.

"Sorry… I didn't mean to remind you of… back then, I talked too mu-"

"No." He interrupts, his usual resting face painted over.

"You can continue, I understand you…" Suguru smiles.

Ever since the curtain on your heart was pulled, you seemed to confide in him more; drifting away from Satoru and Shoko slowly and subtly. He didn't want to think of it, yet these pages of poems and lines of serenades whispered something to him everytime he looked through you. She must be unhappy too, Unhappy people are sensitive to the unhappiness of others¹. and to confess, it balmed a little comfort on his soul to see that misery brought you together. Day by day, both of you would speak for hours, crafting an imaginary horizon where everything was a haven for a winsome world, goodwills falling like spring rain. Night by night, He who becomes the one to count the nights, scripting his nightdreams and rehearsing his hopes to a shadow of you that lingered in the corners, only for every word to blend into space once the daybreak spills through the clouds.

Your voice; it is the voice of his mind now. The shadow of you is melodizing his thoughts and troubles of the heart, lulling his reveries and caroling his visions. The pages of romance flip like petals in the wind: as the silk of your vocal cords tailors the letters with red and pink, he is finally allowed to relish the true colors of so-called love. Yozo² is no longer fool in Suguru's thinking, for wanting to die alongside the one he loved, which Suguru Geto himself now, secretly, hopes to achieve with you.

"Have you ever thought about death?" Green-colored smile, surely wasn't grayed by anything. Suguru just thought, what did you think? Did you want to be with him no matter the place?

The roles have been reversed. now you're the silent one; you were sure that you did talk too much that day, pouring your wounds into him that now they're his wounds. Guilt stinged your heart, only if you remained silent back then.

"Um- yes, I'm already accepting it, we're sorcerers after all…" you struggled to compose a thought he'd like, it came out as what a child attempting wisdom would say. speaking to your friend has become a difficult task lately, you didn't want to lose the thread of thinking you shared together, and he seemed quite pleased to talk to you.

He chuckled.

"Never thought of making it better for yourself at least?"

What…

"I used to think so too. But slowly, I'm finally able to see what I was too blinded to see. Remember when you said that you wanted to have a lot of friends and go everywhere? that's rightful of you to ask- but you can't get it whether you plead for it or not. I'm telling you; I know it very well when I say you can have everything you want if you step up and take control." stated he.

As if looking for any other person who seems to notice that there's something odd, you glanced around. nothing was in sight except the trees and grass of the long forest line.

His face didn't move when he continued "You see, we forgot that we were stronger, smarter and more skilled than the ordinary, say evolution theory: creatures go through a long process of development to become advanced in brain and muscle. some reach the highest stage of development and become a human, while others simply stop in the middle or never start, thus remaining monkeys"

For some reason, you imagined yourself operating on his brain: cleaving the front of his skull with a sharp scalpel, lifting up his scalp in a way a box of chocolates would be opened, unwrapping and milling his brain convolutions, looking through his memory and mind's eye to see when and where these ideas have crossed his mind so you can uproot them- it is your fault, you filled him with so much tangles for a sweetly simple soul as him.

"...And since monkeys can't survive on their own, we were the ones who would acquire and use their talents to establish Jujutsu and save them, doing it out of kindness and altruism, they give us curses and we cure them in response, continually and with no recognition of our merit…"

Something in his eyes twitched; he sounded as if he was letting go of an ancient burden, the Messiah's cross thrown off by his back.

"... You, me, Satoru or anyone who uses Jujutsu is the purest form of life on this earth, we're destined to rule as much as we were to protect, to punish as we were to love. we sorcerers are chosen by the heavens…"

"...Monkeys must die." the corners of his mouth were altered to a frantic excitement, seeming like he'd seen after years of being dim sighted.

It is a blessing to be ignorant.

It started out subtly. Suguru would continue smiling- the line and twist on his face metamorphosed into one you have no knowledge of: it was strange, uncannily simple and eerily sweet, more of looking at a portrait of a goner and less of seeing a friend. His compassion faded, a mock-lively kindness replaced it, by the nature a moonlight would mimic a sunray's warmth. it is not change, nor epiphany; your friend was dying with no hearse set or heart settled- Suguru slept to no awakening so the priest in Gojo-gesa can breathe to every aspect of life.

Eyes that used to behold the blessings in everything are now glaring with violence, gnashing its teeth to whoever and whatever didn't wield any cursed energy. it is visible for you to only see, all of the ink and blood jarred behind his eyes, masked perfectly and contained in a patient smile he wore to his subjects— our subjects darling! he would say, giving you a saddened look, as if his gift of a thousand obedient monkey wasn't enough to thrill you as much as it did to him.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he murmured, holding your hand. your eyes pierced the reflection on the vanity glass: a husband and a wife sharing an intimate moment, scenery of a devoted Genji holding a torn Fujitsubo³ and kissing away all of her distress. you switched your sight towards his hand, the one that stroked yours, the one that had on its ring finger a silver band twirled.

“And I'm willing to offer you everything I have, anything you want” He placed a kiss on the crown of your head, billing and cooing in his words “I just ask for a little smile in return, or a little ‘thank you’ for everything I do to us”

“You're taking advantage of innocent people, Suguru”

He scoffs “Are they really that innocent?! All they do is cause destruction and corruption. you're too kind to even call them people” the last word dropped like a glob of mercury, heavy and tarnishing. he's annoyed for sure that you ruined the romantic mood by mentioning monkeys yet again.

“You're murdering people who came to you for help, Suguru…”

You saw it without looking at it, the flash of rage and loathing, with all its redness and heat a fire had less or more of. you hoped in despair ,maybe there's still the lingering blush of compassion in his heart; the comity of your dear friend Suguru, not the hatred of your husband the monk. His fist flew in front of your face, grabbing your chin and rotating your skull to his penetrating eyes. for a second, a thread was pulled in your chest, cutting your heart with a feeling of fear, was he about to strike you?

“I told you thousands of times… those you cry for so much are. not. people. Do you understand me?!” He pressed on each word, heavy breath fanning your face. you could only look back and try not to recoil under his gaze.

“They ruin our lives, they kill us, they cause suffering and they taint this earth with their filthy emotions… if it wasn't me who gets rid of them and cleans their trash, only heaven knew how much time left for us to live…” he digs his nails into your flesh, gritting his teeth at you “They made you unhappy, they tried to kill me while I was risking my life to save them everyday!” he raised his hands in the air, snarling with full volume. you're sure that Nanako and Mimiko are in another room hearing, and utterly aware of their agreement and devotion to Suguru.

Frantically, he unwrapped his Gojo-gesa and threw it on the floor, shooting you a glare while he freed himself from the sleeves of his haori. his stare kept lining yours, and when he stripped from the white hada-juban, you've seen it, as if at first sight.

“Shouldn't a wife support her husband?! Why do I feel like everything else except for me matters to you?!” He yelled. it is not the first time you see the scar on his chest, in fact, you've seen it too many times that its lines were as familiar as the dimness of your eyelids.

“Whom am I doing this all for?! for us! for our family! they're just like us, they've been belittled and cursed by monkeys and they had their happiness snatched brutally from their hands… all just because they were sorcerers” he calmed, yet not eased judging by how sharp his expression was. He dropped his arms to his side, reaching to cup your face and force you to see his eyes “You were hurt too… you begged me to save you years ago… you do remember the day we sat together in class and talked”

You do remember.

The echo of that hour reverberated through his eyes. in their dark shade, you watched a reflection of yourself, helpless and gray, sew the first threads of his insanity. you wished if life had been a little more cruel and tore off your tongue before you ever got the chance to speak with him.

It's you who chiseled the priest.

He feathered a finger across your cheek, crooning honey “And you remember our dates too, all the kisses and embraces, our wedding and our nights together…” serene as a sea in spring, animating the past into a sweet lull. his eyes smiled to you, cording your heart when continuing “You love me, you love our family, our paradise— and him” His palm spidered to your stomach, stroking the node of flesh “You would never abandon him, would you?”

Can you even? He sojourned far in, tethered to you through a wall of flesh with a string stretching inside of him. the memory of his existence would carve lines in both of your bodies even after his birth.

“You're so selfless, that's why I fell for you darling” whispered he, drinking your silence in taste of obedience. Was there any release from the cuffs you wrapped around your own wrists? Suguru wasn't an imprisoner, he just smelted a bracelet you wished to wear, eager to please and in hunger for your praise, while you, in words and smiles, altered his brain to see in dark color.

“Why don't you say you love me?” he coated demand with love, pouring foam on your ears in a whisper.

Your skin felt light underneath, like you could walk out of it as a coat. In times like these, when he gave affection and demanded it back, you could only say one thing, unlike a full colored prism of flirtation he can murmur to you.

“I love you so much, Suguru…” at first, saying it was like uprooting a rotting tooth, but as time passed and your tongue knew the taste of lying, it became like picking a fruit.

He smiled “Good girl…”

His eyes glinted in red “...I love you too…”

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aleksanderscult · 2 months

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#the darkling #pro darkling #for them ✨delulu is the solulu✨#maturing is realizing how problematic the narrative is by “showing” that a centuries long prejudice can end either by using peaceful soluti #or by not dirtying your hands at all otherwise you're a villain for doing so #according to these books: are you trying to fight fire with fire? JAIL! YOU'RE EVIL!#grishaverse #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova #grishaverse trilogy #shadow and bone #anti nikolai duology

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be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie · 1 year

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The fact that nobody has thought of a fastfood au where Spider is this neglected teenager working at McDonald's so that he can save up to like move out and get away from Qauritch (he's so desperate to get out that college isn't even on his radar atm) and Neteyam is this popular boy at their school who's is a year younger than him and comes in to McDonald's with his little sister frequently and Spider doesn't think he even knows his name but one day on their way out Neteyam turns to him and says "have a good day Spider" or some shit like that and the romance only grows from there with Neteyam figuring out his problems and trying to help him/get him into a good collage and I mean honestly people the fic just writes itself.

UGH I LOVE IT, I am simply shocked no one has written me personally a nocorro fic yet. A nice long one with all the pain and drama we've been describing but I want the COMFORT TOO PLEASE.

But anyways, you've brought up something I've been mulling over for a while now for one of my headcanon posts. Part of Neteyam's pressure and expectations come from him being the next Olo'eyktan. I can't figure out how to translate this into a modern au. Most of the time it'd be easy to make him the heir to a big company or the son of a politician in a weird Young Royals way, but clown couple Jake and Neytiri Sully simply do NOT have the vibes for that, nor does it fit their characters. I've thought about maybe Neytiri's family running a large non-profit that Neteyam is somewhat expected to take over, or perhaps something like the free clinic in my other au.

Either way, the reason I bring it up is because I love the idea of them both having similar but fundamentally different problems to bond over. This is what I mean, bear with me:

-Spider works at McDonalds to save money like you said. He's barely got any friends because he just moved there from another one of his dads deployments, and he's so busy picking up every possible shift he can that he can. He needs the money. He opens before school and closes most nights.

-Neteyam picks up Tuk from ballet practice at night on Wednesday's, because it is his parents Date Night. He gets his sister McDonalds one night because he stayed up way too late studying for an exam last night and he's far too tired to cook. The drive through is manned by the prettiest boy ever.

-By the third Wednesday Tuk is suspicious, but he keeps buying her McDonalds as a bribe to keep her mouth SHUT about it. At least, she keeps her mouth shut to the family. She won't stop talking to him about it. It's always "Neteyam, did you see McDonalds Guy today? I think he goes to your school, he has to. Neteyam, if we go to McDonalds tomorrow will he be there too? Does he only work Wednesdays?" She's like his inner thoughts because he wants to know all those things too.

-I mean, it's only a matter of time before Tuk opens her big fat mouth TO Spider. She rattles off personal questions like she's the goddamn census, and Neteyam wants to die.

-But, he learns quickly that Spider is a military brat and he wants nothing more than not to be in the military. It sparks something for Neteyam, because he wants nothing more than to be like his parents, and do what they do and do it just as well. It's the same sort of long shadow, just a different tactic for getting out from under it.

-Tuk is sick the next Wednesday mysteriously, but Neteyam is still craving McDonalds.

-It becomes a regular thing, but not on Wednesdays. Wednesdays he starts sometimes bringing Tuk home for a regular adult meal. But Thursday's he spends at McDonalds, and he brings Spider real food in Tupperware containers marked with the name Sully like Spider has other Tupperware to mix it up with.

-Somehow it becomes almost every night. Doing his homework in a booth, Spider joining him when he's free, sliding in and out. Neteyam's full attention on him every time he has a free second.

-One night Neteyam invites him over. Neteyam stayed until closing time and suddenly can't bear the thought of Spider going home, to no one if he's lucky and his dad if he isn't. Spider refuses and after that they don't speak for a couple days, silence in the booth. No one says anything but Neteyam still shows and brings Tupperware, and Spider still slides in to join him when he has a free moment.

-Eventually Spider agrees, and Neteyam is forced to show up at close to nine pm with a stranger that he has never mentioned but Tuk is DELIGHTED to see.

-Jake and Neytiri are confused but can recognize a tired, fairly neglected kid when they see one so they offer up the basement couch with no fanfare at all.

-Neteyam is slightly peeved because he was going to have Spider share his bed, it's a king it's plenty big enough, but Neytiri wasn't born yesterday lol. Even Jake is like nah nah, you've been gay since we watched the first Percy Jackson movie kid. Go have a sleepover with Tsireya or something.

-I think Jake Sully has a fairly excellent gaydar, honed from time in the military. You gotta know which guys to fuck. @dinas-bracelet this is the bi Jake Sully agenda.

This is a bonus because this is already FAR too long:

-Neteyam gets increasingly exasperated because no matter how many nights Spider is there or how long into their relationship it gets, Spider downright refuses to move from the basement couch. He will cling to it like a cat if Neteyam tries to move him. He goes boneless and becomes a dead weight.

-Finally Neteyam just sleeps down there one night. This concept has clearly never occured to Spider, who upon realizing there is no moving Neteyam (he can go boneless too, damnit), lays there stiff as a board mummy-wrapped in blankets to keep Neteyam's hands off of him. When he falls asleep though, Neteyam gets in there. Spider is unconsciously tactile, and basically spoons him the entire night.

-The next morning Neytiri walks into the basement to check that Spider is awake for work, turns around and goes back to the top of the stairs, and then walks down again really loudly to alert them to her presence.

#this is fairly all over the place but oh well #it simply JUMPED out of me #sometimes the headcanons hit me at the right moment and the right vibe #and i love matchmaker evil child sibling tuk who loves spider and loves torturing neteyam #this basically became a neteyam character study #him pining for spider from afar #you can't tell me neteyam isn't PEAK i can fix him vibes #he so thinks he can fix him #every fight they have in this theoretical fic would be either spider being bad at sharing feelings or neteyam trying to fix spiders #problems for him #that is our mans toxic trait #neteyam sully #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #nocorro #tuktirey sully #jake sully #neytiri sully #avatar #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #melissa on avatar (cameron)#melissa's asks #we are mindmelding get in #modern au (wheelchair jake! edition)#modern au (jake legs! edition)

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