#having such a stark human connection is so jarring to him

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

[ TRUST ] for a scenario where sender’s muse is the only one receivers muse will let close. ( Robin )

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐂 𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃

The gargling prayers and pleas had long begun to mingle into a single, choking drone bleating from the mangled body below him. He had lost count of the strikes; how many times his blade had wedged itself between Haruko's ribs or plunged down into her precious heart. Not that it much mattered, anyway, for Robin found himself captivated by the shift; that pathetic whimpering and weeping was a welcome reprieve from her previously barbed words. It was an unfortunate truth that Haruko's voice held an unsettling power over him, and it seemed she had only searched him out to indulge in her advantages. Pity for her that he was not a patient man. Taunt after taunt she berated him with rather scornful observations that burrowed quick into his mind to hide away. It was simpler this way; the guttural noises that filled the space were far more satisfying than those verbal knives she had earlier hurled at him.

Anything to get her to stop talking about it.

"It" being merely an answer he did not want to hear, a resounding "yes" where it should have been a sharp "no". The way she looked at him when she said it too, so confidently, so sure of herself - even now, splattered in blood did she appear happy. As if his violent reaction had simply validated her stance.

Do you truly perceive me as a man capable of such gentle ministrations?

𝒀𝒆𝒔. ... 𝑰 𝒅𝒐.

His aching knife hand, however, finally found pause when a single stick crunched behind him; a deliberate act, of course. Robin knew that his usual visitor would never actually accidentally reveal themself, they were far too clever for that. They thrived on the thrill of the chase, the unseen dance of predator and prey that Robin was usually all too pleased to take part in. But by now the remnants of life now splattered around him had stained Haruko's beautiful dress from the soft ivory of the Holy Virgin into a sickening garden of crimson offal, and her killer found it difficult to turn away from it all. A quiet, very small, flicker of relief fell over him though, as he recalled the horror of his previous encounter atop the clock tower. He could not handle another episode like that — perhaps it was a good thing he had expelled all of his emotion onto her.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐, 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔, 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒊𝒕, 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔, 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒚��𝒓.

You are ignorant. Now I beseech thee; rush homeward to your husband.

The gentle downward tug on his lip alerted him to the sticky strands of bloodied saliva that grotesquely connected his mouth to the gaping, festering wound leaking unceremoniously from the lovely column of Haruko's neck. Another step from his Ghostly companion, and before he could stop himself - an animalistic bark erupted his throat as he snapped his head towards Ghostface. Wide eyes glinted in the lowlight of the backwood like shards of glass, while stained fangs bared; like some starving animal prepared to defend it's kill at all cost.

After a moment, the revelry fell to a haunting lull, leaving only the sound of his ragged breath. With trembling hands, Robin slowly removed the blade from its gruesome duty, quick to yank it free from Haruko's breast, and tossed it into the dead grass beside them to be swallowed by the earth itself. Then, with a desperate urgency, he brought the length of his sleeve to his mouth, wiping away the evidence of his insatiable thirst. As if that could erase all of what had been seen.

"I fear dying an obedient lap dog. I fear being trapped in a cage for eternity."

Was he what Ghostface feared most? A starved ratling scrabbling around in desperate search of its next fleeting morsel? Stuck forever at the mercy of his God ...? Even if it was so, the Grave Walker persisted with ludicrous devotion, returning time and again. Was it from some twisted sense of care? A foolish idea Robin thought rather stupid. Or was it to jeer at him? Somehow that was worse. No. No. Not you too. Robin hated it. He hated this vulnerability, this clarity that stripped away the blur he had mulled in over the centuries, all of it lost the moment his vision crossed that woeful mask. He loathed how intimately aware he was of his own sharp, cypress gaze softening — dissolving, like the last vestiges of daylight spilling into a tranquil, sun-kissed lake calm enough to reflect the abyss of Ghostface's hollow eyes.

━ 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.

Ah yes, that had been the last, delicately placed attempt at pity that broke his demeanor; the absurdity to grant him such kindness. To act as though he was merely a pitiable, pathetic welp — a fragile thing deserving of mercy! To want … mercy for him. Over and over. In and out. Ruthlessly he sought to reclaim the dignity that had been stripped away by her impudence, plunging cold steel into her delicate form until his arm had begun to ache and strain from the motion. Each stab was a vicious attempt to get the maiden to take back the foolish words that had ignited all of this chaos; to let his mind forget about what he was.

But she never yielded.

Haruko just … watched him without any fear in those navy gems she called eyes; even dulled by the veil of death she held a gaze that seemed to pierce through the last sparks of his soul, as if challenging him to reconsider the depths of his madness. Haruko had died hours ago; that much was evident in the rigid chill of her body, still he found himself consumed by a twisted compulsion to continue, to savage what remained of her until — wintry brows suddenly furrowed downward as a wave of frustration crashed over him once he turned back to the corpse, horror momentarily gripping his heart once he found the her already half lost to the Entity's spindling legs dragging it deeper and deeper into the dirt.

Confusion clouded Robin’s features as he gawked at the woman's death mask, taking note how the once-familiar contours of her visage had been nearly obliterated by the devastation he had wrought upon her. How could it be then, amidst the horror he had inflicted, that Lady Kovacs' spirit still seemed to weep? He could hear it. Echoes of soft whimpers drew his gaze to the stark canyons of her bronze skin where the blood had retreated, leaving traces of a raw flesh in their wake. Long, winding rivulets of skin emerged from the red-stained landscape, each one carved its mournful path along the curve of her body. But his ascending gaze found no storming clouds above, nor even the faintest sign of rain falling from the oppressive gray heavens.

It was as if the very notion of tears was foreign, something he was incapable of understanding let alone feeling; so instead he could only stare bewilderedly at the droplets falling onto her face.

"I … "

Too many words were fighting along his tongue, yet as soon as his mouth opened to allow their freedom, a wave of nausea surged through him and twisted his stomach in a vicious knot of protest. The Sin Eater was practically trembling in his spot, paralyzed by his own weakness. Each breath now a struggle as he fought against the tremors that threatened to overtake him. By now Haruko's beautiful face had shed away and curled those pretty lips back, and Robin was unable to rip his gaze away from the worm cleansed smile before him. And equally helpless was he to stop the constant repetitions of Haruko's deep voice in his head. Suddenly, fueled by a surge of rage and desperation, he propelled himself to his feet, fists clenched at his sides as he spat his fury at the lifeless form under him. “Shut up! I’m in no mood!”

Up came his boot to crash down onto her body, snapping bones and squelching in the torn insides now out. Eventually her cadaver was shattered enough that it disappeared entirely into the Entity to leave the two ghostly figures alone amidst the destructive scene that had been left behind. A hat thrown, once neatly tucked and braided hair now a waterfall of soft glistening snow; and Robin's furious tears streaming down his cheeks as he collapsed back down onto his knees and squeezed his hair in frustration, his stare flickered around him, as if he were pleading with an unseen audience for understanding, "Just, everyone shut up! — I need to think."

Each tear clung to the gentle curve of his lashes, each one settling and shimmering like dew kissed pearls upon lily petals. With a heart pounding in trepidation, Robin turned his gaze upwards, his eyes searching for answers, for comfort, for anything to make sense of the havoc swirling around him. Now along with Haruko's words he also wrestled with the disbelief of Danny’s presence; the thought of his friend returning felt surreal, surely it just an apparition born from the depths of his fractured psyche. A cruel trick, a twisted jest played by his own fraying mind. Why ever would they return to him? Let alone stay after seeing such a revolting display of despair. Of something so dreadfully human. He couldn't envision a reason for them to stay. Kindness wasn't something he was given. Mercy was not something he was given. So, just as the weight of his misery threatened to crush him, Robin's voice finally emerged — a whisper, shaky as a newborn fawn, crossed his trembling mouth:

"A-Are you real … ?"

[derekscorner]

Fated Rantings: Ground Zero

I finished Fate Zero

And what a ride that was. I don't even know where to start with all of this which shocks me because I went in knowing things would go to hell.

I started my whole Fate journey due to lore videos, curiosity and FGO so (just like the 2006 Fate Stay Night) I had a full grasp of what would happen. To be shocked anyway just goes to show that the cast and their dialogues sell this story.

There's a stark difference between hearing plot points and watching Gilgamesh slowly poke at Kirei's mentality. There's a difference between knowing that Blue Beard is summoned by a serial killer and seeing them discuss the nature of God.

And there's one hell of a difference between seeing memes of Iskander & Waver and seeing what is possibly the best bromance within Type-Moon.

I went into this expecting Saber to be a bit too idealistic and for Kiritsugu to be a badass only to leave it finding Kiritsugu the least interesting compared to everyone else.

Magus Killer Indeed

Now, I do not say that to imply that he lacks depth himself. Kiritsugu is unique in how he operates within his magic world and you're not supposed to view him as idealistically as Irisviel or Shirou do, he's a flawed man with a very fucked up history.

This man, like Shirou, wanted to be a hero of justice as a child. An innocent enough desire but one that was both never tempered in realism and was shattered by realism.

What I mean by that is that Kiritsugu is plagued by a paradox. Yes, the village being turned into ghouls and murdered was bad. Yes, Kiritsugu killing his own father because he felt that "he had too" is a very dark sign of his mentality even as a child.

But these things haunt him, they do not drive him. What drives him is his desire to be that hero. When his world is shattered he takes a dark approach to kill the few to save the many.

It's that pursuit that eventually shatters his goal with the realism of humanity. You can never truly save everyone, other humans will always ruin it.

But the realism that pushes him to try anyway is the grail. In this world the wish granter is real, tangible, thus the paradox. He fully believes the goal shattered by realism can be salvaged by the realism of the grail's existence.

He's usually so pessimistic and realistic in his approaches to the war and battles that it's almost jarring to see his character break once he learns that the grail can't just do anything. You can see that last bit of idealism in his soul die.

Worse, the grail taunts him. It can only grant a wish that a human themselves can understand. As an example;

you can't ask for fire if you do not know how fire operates.

Thus the grail shows him a way to grant his wish but that wish grants nothing. This is very crucial to his breakdown because the grail showed him in the purest terms that;

This is your way of saving others but ultimately it saves no one

That's the point of the boat example. No matter how many you sacrifice for the whole, the survives will further fracture. There will always be a minority and a majority, Kiritsugu's life was essentially pointless in the larger picture.

Now, it'd be too cruel to say his life had no meaning at all. He was willing to sacrifice his mother figure and mentor to stop an undead outbreak. He killed his father because he felt responsible for his actions and Shirley's death.

He had to have done some good, it just wasn't in the way he had hoped. The greatest tragedy here is possibly that he's unable to see it.

We the audience see it in those rare moments of him being a father to his daughter, to Shirou, or a husband to Irisviel. People were drawn to him and loved him and if he had stopped his pursuits for them he may have found a happier ending.

True Emptiness

Then there's this true demon of a man. For all the talk, the praise of their battle, and Kiritsugu's own foreshadowing, I expected a deeper connection between the two.

It's strange, you can't just bring up Kiritsugu's flawed mentality without mentioning Kirei's yet the two only physically met one time. It's fascinating because I expected a bigger grudge or more plot relevance to their dynamic.

Yet, at the same time, their lack of interaction makes the eventual fight more interesting because of where Kirei starts and where he ends.

Intriguingly, Kiritsugu pegs Kirei near instantly. He only had a mug shot and some info on his life but he could instantly tell that there was something very wrong with Kirei. He sensed the lack of love and emptiness and feared him the most.

In contrast, Kirei didn't know Kiritsugu as well as he believed. Half of his emotional journey is realizing that they're not as alike as he thought.

This is best shown in his battle with Irisviel and Maya. He assumes Kiritsugu sent them there to battle him and he can't comprehend it when that's not the case. In his mind he is fully incapable of understanding why those two women would choose to face him.

He can't comprehend the illogical actions love will drive one too.

That said, the far more interesting dynamic in Kirei's life is Gilgamesh. While Kirei fails in his assumption of Kiritsugu and lacks a full understanding of himself it is Gilgamesh who sees through Kirei instantly.

Their talks are some of the most interesting parts in the story because you can tell Gilgamesh is trying to make him realize his own nature. Gilgamesh has no grand reason for doing so, he's just bored.

For all the dorky shit Gilgamesh does, for all the moments of him being oddly good with kids, or a good king (in FGO) you can't forget that Gilgamesh defies morality. He's not above it he just does not consider it.

He seeks entertainment and Kirei is the most interesting thing there. A full grown man unable to feel yet subconsciously seeking too. The answer is always on the tip of Kirei's tongue. (he's in self denial)

It's truly fascinating to watch it unfold. This ancient demigod taking a mentorship-like role just so he can see what Kirei will do.

It's due to these talks of introspection and Kirei's other actions that I find it hard to see the duality of he and Kiritsugu. What ultimately awakens Kirei's understanding is watching Kariya's suffering.

Gilgamesh may point it out but that's moot. It's Kariya's motives that catch Kirei's attention most, it's the drama with Tokiomi that fascinates him, it's saving Kariya and using him later that makes it click for Kirei internally.

You could possibly argue the whole thing is Tokiomi's fault. He gave his daughter to the Matous and even if he was unaware of the torture she'd endure for years that- no wait.

He possibly went wrong the moment he schemed with the church. Watching the Tohsaka's and Kariya play out their drama awoke the monster that is Kirei but it was Tokiomi's fault Kirei was there at all.

It was also Tokiomi that summoned Gilgamesh....hmm there's a lot more to ponder there I guess but let's move on.

I can only praise the depiction of Kirei's awakening so far before it seems like I like his character or adore it. It's fascinating to watch but he's still a monster that shouldn't be walking among men.

The Best Fate Bro to ever live

I wanted to use the last section of this to talk about the best fucking boy. I do not care what anyone tells you, Iskandar is the best bro in the Fate universe.

The very first thing this man does upon being summoned is find a map. With the enthusiasm of a child he admires it looking for where his kingdom is now and seeing the world mapped out in whole.

There's something that is just genuinely pure about Iskandar in Fate/Zero. No heroic spirit is without questionable actions in the modern lens but this story does a good job of blending that by explaining Iskandar's motives.

He has a genuine love of seeing new things. That joy is so pure that his wish for the grail is to be reincarnated so that he can begin his conqueroring anew. I have no earthly clue how he thinks he'll be able to do that in a normal mortal body but no matter because I doubt he's thought that far ahead himself.

His patience in dealing with a prideful child is also second to none. His words are often full of small wisdom to the point I did not keep count of them all nor could I explore it all. He's always pushing his master to try new things and it takes root overtime.

It is very easy to see how Waver could become the popular Lord El-Melloi II in other materials. It all began here, regardless of timelines, there's usually a Waver that fought in the 4th Grail War with Iskander.

I'm not even sure what to write about Waver himself because so much of what made the impression was seeing him slowly changing due to Iskandar's influence.

In a mage society that belittles him for being "new blood" it is Iskandar that continually tries to open his eyes. That's highlighted best when Waver tracks down Caster easily using simpler methods due to his magical limitations.

He views it as bad but Iskandar makes a good point. To do something in a simpler yet equally relevant way (perhaps even better) is a talent worthy of praise. Waver doesn't recognize his own ingenuity nor does he realize that there's merit in someone who can think around their limitations.

It's the core of their dynamic and that moment when Waver goes from being his master mage to his subject is beautiful. That strong loyalty born over the story even saves Waver's life.

Gilgamesh spares him based on that undying loyalty alone. A far cry from where Waver starts.

Kingly Mentality

Before I lose myself in the praise I should point out that Iskandar is no fool. Yes, he rarely plans in Fate Zero and his pure love for the new and patience shapes his bond with his mage.

However, do not mistake that pureness for a simpleton. Iskander is simply straightforward to a fault. His greatest characteristic is that friendly straightforward nature he has.

He's the one servant that repeatedly stops to talk to the others, he's able to get them to talk when they normally wouldn't, and even when he expresses desire to take them into his army those present do not get that offended.

Gilgamesh, the king of arrogance, even begins to shrug this off. On some level he respects Iskandar's nature because he is true to himself.

Still, some do think his attitude toward Saber is bad in regards to the banquet of kings. Now this is tumblr which is bad for seeing what isn't there to begin with or it's twitter which has lost it's critical thinking skills long ago.

What do I mean by this? Simple, while Iskandar and Gilgamesh disagree they at least respect each other as kings. Similarly they disrespect Artoria as king but for differing reasons.

To Iskandar a king is someone who stands above men as a symbol of their ideals. Something to follow, a larger than life person to show them the way.

What lost Iskandar's respect for Artoria's kingship was her wish. Her desire to undo it all, even if for good reasons, is an insult to Iskandar. No matter how tragic he would not change one moment of his life because that would affect everyone that fought for him and with him.

He sees Artoria as a slave of her people and the ideals she was raised on rather than a king that's truly led and valued her men. It is here that some have issues.

We'll argue King Arthur another time, what's relevant is why Iskandar views it. The tragic thing being that he is not entirely wrong.

Artoria was raised to be a king, she was conceived in convoluted magic ways to be England's king, so when he says that he only "sees a girl who could not chase butterflies or fall in love" he is entirely correct.

I do not say that dismissing her choices mind you but she did sacrifice that normalcy regardless. Iskandar, as we've covered, enjoys life at it's core.

So what he sees in Saber is a girl who was denied life. She could not truly enjoy it which disconnected her from her people. He views it as sad and states that one reason for recruiting her into his army is to show her otherwise.

Now as to whether he could have is another topic entirely. What's important is that he can't respect her as a king because he sees a martyr not a king.

The Fate Route of the FSN justifies his views to an extent because Saber eventually finds some things she denied herself in Shirou. She ultimately just needed a chance to be a person and Iskandar wanted to help her do so.

There are some faults in his thinking, yes, but his intentions aren't negative nor his his disrespect of her kingship based on sex. He fully respected Saber as a king until he learned her wish.

Even after he respected her as a warrior and wanted to see her enjoy life...and cut down his enemies BUT STILL.

Conclusion?

Already? So abruptly? Kinda. This got too big to fit into one post and there's a lot I can't find a way to organically work in.

Such as Tokiomi's dumb ass making Kirei Rin's guardian when his wife is perfectly healthy and alive when he writes that will.

Or how Gilgamesh views Saber just as objectively and disrespectfully as you'd expect. His take on her kingship and sex is completely negative and objectifying, a contrast to Iskandar.

Hell the whole mutual respect and differences between Gilgamesh and Iskandar.

I also didn't get to the odd but unnervingly deep take on God between two mass murderers. (Caster & Ryuunosuke)

I definitely don't have it in me to cover Kiritsugu's family. Illyasviel is more of a FSN topic and Irisviel is hard for me to quantify. Her love for her husband and of the small things he showed her was beautiful though.

Oh well, ONTO PART TWO: https://derekscorner.tumblr.com/post/737301977761005569/fated-rantings-seiba-pt-2#notes

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For my other experiences with Fate go here: https://derekscorner.tumblr.com/tagged/fated-rantings

[jackoshadows]

This is just going to come off as me hating on Sansa, but if anything makes me believe that George would kill her off it would be the fact that she's had such little growth over the series in terms of actually learning/being taught politics. I always see people greatly overestimating her intelligence and accomplishments so it's hard for me to believe she's meant to outsmart LF. We only have two books left and she isn't even questioning him yet. She definitely could get that development but it would be weird for George to wait until the last two books to do so. I think it's more likely she has a part in it instead of being the sole reason. Her story has always seemed more about showing others plotting and adding suspense because she doesn't fully grasp the situation rather than being actively involved herself. That's just my thoughts on it though.

While GRRM has talked extensively of the lack of the 5 year gap with respect to Arya and Bran (He mentions in interviews of specifically wanting an older Arya and Bran Stark) IMO, the character most affected by the loss of the gap is Sansa, who really needed that time jump and off page development because the author has not written in an organic growth over several books for her.

Which is why I felt that even the Alayne TWoW sample chapter comes off as sudden, jarring and out of place with a newly confident Sansa flirting with Harry and talking about how much she loved the Vale and felt alive there. Seems to be a bit of a disconnect with how her last AFfC chapter ended. Still, I do think that with two books left, Sansa will start quickly connecting the dots - she has to for GRRM to wind up the LF character and plots there.

I do think GRRM intends for Sansa to take LF down, even if she ends up dying in the attempt. Sansa's been closely connected to the character since book one, there's the parallels between Sansa and Lysa (mirroring the parallels between Arya and Lyanna), the Sansa/Catelyn connection wrt LF and LF being one of the important human antagonists of the series. Sansa is an important POV character that keeps the reader connected to Littlefinger until GRRM decides that his story is done.

Which is why I am in the minority of opinion that it's Sansa and Ladystoneheart that are going to end up meeting/interacting through the Riverlands/Littlefinger story, first because I really, really want Catelyn/LSH to have a role in taking down LF (Revenge is a dish best served cold and I love vengeance!) and secondly in interviews GRRM has hinted at there being some kind conflict brewing between Emmon Frey and Littlefinger over being Lord of the Riverlands.

The Vale is closer to the Riverlands than Braavos and Arya in the Riverlands would be a retread of her ACoK/ASoS plot when she has more plot important things to do in the North - IMO. I am listening to AFfC right now and even Brienne's story there already feels like a retread of Arya's narrative themes in the Riverlands.

That said, if Arya does end up going back to the Riverlands for whatever reason - for ex. when she is helping/leading Northerners fleeing the Others or to figure out the food situation for the starving North - it could also be here where she and Sansa settle their differences after a reunion with LSH.

[aceofshitposts]

there was talk of android tim on the server yesterday and it made me think of my alien au so uh here we go. mostly me rambling.

-

"You let a goddamn synthetic on board?"

There are other things he should be worrying about currently. Like the alarms blazing around them as their ship entered engine failure or the warnings that oxygen was going to run out. But instead of all that Jason is singularly focused on the slight form behind Bruce, one hand held up to his neck, white liquid leaking out between his fingers.

"Tim isn't-" Bruce tries to say, hands held up as if he was trying to calm a wild animal. That was fair, Jason supposes, he certainly felt like one right now.

"Bullshit! Look at it," Jason snarls, gesturing towards the still leaking wound on Tim's neck, "after everything that happened and you let this bloody thing on the ship with us."

Tim doesn't flinch or show any emotions from Jason's outburst, staring steadily at him with those bright blue eyes. Jason should have known from the moment Bruce introduced him to Tim, nobody human could have eyes that colour.

"That's enough, Jason," Bruce yells over the pounding in Jason's ears. "We have more important things to worry about-"

Which is right when something hits the side of the ship, causing Jason to lose his footing as the ship rocks and the world goes dark.

.

Jason wakes suddenly, eyes snapping open and body jolting upright in a single second. He's sitting along a river shoreline, huge deciduous trees rising above him. He twists around, spotting a dark blue hoodie he recognizes as the one Tim was wearing on the ship bunched up where his head had been.

"You're awake," Tim's voice drifts over from somewhere to Jason's left. He's carrying a small bundle in his arms and Jason easily sees the large bandage fixed to the side of his neck.

"Stay the fuck away from me," Jason snarls, scrambling backwards and away. "What happened, where's Bruce?"

Tim sets down the bundle, a bag filled with ration packs, and backs away. "You hit your head. Bruce instructed me to take you in the escape pod."

Behind Tim, Jason can see the smoking pod, presumably where he got the ration bundle from. If Bruce told Tim to take the escape pod, that would mean he stayed behind on the ship. Fucking self sacrificing bastard.

Tim keeps his distance, never coming within ten feet of Jason while he eats and Jason tries not to think about how jarring it is to see Tim acting so distant.

No, this was the way he was supposed to be. Every mannerism, every laugh or smile he'd send in Jason's direction were fake.

.

"You can find him, can't you?"

Tim turns to look at Jason, expression still blank.

"Connect up to the systems in the pod, we can find where the ship crashed."

"I can't."

"What the fuck do you mean you can't? You're a synthetic."

Tim's face scrunches in the first show of emotion since Jason found out.

"I can't connect to the ship like that, I never could."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," Tim snaps. "You can believe whatever you want but I wasn't made for that. I wasn't made for- for anything. I agree we should find him but it's not going to be easy."

.

"What did you mean," Jason asks later. When they're far from their crash site and trekking through the alien forest. "When you said you weren't made for anything."

Since they agreed to start looking for Bruce, Tim has been quiet. It's a stark contrast to the rapport they once shared back on The Dark Knight. Jason had been pissed, at first, about Bruce taking on another apprentice in his absence but the months of going on missions together had worn down the edges.

He'd come to like Tim. Too bad Tim was a lie.

"I'm... a third generation auton," Tim says haltingly. "You've heard about the rebellion, they got synthetics to make new synthetics. Then those, the autons, rebelled. My parents were two of the few surviving.

"They were discovered and dismantled. Bruce rescued me before they could get to me too."

Tim never spoke about himself much, before. It was obvious why, now, considering he wasn't even human.

"So, a couple synthetics got it in their heads to make, what, a kid?"

Tim doesn't answer.

-

"What in the goddamn fuck was that!"

"I don't know, just keep running," Tim shouts back, hand pressed against his side where some fucking alien stabbed him with its tail.

They were doing fine, making good ground, and then night had fallen and apparently there had been a reason they hadn't seen a single other sign of life until now.

Tim will be okay, Jason tells himself. He's not human, he's not going to die from a stupid stab wound. He doesn't care beyond knowing there's strength in numbers.

He doesn't care.

He doesn't.

-

"You don't have to do that." Tim's voice is quiet, firelight dancing off his face. "It'll repair itself eventually."

"And you didn't have to push me out of the way," Jason retorts, pressing a bandage to Tim's wound.

"You would've died. I couldn't let that happen."

Jason flicks his eyes up to meet Tim's, sitting back on his heels. "Because B told you to protect me?"

"No. Because I wanted to."

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

HOTD: Ryan Condal & Sara Hess

I do think the recent interviews from Sara Hess and Ryan Condal were condescending and patronizing, as though fans are unable to understand nuance and complexity and the term “morally grey”... Completely conflating the issue to mask a larger, more legitimate concern. “He’s not Ned Stark or Han Solo” or humans aren’t so “absolute”, when we all understand perfectly human nature. It’s very insulting. The audience understands that he has dark traits, we have literally seen him commit atrocities at various points in the season, however, he does also have the capacity for good, with one of his redeeming qualities over the course of the season being love of family. All season long, viewers have witnessed his devotion and loyalty to family and those he cares most for, and have been told this by writers, directors, and actors... to see the culmination of the argument between him and Rhaenyra was a bit jarring because there had been no prior build up to it based on what was previously established regarding their specific relationship dynamic. Especially coming from episode 8 when Daemon was supportive of Rhaenyra and her children’s claims, backing them every step of the way (even over his own daughters), with nary a hint of envy or jealousy. Defending her name openly in court.  

Completely get that there is a dark side to love, it isn’t always pretty and pure. Sometimes it’s ugly and toxic, particularly when it involves two passionate people... and sometimes emotions become especially heightened when it involves grief and heartbreak. But still, that scene felt very inconsistent with everything we knew and saw up until then. Ryan was the one who said that Daemon especially loved Rhaenyra... and we saw that special connection onscreen. And they have deliverately cut scene that would show a different side: one hugging daughters, another comforting Rhaenyra after she delivers a stillborn, for example. The wording used to describe his character and that moment by Sara and Ryan were just not congruent.

I see the arc they’re trying to take with this. It gives Jaimes Lannister parallel. They want to make him the unlikeable asshole, take him down a dark path before “redeeming” his character, and ingratiating him to the fanbase. The difference is, however, (and perhaps this wasn’t considered), Jaime was part of a reviled family and his primary love interest (Cersei) was highly unlikeable. With Daemon, on the other hand, a great portion of the fandom love Rhaenyra - particularly casual show viewers, who represent most of the audience and haven’t read the source material -, and by default, side with the Blacks which by nature, extends to Daemon as well. We enjoy the relationship dynamic with Rhaenyra, his unwavering support of her. The show asked the audience to heavily invest in the romance. And through that, despite his misdeeds, we saw the good in him as well. In his love for Rhaenyra and Viserys both. Not to say Daemon doesn’t stand on his own as a character, he does 1000%. But it is to recognize also the power of association as well as the natural draw of the anti-hero’s and our fascinations with characters neither wholly good and bad. Perhaps because it comes across as more real and we recognize elements of ourselves in their complexity?

If Jaime was still an asshole, but a Stark or paired with a more well liked love interest from the beginning, would the initial perception of his character have differed? One thing I do find strange though are the scenes they decided to delete from the plot leak. Script leaks mentioned scenes of Daemon comforting Rhaenyra and having the kings guard swear at her birthing. Also, it indicated the beach scene was supposed to perhaps be more extensive? And though there was an argument, it never once mentioned physical violence. Mind you, these scripts came from the same place as the ones from the previous episodes which were always accurate and on point. The minor discrepancies between the episode 10 script leaks and the released version, with the moments of Daemon showing evident care and grief being the only ones removed, is weird. It makes me wonder if their decision to not include them was out of recognition of Daemon’s unexpected popularity and a need to portray him more harshly heading into next season.

[glassessence]

All We Are | Lee Ficlet

This is the truth of me, he thought. I can’t say it aloud, but if I ever forget… if I ever lose myself… Remember me, Commandant.

My perspective on Lee’s thoughts as he prepares to gift the Commandant a little robot. Spoilers for Lee’s interlude! 

I kinda rushed through it because I’m just so excited, but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless! :) 

A l l   W e   A r e    |    L e e 

He drew back, satisfied. The little robot sat on the desk, silent and watchful under the stark light of his room. He studied it with some pride. Creating such things was trivial to him now, but there was something comforting in the familiar motions. The simplicity of it reminded him of another life. Those fragile days and their fleeting happiness felt more distant with every breath. Once a blazing force that drove him relentlessly on, his memories no longer burned. They’d faded to a secret warmth, softened by time. Even this body felt natural now. As if he’d always been this way, a personality inhabiting a metallic shell. 

Except, of course, that this body wasn’t natural at all. Once, he’d been a human. Flesh and blood. Mortal and finite, a single road travelled from beginning to end. Once, he’d been Morian. 

He’d given up the name when he’d agreed to become a Construct. It didn’t feel right to walk around with his real name, the one Murray knew him by. That was the name of an older brother, someone tender and caring. Someone who built companions for lonely boys. It didn’t belong to someone who killed on command, as he surely would under Babylonian orders. And so Morian had died that day, passing the torch of his will to Lee. He wished it was as simple as that. A clean disconnect, past and present cut with surgical precision. But life wasn’t engineering. It was messy, and far less logical. He was only a consciousness in a container now, but he still carried half of his soul, and it was cut of the same fabric as the heart that loved so deeply. If Morian no longer felt right, well then, Lee wasn’t the perfect fit either.

He sighed. This line of thinking never led anywhere productive. All these years and he’d never come to an answer. Perhaps he never would. His time would have been better spent learning to shut off a certain vocal module. He returned his attention to the tiny robot. Picking it up, he moved its limbs, noting the way they creaked just a little. With a small grunt, he grabbed a jar of grease, the same jar he used on himself. Carefully, he oiled the robot’s joints until it moved as smoothly as any Construct’s.

He placed it back on the table. Shiny black eyes stared at him. He’d built countless robots since becoming a Construct. It helped him relax, but more importantly, it connected him to the human past he sometimes found himself forgetting. It frightened him. Just a little. How easy it was to forget, to take for granted the permanence of memory. He knew too well the shortcomings of consciousness recall technology. It had failed before, and it would fail again. Would one of those times be him? He’d kept meticulous records over the years, just in case, but there was no guarantee they would be preserved either. He’d seen Constructs forget wives and children, lovers and mothers. The threat of it, of losing the very essence of yourself, lurked always in the back of his mind.

Pulling open a drawer, he pulled out a core processing chip. It was the last one he had. It was a rare find, more advanced than the chips he usually used for his bots, and he’d been saving it for a special occasion. This definitely counted, though he’d rather be caught dead than admit it to anyone. Carefully, he slotted it into place inside the little robot and clicked the panel shut. Tiny eyes sparked to life. With a fluid grace, the bot padded to the edge of the table and sat, thin metal legs kicking merrily in the air. 

Lee smiled. The robot was a replica of Murray’s. He’d made some slight improvements - he had an engineer’s pride, after all - but it was otherwise the exact same childish creation from all those years ago. As if on cue, the bot threw back its head in silent laughter. He hovered his hand near it and watched as it climbed onto his palm. The motion sensors were working well. Nodding to himself, Lee considered the bot. He’d always meant to give something to the Commandant, but recreating a remnant of his past hadn’t been his intention. Still, it felt right. Intimate, somehow. Like the bot was a physical manifestation of all the words he didn’t have. All the thoughts he couldn’t say.

Perhaps this was his answer then. This little robot that connected his two selves through time. Morian and Lee, past and present compacted into a mechanoid smaller than the palm of his hand. He curled his fingers gently around the robot. It curled up and entered sleep mode. Picking up a marker, he printed a neat set of numbers on the tiny mechanoid’s foot: 421-M.

This is the truth of me, he thought. I can’t say it aloud, but if I ever forget… if I ever lose myself… Remember me, Commandant.

Carefully, he placed the robot by his bedside. Though he’d already given his heart away, it seemed he still had more to give.

----------------

If you made it this far, thank you for reading! ^^ 

Bonus content: headcanons I had while writing this haha 

- Lee canonically keeps records of the Commandant. He also keeps something of an audio diary. Those are the actions of a man who treasures memories and places great value on them. You can’t tell me otherwise. 

- The fact that Lee doesn’t use his real name, unlike the other Constructs, feels significant to me. So I’m just going to sit here and pretend like it’s all part of his angst haha.

- Constructs who’ve had to do emergency consciousness recall have sometimes come back with gaps in their memories. Gray Raven squad have all seen tragic scenes play out between loved ones, but Lee is particularly susceptible due to his history with Murray. 

- He hasn’t made a robot like the one he gave Murray until the he made the one for Commandant. 

- 421-M: 421 for the most important date of his life. M for Morian, the (in his opinion) kinder, softer side of his soul. 

[levyfiles]

My Original Series - Untitled

Excerpt:

Oshun sometimes slept with his mouth open. He came to understand this retrospectively; and in terms of cause and effect, it wasn’t actually a big deal. It only struck him as a feature worth noting upon this one particular instance because he’d awoken to the taste of metal. Cool, stark, burnt metal. His mouth tasting of metal was not even the core issue. For Oshun, it was a series of sensations and abnormal factors before he knew it for what it was. It was also the fact that his mouth was still open; the fact that something was in his mouth; the even more startling fact that that there was a weight on his stomach and he couldn’t move. (Unrelated to these revelations-- though still worth noting-- his shorts were riding up.) When every single one of these factors connected, the core issue became all too apparent. There was a gun barrel shoved in his open mouth and the owner-- a woman in an eyepatch-- was currently sitting astride him. He recognised her from the papers, the famously large scar from her left eye to just over the bridge of her nose; her vicious silhouette in the light from outside with her hair pinned up in severe swathes and several braids behind her head. The General.

In the ninety-ninth year of the Wahesh dynasty, after his twenty-eighth birthday--on his fucking day-off--a non-binary man named Oshun, errant and under-achieving son of the esteemed Minister of Industrial Development, wakes up to a gun in his mouth and the sight of a famously disgraced and exiled General of the Imperial Army sitting on top of him. Between towering human-shaped monsters with gold and metal gilded and soldered to their flesh, an underground cabal directly responsible for crimes against the people of their country, a toxic drug industry, and a Crown Princess torn between her furious love and devotion to her childhood protector and her duty to rule, Oshun falls head-first into a long-standing secret war that, should he survive it, will either radicalise him against the system that raised him or guide him back home to safety.

-- So this is the premise of my original series. The first book of which I've been waffling away at for a number of years now. It's derivative of something I wrote in 2012 and has evolved over and over again with that specific first scene always in mind as my own skills evolve. So far I have six chapters of what it going to be a ten chapter book but the fact is that writing is hard, as anyone who also does it will attest and it's even harder when you're balancing an unrelated work life in the mix. So after many years of coaxing and encouragement from my loved ones and my wrestling with imposter syndrome...

I'm starting a Patreon!

My hope is that posting regularly on Patreon will encourage me to write more of my original fiction in between executing other fanworks I am still invested in. So, while curating a space that is specifically geared for receiving more immediate feedback, I can stay motivated to make time every day to get my dream series (what is basically a fantasy adventure set in a fictional Afro-Asian Indigenous steampunk universe) off the floor. This is while I am of course still sharing insight into my journey as a fan-writer, editor and moderator of various fanspaces.

To break it down a bit:

The first tier is more of a tip jar than anything. If you care to keep a casual eye on how things are going, you can sign up at that tier and I will be giving general updates now and then on my progress. The second tier is where I get more into the content of my work. I will talk more predominately about my fanworks with the occasional info dump of a treatment on something I'm working on in the meantime. There will also be first looks at my first drafts, deleted scenes of anything I might be working on. The biggest tier is much more intimate. I talk about my characters at length and break into the details of what I imagine the world-building involves. On this tier, the excerpts are more decisive drafts that will eventually go into the completed series.

So if any of these tiers interest you at the present, please feel free to join. It's only a hobbyist patreon so no pressure at all to hop aboard unless you're interested in my style as a writer and the stories I currently write on AO3.

[aj-allen97]

Marvel What If Thoughts and Theories Part Two

Alrighty Marvel has dropped a second trailer and a releases date (August 11!!!) of their upcoming animated series What If, so let’s get right down to it and break down what I saw and what I think it possibly means.

First Segment: Recreation of the first Iron Man movie where Tony Starks Caravan gets bombed on. Yet diverges from the movie when a wild Killmonger appears and rescues Tony Stark, which would mean Iron Man the hero would not happen since there is no reason for Tony Stark to build the suit anymore.

Now Killmonger grabs that bomb and chucks it away like it’s nothing implying that he is probably enhanced to some degree. Maybe he took that Heart Herb earlier in this time line, maybe he went through his own version of the super Solider serum during his time with the army who can say at this point.

Now in this scene he is definitely wearing his Killmonger outfit making me lean towards army possibly, or even maybe a Wakanda Watchdog? We also know he still goes by Killmonger since it’s literally stitched to his chest plate.

Now if this Iron Man scene is connected to TChalla being taken by Yondu then maybe when Tchaka kills his brother he took the child and raised him as his heir (maybe Shuri hasn’t been born yet). Or if it isn’t connected to that T’Challa segment then maybe Tchaka took Erik with him out of guilt. Or Killmonger was hired to kidnapped Tony Stark and beat Stane to the punch.

Not really have much to say about the Dr. Strange one as of yet but it does look like he searching for something, and dabbling into things he shouldn’t be. And he also appears to be getting into a fight with the Ancient One over it.

There’s this one scene showing someone enter this one room with a circle on their back and I think it’s Peggy. I think she may end up getting Excalibur or maybe another enchanted Sword or Amulet and truly embracing the Captain Britain moniker.

But the next segment showing the Avengers glitching to the Guardians makes me think the Avengers never happened but the Guardians did happened. Now on the Guardians lineup we have T’Challa, his cousin Erik because that does look like Eriks Black Panther suit (but I could be wrong), Gamora, and Thor (I’m also gonna bet that instead of Rocket the Racoon we’re gonna get Howard the Duck to kind of complete the line up)

It’s also clear as heck that T’Challa and Yondu have a better relationship then Yondu and Peter. To the point T’Challa never broke away from the Ravengers, and still does jobs with Yondu. Yet TChalla is wearing purple instead of Clan Udontu Red.

There’s also a brief scene with Hulk and possibly Natasha? Where the Hulk breaks out of the base. Now whether this is Banner or not is up for debate. It appears like he’s fighting some type or army. Zombie, humans, androids is up for debate as well.

Loki appears to have the Asgardian Army at his beck and call with Volstagg and the rest of the warrior three in the background. Looks like they are in the process of invading Midgard. Possibly that scene where I believe Thor dies instead of being sent back with Jane empty handed.

Later on we get a scene where Loki releases the enteral winter casket on Fury, possibly killing Fury and other shield agents and kickstarting Asgard invasion of Midgard.

Let’s see Howard the Duck being freeded, vision talking with Stark? Killmonger back in Wakanda possibly fighting some threat….

Peggy Carter meeting a haggard looking Dr. Strange. Either he went back in time accidentally, or brought her forward in time. Which would make more sense for Peggy then getting frozen in Ice

Let’s see Zombie Stark entering the Field with Zombie Cap. Definitely intelligent Zombies. Maybe something to do with the army and hulk maybe not.

One scene where Thor is surrounded by lighting…I think given the body language and background it isthe part where Thor gets an arrow to the back courtesy of Hawkguy.

A younger Shuri surrounded by Dora Milaje fighting, possibly connected to the scene where Killmonger was fighting earlier. Maybe their trying to get the princess to safety? Since Killmonger and the Queen are busy fighting.

Later we see a Dora Milaje fighting a scarlet witch, so my theory is Ultron and the Scarlet Witch is invading Wakanda.

I believe that’s Ego…in a bar? Looking for Peter? Yondu? T’Challa? Either way he doesn’t look happy.

Carter fighting a tentacle monster with a sword (possibly setting up Captain Britain with the enchanted sword and amulet arc?), I believe we see it again later.

Red head women yielding the shield. Killmonger definitely leading an army. Lots of Ultron bots, possibly trying to take over Wakanda? Queen Ramonda also leading the charge against the invaders. Vision or maybe the Scarlet Witch removing the mind stone from his head. T’Challa kicking the Collectors butt, possibly he wins and he released the imprisoned collection.

So a lot of stuff is happening. Many I don’t have context for. Spider man, the head in the jar, that dude who is possibly hulk?

Not for sure if they are all gonna be apart of their own separate episode arc, or whether or not the first seasons episodes are gonna align with one another is up for debate. Either way it looks great. Can’t wait for August.

[imagine-darksiders]

Haven

Chapter 5 - Not so different.

Summary: Ulthane suddenly finds himself in the desperate position of protecting six humans from twisted reflections of their own species. The situation is dire and growing more desperate by the second. But after failing to save so many in the past, the maker is determined not to fail in keeping his new charges from harm.

Warnings: Children in peril, blood, undead, gore, fighting, whump.

Hey guys, again, to make up for my lack of content, I’ve done you this massive chapter for Haven lol. Hope this distracts you for a bit xx

Words: 11687

-------

Death, in your humble opinion, has an ugliness about it, a kind that you'd have been very happy to take no notice of for the rest of your life.

But the corpses shuffling across the museum towards you serve as a stark and jarring reminder of humanity's inescapable fate, of what awaits you all beyond the grave.

'Is this it?' you find yourself wondering, aghast.

The creatures advance, dead lips pulled back over gnashing teeth, their equally lifeless eyes filled with such hatred, they could only have belonged to something that used to be human.

Death was supposed to be a graceful, natural thing. Now, you fear you'll never go back to seeing it as such, not after tonight. Tomorrow you will wake up, sadder, but wiser, and the cold and quiet comfort of the grave will no longer hold it's solemn appeal.

There are seven of them now, pressing in unrelentingly like a pack of wild dogs, jaws dripping wet and their movements slow and calculating, searching for a weakness in their prey's defence. With the children huddled out of sight behind a reception desk, that weakness is – inevitably – you.

Fortunate then, that standing between you and the salivating undead, is a maker.

Swaying like an oversized pendulum, Ulthane shifts his weight, side to side, side to side, and yet, he never puts a foot forward. To do so would leave you and the kids open and vulnerable to an attack. You don't know the maker especially well, but you can tell he's raring to charge into the fray and meet the former-humans head on.

It suddenly hits you that he's putting aside centuries of habit just to protect you.

Your gut twists uncomfortably and you swallow down a lump of guilt, recalling how mistrustful you've been of him thus far.

The feeling doesn't have too long to settle in however, for a split second later, one of the grotesque creatures drops its jaw and lets out a sharp bark, leaping from the ground and sailing straight at Ulthane.

“LOOK OUT!” you scream, although you soon find your belated warning to be unnecessary.

With startling speed, the maker swings his hammer through the air...

'SPLAT!'

The sound of impact is so, utterly gruesome that your hands are halfway to your ears in the vain hopes of blocking it out before you realise there's little point. Steel meets flesh in an ungodly connection that sends the undead hurtling sideways, bones snapping and decaying organs flattened under the force of Ulthane's swing.

It lands with a sickening thump somewhere off in one of the museum's darker corners, dead once again, for what you sincerely hope is the last time, though it wouldn't surprise you if these creatures are more resilient than they seem.

Huffing, Ulthane pulls his hammer back into its prior position and braces.

As if the death of their pack member had been just the nudge they needed to tip them over the edge of caution, the remaining six undead suddenly surge forth in a tidal wave of rotting flesh and flying spittle, their mouths twisted open, belting out hollow screams to let you know of their outrage.

They're fast. By god, they're fast.

But Ulthane is ready.

The first to reach him is splattered on the ground beneath the head of his formidable hammer, and the ensuing reverberations nearly topple you off your feet. One of your hands flies out to grab the desk behind you and you risk a glance over the top of it, spying the children's haunted faces staring back up at you, their fingers clutching at one another's coats and jackets, drawing comfort from whatever meagre form of touch they can find.

Jesus, you hope they can't see what's happening on your side of the desk.  

A guttural snarl has you flinging yourself around to face the battle again and you blanch, eyes widening to find that one of the remaining beasts has managed to jump up and latch itself to the maker's arm whilst he's distracted with fending off the two that are trying to strafe around his other side, their swollen eyes fixed on you. With a snarl, he aims a kick at the assailants on the ground and gives his arm a vigorous shake in an attempt to dislodge the one sinking its teeth into his toughened flesh.

The others skitter backwards and out of range, apparently having just enough sense of self-preservation left in their heads to recognise their dwindling chances of taking down a full-grown maker. However, the undead with its teeth in his arm won't be so easily deterred. There's an awful moment where it seems to bite down even harder, then flings its head violently back and you can actually hear the squeak and tear of skin being ripped right off the muscle.

Ulthane screws his eyes shut and hisses through his teeth. He may be resilient but even the bellicose warrior can't ignore the white-hot spike of pain that shoots up his arm.

“Ulthane!”

Suddenly, the maker's eyes fly open and an ear twitches in response to your fretful cry and for just a second, his gaze flicks down towards you, seeing the open concern radiating off your face.

It's in that worry, he finds resolve.

Eyes hardening, the muscles in his jaw tighten and he emits a growl through clenched teeth before dropping his hammer on the ground and reaching up to grab the undead's skull, enclosing it in one, colossal fist.

You watch on, half enthralled, half horror-struck as the maker gives his hand a single, effortless flex. There's a muffled 'crack!' and just like that, the undead's legs stop flailing madly in the air and its nails cease their scrabbling against Ulthane's fingers.

It's only after he lets the body fall from his grasp that he realises you were watching when he crushed its skull. The pounding in his ears grows to a painful crescendo. He's suddenly reminded of the girl he'd failed to save, the girl who'd witnessed him violently unleash his temper on an already dead demon.

She'd been so frightened....

....of him.  

Ulthane whips his head down to you and his heart stills in his chest. He's searching for that same fear in your face, expects it, even.

What he doesn't expect though, when he catches and holds your watery gaze, is to be asked, “Are you alright!?”

The question goes unanswered.

A dreadful chill slugs you in the gut upon seeing Ulthane's eyes flick up and widen as his mouth falls open, perhaps to shout a warning that will undoubtedly arrive too late. He'd been so focused on you, on the gentle easing of your brow after you realised he'd regained the upper hand, that the maker hadn't even noticed one undead creeping over the lip of the desk behind you, it's blank, lidless eyes trained on the children sheltering inside.

You whirl about in time to see what has the maker so rattled and let out a choked gasp at the sight before you.

“Oh christ...Oh my god!” you breathe as the creature's face lifts into view, recognisable even behind its accelerated state of decay, “That....That's Davies!”

The urge to vomit hits you out of nowhere but you stubbornly choke it back down.

Your former colleague is bent before you over the desk, eyes the colour of sour milk and she's still wearing that awful, pink, torsade necklace you hate so much. It's the only reason you really accept that it's her. Mousy brown hair that had once been pulled into a tight bun is now hanging loose, wispy and grey with only a few, withered clumps having managed to cling valiantly to her skull. The square-rimmed glasses she'd worn not four days ago dangle from their chain and bump against her skeletal chest as she crawls forwards, pulling herself across the desk with long, spindly fingers.

Something wet and cold trickles down your cheek and you open your mouth to taste the salt of a tear as it drips from your upper lip and lands on your tongue. Davies was a harsh woman, calculating and callous. But she didn't deserve this!

Nobody deserves this.

Ulthane, in the meantime, doesn't know who this 'Davies' is, nor does he particularly care. Whoever they used to be, they assuredly aren't that human anymore.

Your ex colleague drops down inside the ring, pushing a growl from her chest whilst the kids, literally petrified to the spot, can do nothing but whimper and cling to each other even more tightly and it's their fretful sobs that rip you from your moment of shocked grieving.

You and Ulthane move at exactly the same time.

He bellows out something incomprehensible but completely unmistakable in its intent and hurls himself at the desk, throwing his upper half over the top of it and slamming a massive arm down between the children and their decaying teacher. Beside him, with a strength conjured from the wildest parts of your biology, you brace your hands on the desk and vault over it in a single bound, and as you slide across it and down onto the floor on the other side, your hand curls around the first thing it comes into contact with – a nondescript, orange mug, still with the tea sloshing around inside.

Behind you, Ulthane's arm is huddling the reluctant children further underneath his chest while a wrathfulness consumes you like the flames of a raging fire, licking down your throat and coiling in your belly as the monstrous Davies in front of you takes an audacious step closer to the kids.

Perhaps if you'd have paused to consider the many, many ways your next move could go wrong, you wouldn't have charged so recklessly towards such a perilous foe and those precious, few seconds you might have saved would've given the undead enough time to defend herself.

To leap before one looks is a seldom-recommended course of action. However, there are moments – rarer than hen's teeth, mind – where leaping first pays off.

A satisfying 'smash' echoes through the museum after you swing the mug and it shatters against that mindless skull with such vigour, the undead crumples immediately to the ground and lets out a garbled moan, dazed and vulnerable on its back, but not dead.

Not yet.

Not until you throw yourself on top of her and grab a large, jagged fragment of ceramic from the pieces that now lay scattered on the floor, grasp it in two hands, lift it high over your head and then plunge it viciously between the undead's rolling eyes.

The sharpened edges cut into your palms from the pressure of forcing your makeshift weapon through bone and muscle but you manage to hold back a cry of pain, opting instead to wince, flecks of spittle flying off your tongue as you pant raggedly, waiting for the corpse pinned beneath you to finally stop twitching and lay still.

The kids – well hidden behind Ulthane's brawny arm – can't see what has just transpired. But the maker can.

He's aware of a commotion behind him when two sets of claws start tearing at his leg, though the thick material of his trousers is sturdy enough to withstand a few more seconds of punishment, more than enough time for him to raise his brows, impressed at your unexpected grit. The sweat gathered on your forehead glistens like dew under a moonbeam. With your lips pulled back over your teeth like that and the suffering's blood spattered in a graceful arc across your clavicle, a word comes to Ulthane's mind, a word that arrives as jarringly as the insistent and sudden 'thwump' of his heart.

'Beautiful,' he thinks, though he's quick to shake that thought away the moment it materialises. To distract himself, Ulthane gives a grunt and pushes himself upright once more, mindful of the tiny humans crowded near his hands.

Suddenly, he kicks back with a leg, sending the two, ravenous undead sprawling away from him across the marble floor, each letting out identical moans of frustration. They aren't put off for long, however, and as Ulthane hoists himself around to face them and smoothly retrieves his hammer from the ground, they drop down onto all fours and gallop towards him, relying on agility to be their last, remaining ally in this fight.

They aren't the first to underestimate a maker's speed, and they surely won't be the last.  

Riding on the near-constant surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Ulthane clenches his fists tightly around the hammer and heaves it out in front of him in a wide, sweeping arc.

His lips curl up into a twisted grin when the weapon's face connects with the first creature, only to immediately slam into its partner less than a second later with enough force to launch them straight across the museum where they join their fallen brethren, all seven of whom now lay scattered upon the marble floor, crushed and mangled beyond recognition.

“N' this time, stay dead,” Ulthane spits.

Rolling a kink out of one shoulder, the maker slings his hammer into place on his back and turns about.

“Y'alright wee ones?” he calls out softly, leaning over the desks and peering in.

The children all crane their necks back to see the underside of his looming face, their own damp with tears, tears that are still rolling in never-ending torrents down their cheeks alongside several sets of sniffles. Battle-hardened as tempered steel he may be, but the sight undoubtedly presses at something in the maker's chest. As much as seeing young humans cry might distress him, Ulthane finds that he can at least take some, small speck of relief from the fact that, so far as he can tell, they don't appear to be injured.

You on the other hand....

The maker's nostrils twitch, smelling blood that isn't his own on the air.

Troubled, he tears his gaze from the children and fixes it upon their matriarch instead.

You haven't moved. The eyes of the dead woman below you stare blankly up towards the ceiling, her jaw stretched open in an eternal scream, that primal outrage forever etched onto the fabric of history. 'Fitting, for a museum,' you muse.

There's fresh blood trickling lazily into her open eyes and you find yourself watching, morbidly fascinated that they don't twitch or try to blink the liquid out. It takes another second before you realise that the blood is coming out of you, and not her. Trembling hands slowly pry themselves off the large, ceramic shard they'd only recently used to skewer the head of your former colleague, right in front of her students. You'd gripped the shard so tightly, it had cut into your palms and you curse your prior hastiness. Extracting your hands is almost a more painful procedure.

“Lass?”

Gentle, yet somehow maintaining an insurmountable strength in that low rumble, Ulthane calls your name and begins to reach down, over the desk, over the children, until his fingertips brush against your back, following the bumps of your spine.

You're worryingly slow to turn and look up at him, casting the maker a hollow gaze, eyelids drooping, lips slightly parted to allow room for slow and shuddering breaths – he surmises you're teetering on the precipice of total collapse.

Ulthane blinks away from the empty stare you're giving him to the decaying body that lays motionless beneath you. “Did, er... You did well there, lass,” he nods, his mouth a grim line, “S'not easy fer a human to kill a-”

“To kill what? Another human?!” You're on your feet so abruptly, the children all gasp and flinch at the swift motion but you're too busy shoving yourself out from underneath Ulthane's hand to notice. Gone is the fatigue shadowing your eyes. It bleeds away to make room for something else.

The giant's bushy eyebrows twitch inwards a fraction as he retracts his arm and lays it on top of the desk, letting out a sigh that sounds more like a growl. “I told you, girlie, they're not human anymore.”

“Well they sure!-” Without meaning to, you've raised your voice loud enough that even you grimace at the echo chasing after it. Preferring to avoid bringing any more creatures scurrying out of the woodwork, you click your tongue and rein yourself back in, bitterly ending with a curt, “-They sure used to be. Not that long ago, in fact.”

Remaining silent, the maker watches your eyes travel down to the undead once more.

“Friend of yours?” he asks carefully, not missing the way your breath suddenly stops coming and your chest stills as a result.

After a few too many moments where he begins to regret even asking, you completely deflate, all the frustration rushing out of you like a hiss of hot steam as you falteringly reply, “She....we were...more like colleagues. We worked together-” Here, you gesture a floppy hand at the huddling children. “-At their school.”

After a moment of thought, you promptly grab a coat hanging from the back of a nearby chair and drop it hurriedly over the body. It isn't much, you know, but at least the kids don't have to look at it anymore.

Trying not to scare the young ones shuffling nervously underneath him, Ulthane slowly raises an arm and rubs at the back of his neck, focusing intently on the blood that dribbles from between your twitching fingers.

“M'sorry,” he mumbles, “I know how hard it is to do...that.”

To his surprise, you reply with an incautious scoff, emotionless eyes staring off into the darkness. He's privately grateful for that. It means you don't see his ears droop noticeably when you murmur, “How could you possibly know?”

Ulthane's mouth falls open, a response making its way along his tongue only to come up short at the very tip and he considers, for a moment, whether it would be wise to tell you of Corruption, of the dark plague that – even now – is spreading through his homeland with no signs of stopping or being stopped, turning any makers who fought back into mindless shells of their former selves. And how then, would you react to learning that the only way to spare them from Corruption's grasp was to kill them?

Destroy the host, and you destroy the parasite.

It was such a simple prospect in theory. But the practice of it... Eideard had tried to call it 'purifying,' perhaps in a bid to make the survivors in Tri Stone feel a little better about slaying the shadows of their old friends.

There was nothing 'pure' about what happened to those makers.

And after hearing the woeful despondency in your voice and seeing your eyes grow dull and defeated, Ulthane would not try to tell you – as Eideard had once told him – that you'd done what was necessary. That it was kinder to kill, in the end, than to let the poor bastards suffer.  

It was the same thing he'd tried to tell himself, after every single, devastating blow of his hammer. It never, ever got easier.

'How could he possibly know?'

How could he possibly not?

A soft hiccough interrupts Ulthane's musings and he gives his head a decisive shake to dislodge the unpleasant memories. He glances down and immediately feels his tempered heart squeeze at the sight of five younglings watching him uneasily, each of them trying to shrink in on themselves as though they could disappear from his view if only they were a little smaller.

The maker considers them a moment longer, then presses his lips together. He's not about to burden you - or the younglings – with his own tragedies, not now.

Besides, he's wasted far too much time here. The precious fluid that drives your body is slowly seeping out of the wounds on your palms, and although he himself is suffering an injury, he knows for a fact that blood is much less essential to a maker than it is to a human.

There's a decisive air to the way Ulthane stands up and puts his hands on his hips, and the suddenness of his movement seems to draw you out of the somber chasm you've fallen into. As soon as he moves, you let out a throaty groan and press your fingertips to your eyelids, trying to squeeze the tiredness out of them.

“Hey. Listen. I'm sorry, man.” You shake your head, dropping your hands and looking up at Ulthane. “I shouldn't have snapped at you, I should be thanking you.”

He would deny it later, but the maker nearly buckles under the relief that hits him when he hears your apology. Not because he thinks for a second that he deserves it, but because it means you aren't angry with him, not really, though that thought in itself strikes him as odd and he frowns gently, surprised at himself for caring so much about what you think of him. Before he can say a word in reply however, your attention is suddenly on his arm and you let out a sharp gasp, rushing forwards to the side of the desk and standing on your tiptoes, your eyes fixed on the gaping bite.

“Oh, holy shi-! Uh, moly!” you manage to catch yourself before an expletive slips out in front of the children, “Are you okay!? I – I mean, it doesn't look okay, it looks like agony!” A little bewildered by the sudden level of alarm pointed his way, Ulthane sputters out a nonsensical reply before he collects himself and blows a laid-back puff of air past his lips.

“What? Oh, this?” He gestures to his arm and sniffs, the very picture of nonchalance. “Ach, nothin' to get yer knickers in a twist over, I've had worse scrapes than this, don't you worry.”

One of the children – you think it's Kitty – sniffles and lets out a bubbling giggle that sounds more nervous than amused but you cling to it, shooting Ulthane a secretive wink and pretending to wag a disapproving finger up at him. “My knickers are none of your concern,” you scold, earning another stifled snicker much to your delight and apparently the maker's as well, if the dashing smirk on his lips is anything to go by.

It feels odd, yet not in any way that's unpleasant, to be sharing this little moment of triumph together, even if it's only small. Your smile lingers for a few more seconds before it wavers and falls, leaving you to sigh through your nose, eyebrows pressing together until a firm line appears between them. “Jokes aside,” you ask quietly, “are you sure you're all right? That's quite the wound....”

Had he been among his own people, Ulthane would have been proud to show off his new battle scar, might have even lauded it over his brother's head for a few days. In maker culture, wounds and scars are a testament to one's prowess in battle. They signify resilience, strength and are a mark of accomplishment for most warriors, showing that a battle had been fought and won. The more scars a maker had, the more life-threatening situations they'd survived and overcome.

But here, standing before you, something is different. For reasons beyond his own understanding, the way you're staring at his ravaged skin with pinched brows and a gentle frown makes him suddenly self conscious of the injury and he lifts his opposite hand to cover it, hastily jutting his chin down at your palms. “S'no worse than yours, lass,” he says, “Elanya's not gonna be happy to see what you've done to yourself.” The maker neglects to mention that he's also far from pleased about the blood drying on your fingers.

You raise a brow at him, unimpressed with how he'd so clearly deflected the attention off himself, but the weariness in your bones and your reluctance to even acknowledge the stinging pain in your hands is enough to keep your tongue from calling the maker out. Instead, you offer him a simple, acknowledging nod and reply, “Well, I'll worry about that once we've got these kids back to your tree.”

Bending down, you force away a wince as you turn your hands inwards, sparing the five children from any gruesome glimpse they might catch of your injuries. “Are you guys all good?” you ask.

“Y-yeah!” Kitty bravely squeaks back, sounding about as convincing as a seven year old can be when they're shivering like a leaf in a hurricane. The second you reach out, Archie flings himself from the group and collapses into you, his head pressing uncomfortably hard against your jaw, yet you can't quite find it in you to complain.

“It's okay,” you reassure him, painfully aware of the fact that you're lying through your teeth. Things are about as far from 'okay' as they can possibly can be.

Shaking out your stinging hands, you touch them delicately to the boy's back only to find your progress halted by an enormous shadow looming over the little group and blocking out the moon's rays filtering down from the hole in the roof. Your heart is in your throat so fast you nearly choke on it, flinging your head up in anticipation. However, your shoulders sag with relief once you realise that it isn't a threat bearing down upon you, merely one of Ulthane's hands. The maker has once again leant over the desk and placed his appendage on the ground near your feet, palm tilted towards the ceiling.

“We need to move,” he mutters urgently, and it's only when you look up at his face that you realise his pointed ears are flicking periodically up and down, listening for something your human senses can't pick up. After staring avidly across the museum and out of a window on the far side, the maker fixes you with a meaningful glance. “It'll be a lot faster if I don't have to wait for the littl'uns to keep up.”

You catch his drift at about the same time as Lucia does. The girl begins to back away from his hand but you're too swift, snatching her up and lowering her into the maker's waiting palm. You have to stifle a snort when both he and the child stiffen as soon as they come into contact with one another. Eyes wide, Lucia clings to you even after you let her go and you gently but hurriedly ease her clenched fists off your sleeves.

And then, something happens that you hadn't been expecting.

With a gentleness that's entirely contrary to the brutal strength he exhibited just minutes ago, Ulthane curls his fingers inwards until Lucia sits in the cup of his palm and once he's certain she's not about to fall off, he begins to lift her up towards his face. Upon taking a quick glance up at the maker's expression, you're surprised to find that his soft, blue eyes are just as wide and mesmerised by the tiny being in his grasp as her's are by the giant holding her.

Unbeknownst to you, a strange, alien flurry of electrical impulses are firing off in his brain as he inspects the spark of life pressing back against his guarding fingers.

And here he was thinking you weighed next to nothing. This is something else.

The pack that had once been strapped to her back – an educational tool used for storing tomes, he seems to recall – has made its way around to her front and she holds it tight to her chest as some kind of physical barrier between he and herself.

The maker is suddenly and uncomfortably aware that she must be terrified to have him staring at her like this, but it's as if he can't tear himself away. He's never been so close to someone so fragile before. Not even their youngest, Karn, had been this small when he was born. Ulthane has vivid memories of being reluctant to hold the youngster, convinced that harm would befall him if the rough-and-tumble maker wasn't drastically careful. But this human....This isn't unlike handling a figure made from the finest, most highly breakable porcelain.

He tips his head to one side and after a beat, the girl copies the action, causing his ears to flick up in curiosity. Her reaction gives him pause and he considers her for another moment, then slowly tilts his head in the opposite direction. Once again, she follows suit and her breaths start to even out, intrigue at last superseding her nerves.

Swallowing audibly, Lucia looks down over the side of the giant's palm, seeing you've turned to help Sam and Ashleigh to their feet. Then, she looks past you, into the darkness of the museum and raises a hand, scrubbing the heel of it over her damp face and sniffling, “Did...did you kill all the monsters?”

Ulthane is so busy revelling in the triumph of having the child actually speak to him that he barely registers the question being posed. He lets out an idle hum, then seems to realise he's being stared at by an apprehensive youngling and he blinks, straightening up. “Oh! Oh, aye! Aye, you'll not be havin' any more trouble from those monsters,” he tells her proudly and jabs a thumb at his chest, “Old Ulthane took care of 'em.” A thoughtful look passes over his face then and he gets an idea.

Darting his eyes secretively from side to side, the maker brings her just a little closer in and, as he'd hoped, Lucia responds in kind by lowering her bag and shifting forwards, one of her hands coming to brace on the side of his thumb and subsequently sending an unexpected jolt right through his heart. Shoving the feeling aside, Ulthane lowers his voice to whisper conspiratorially, “That's my job, you know...”

“Wha-What is?” she whispers back, all traces of tears now drying on her cheeks.

You turn back around just in time to catch the next bit of the bizarre exchange, Kitty's hand holding your fingers in a vice-like grip. It seems that the maker is completely caught up in his own game when he replies to his enraptured audience member, his gruff voice dripping with grandeur, “Why, fightin' monsters, o' course!”

Shaking your head, you chime in, “Oh god, don't tell her that, she'll never leave you alone.”

But Lucia's eyes are already sparkling as though they're filled with stars and her mouth peels open to reveal a gap-tooth grin. “You're like Heracles!” she announces and her grip on his thumb excitedly grows stronger. .

Ulthane raises one of his brows and tilts his head at the girl. “Er, Hera-... Who?”

“Heracles!”

Lucia's abrupt shift in mood is apparently enough to pique the interests of her fellow classmates who all pick up on her noticeable lack of fear, edging just a little closer to the giant.

“He was the strongest, bravest man who ever lived!” the youngster in his hand gushes as she's raised to a broad shoulder and gingerly deposited there by fingers larger than her body, “He killed monsters too!”

“Did he now...?” With a little prodding, the girl's hand is eventually persuaded to wrap itself into Ulthane's thick, blue scarf for purchase. She hardly takes a breath before she starts listing off the famous hero's, twelve tasks whilst a bewildered Ulthane raises his brows down at you inquiringly.

You merely offer him a sympathetic shrug in return, though you don't bother to hide your palpable relief. With any luck, Sam, Ashleigh, Kitty and Archie will be put at ease now that their friend has tested the waters and proved that the threat this giant poses is minimal at best.

If nothing else, at least Ulthane has managed to appeal himself to one child.

With the girl still chattering in his ear, he lowers a hand once more and lays it on the ground near your feet. Kitty is next, crushing your fingers against one another as you help her up and into the maker's palm with gentle assurances that he won't let her fall. She frowns at you and adamantly insists that she isn't scared, though her bottom lip quivers as she too is lifted carefully to Ulthane's other shoulder.

Once she's close enough, she takes the opportunity to practically leap off his hand and finds herself scrabbling for purchase on his metallic pauldron. To her dismay however, a low chuckle slips out of the giant's mouth when she gradually begins to slide down his front and he reacts by catching her shirt between his thumb and forefinger before she can fall too far. “Slow down there, little'un,” he warns, plopping her back on his shoulder and waiting until she all but buries her hands into his scarf, her face a little paler than it was before, “Wouldn't want you fallin' off from up there.”

Although his tone is almost playful, there's still an underlying hint of caution to it.

A response comes from the girl, something that sounds a lot like an indignant, “I wasn't gonna fall,” though she goes oddly quiet, squeezing her lips together when Ulthane turns his head to the side and raises an amused eyebrow in her direction.

Even from the ground, you can see Kitty's lower jaw quivering, regardless of how hard she's trying to suppress it, and you suspect that she's putting on a brave front to either impress her peers, or reassure them. Having known the girl for a while now, you're fairly confident it's the former.

After seeing that nothing bad has happened to her friends, it becomes remarkably easy to coax Ashleigh into the maker's palm where she's swiftly joined by an emboldened Sam. The pair of them are so small, they fit snugly together with their fingers entwined in one another's coats and the sight of them both sitting in just one of Ulthane's hands really drives home how unignorably big he is....And how fragile they are.

Perhaps it's this revelation, or the tears still dripping from their chins that prompts the maker to raise them up and press them securely over his thundering heart, hand tilted in a way that partially hides them from the world outside. And when tiny fingertips brush reverently over the epicentre of each, pulsating beat, he has to fight down a contented rumble that threatens to crawl out of his throat.

Finally, he lowers his remaining hand for Archie.

Despite the others going ahead of him however, the young boy digs his heels in when you try steering him towards Ulthane's waiting palm. “No!” he sobs and claws at your sleeves and though it does make a spot in your chest ache terribly, you turn a deaf ear to his pleading as you slide your hands underneath his arms and lift him onto the maker's cupped appendage.

“Sorry, kiddo, but you'll be much safer up there than you will be on the ground,” you explain, “Ulthane'll take care of you.”

It's strange. The more you say it out loud, the more you start to realise you've actually begun to trust the maker who – no more than a few hours ago – was just an unfamiliar giant who had kidnapped you and taken you back to his lair halfway up a tree trunk. Perhaps you're more exhausted than you previously thought.

Shaking off the encroaching weariness from your bones, you cast a lingering glance back at the body of your former colleague and pull yourself up onto the desk, neglecting to notice that Ulthane's hand has remained poised beside you, expectant and waiting.

Gradually, a long crevice appears between his brows and he swivels his head around to follow your progress as you scoot across the flat, polished surface before hopping down to the floor on the other side.

“Oi!”

You flinch at the abrupt exclamation and turn to see the maker's lips twisted into an unhappy frown.

“...What?”

As if it were painfully obvious, he responds by extending his arm towards you once more and giving it the tiniest of shakes, mindful of an increasingly perplexed Archie clinging on in the centre of his palm.

After a moment, it dawns on you that he means for you to join the children, and though your body all but begs for you to cave in and accept his help, you hold up your hands and take several steps backwards, shaking your head. “Oh, no, that's okay! I – I  can walk!”

No sooner do the words tumble out of your mouth than the line etched in Ulthane's forehead somehow manages to grow even deeper. “Now, I know I let you walk here,” he growls sternly, “but let me tell you somethin', bonnie, yer not walkin' all the way back.”

“Ulthane, you can't carry all of us.”

Affronted by your suggestion, the maker huffs and draws himself up. “Yes I bloody well can.”

“These kids are your priority right now,” you argue, "I don't need your protection. Not like they do.”

“You're hurt!” The maker's temper flares in conjunction with your stubborn refusal to be helped.

However, you merely plant a hand on your hip and throw the other out, gesturing wildly at his arm and declaring, “Well, so are you!”

“Wh-!” The maker actually scoffs at that, jostling his shoulders hard enough that Lucia and Kitty have to grab onto his scarf with both hands to avoid slipping off.

It's their squeaks of alarm that suddenly sap the frustration out of his old bones and he immediately falls still, which in turn allows the girls a chance to right themselves. Only once he's sure they're in no great peril, Ulthane blows a heavy sigh through his nostrils and then slowly, gingerly, he crouches down and offers you his hand once again. In an instant, you're opening your mouth to protest, but find yourself rendered silent by the word murmured gently from his lips.

“Please?”

Taken aback, you falter. Never in a million years did you think a being that big could speak so tenderly, and the way his troubled, blue eyes seem to gaze into yours as though you're just as important to him as the children are to you.....Well.

Allowing a groan to blurt out of your mouth, you throw your hands up in defeat, exasperated but willing to indulge him. “Just this once,” you stress firmly, ignoring the triumphant grin that spreads behind his auburn beard.

The maker hardly waits for you to turn around before he nudges his hand into the crook behind your knees and you narrowly avoid toppling backwards into Archie. The moment you're in Ulthane's grasp, the boy presses himself firmly against your side and it becomes brazenly obvious just how nerve-racking this whole situation is for him judging by the quakes of his leg against your thigh.

And if you can feel him shaking, then you're almost certain that Ulthane can too.

But the maker, while a little disheartened that no less than three of the children are in similar states of unrest, still feels a hefty weight lift from his shoulders at the knowledge that in his hands are six, very fragile, very alive humans.

It's like a tonic. Having them held so close eases a little of his agitation and he lets out a soft exhale. Suddenly, all seems right with the world once more.

“Okay,” he hums, absentmindedly pushing the pad of his thumb into your back just to feel your fluttering heartbeat, a reassurance that you're still okay, “Let's get you all back to the tree...”

You suddenly find yourself rocked in your seat when he begins to move swiftly but steadily towards the hole in the wall you'd entered through and you throw a hand out for balance, planting it on his thick-set wrist. All at once, your fingertips are greeted by the thrum of a strong pulse and you tiredly swing your head down to peer at Ulthane's forearm, if only to  distract yourself from thinking about the many, many dangers that lay in wait out in the city.

It must be quite the sight, you think. An almighty maker tromping through streets and back alleys that were never built with a man his size in mind, and accompanying him, six humans, cupped either in his hands or perched upon his sturdy shoulders. A part of you still desperately wants to believe that this is all some terrible, twisted nightmare and it's so bizarre, you'll surely have to wake up from it soon...

Won't you?

The insistent pangs of hunger tell an unfortunate truth.

Apparently, you aren't the only one experiencing that hollow ache in your gut.

“Miss?”

Twisting your neck around, you peer up at Lucia. “Yeah?”

“M'hungry...” The girl trails off as a yawn overtakes her and she pauses, rubbing a fist into one of her eyes. You throw her a sympathetic smile but before you can reply, Ulthane catches your gaze.

“There's plenty of food back at the tree,” he explains, immediately raising some interested murmurs from the children. Your eyebrows shoot up and the corner of Ulthane's mouth quirks just enough to show off one of his tusks. “What? You didn't think we'd let any of you humans starve, did you?”

“No, it's not that. It's just...” Pausing to chew absently on your lower lip, you shrug. There's a topic of concern you feel needs to be broached, though you're a little anxious to do it. In the end, you wet your lips and say carefully, “You've already done...so much for us. And we haven't even done anything for you. Now you're saying you went out and found us food....”

Ulthane must be sharper than you give him credit for because within seconds, he's picked up on the badly concealed meaning behind your words.

“For all it must look from where you're standin', I'm a maker, not a monster. N' I'm not about to turn around and ask you for something in return,” he tells you with a simple directness that leaves you just a tiny bit sheepish. Then, stepping over the wall of rubble and emerging out into the museum carpark, he lowers his voice to a far kinder rumble and adds, “M'only tryin' to help you, lass.” He doesn't say anything further, and you only just manage to bite down on your urge to reply, 'We'll see,' instead turning your face up to the skyscrapers looming overhead and pushing a noncommittal noise from the back of your throat.

Praying to whatever deity you aren't even sure exists anymore for a safe journey back to the tree, you snake one arm around Archie and draw him further into your side whilst the fingers on your other hand trace lazy shapes in the softer skin of Ulthane's wrist. And if that steadfast pulse begins jackhammering in response to your light touches, you're much too exhausted to notice.

------------

The trip back through the ruined city passes by much faster than you expected it to.

Of course, that could be down to the frequent periods of blissful darkness that descend over you every time you decide to let your eyes droop for a brief rest.

You remember bits and pieces of the journey - Sam whimpering when a growl echoes up from beneath a manhole cover, prompting Ulthane to gently bounce the boy in his enormous hand a few times and shush him. A skittering of rocks and stones raining down from the roof of a building and the maker abruptly flattening himself against a wall, his eyes trained on the dark sky overhead.

At some point, you find yourself wondering whether he would bother to be so stealthy if you and the children weren't here. It isn't difficult to imagine a being with his daunting presence storming through the streets with nary a worry for whatever crosses his path. All the sneaking around, ducking into back alleys and keeping to the shadows doesn't fit his image at all. You're thankful though, not only for the obvious breaking of his own norms, but also for the way he's constantly angling his body so that those awful, familiar shapes littered upon the ground are kept predominantly out of the kids' line of sight.

It's odd, really. The thing that keeps you from slipping too far into the realm of sleep isn't the impending doom that could potentially lay around every corner or the knowledge that you and the children could well be the last humans alive in the city. It isn't the ceaseless stinging of your wounded palms and it isn't even the fact that you'd had to kill a woman you used to work with not too long ago.

No. It's hunger that keeps you jerking awake every two minutes and not even the lulling sway of your gigantic defender's footsteps is enough send you off to sleep.

So when he turns a corner and you find yourselves staring out over a recognisable city square, you nearly fall forwards off your perch when what feels like a truckload of relief slams into you at full force. Even some of the tension dribbles out of Ulthane's rigid stance.

“Never thought I'd be so happy to see a damn tree,” you chuckle quietly, earning a grunt of accord from the maker as he makes his way around the edge of the square, still on high alert.

“Looks like Elanya's been out here doin' some pest control,” he remarks as he steps over the flattened corpse of a four-legged demon with a canine's snout and razor-sharp teeth, fresh blood dripping from its glistening chops. He'd have to remember to both thank the young maker later, and reprimand her for leaving the tree by herself. There are several demons laying dead around the square, and not a one of them looks to have been killed by the blade of Yarin's axe.

The girl on his left shoulder – Kitty, he thinks – suddenly gives his beard a hesitant tug.

“Eh?” he grunts, turning his head to look at her and finding her gaping up at the tree's impressive trunk.

“Whassat?” she breathes and her fingers curl a little tighter around a fistful of his thick, coarse beard.

“That?” Ulthane returns his attention to the surrounding area and replies, “Tha's where we're goin', lassie. It's a maker tree.”

She makes a small sound of awe but doesn't ask him to elaborate and he gives a mental shrug, figuring she'll see for herself very soon anyway.

Creeping around the vast trunk, Ulthane eventually sags when the moving platform comes into view. One of the other makers must have guessed he'd be looking to take it back up, so they sent it down to meet him. 'Yarin, most likely,' he smirks to himself, 'Elanya wouldn't plan anything in advance.'

The Old one steps heavily onto the lift and allows a great heap of strain to leave his shoulders. When they slump down, Lucia tries to hold back a squeal as she's teetered off balance and fumbles for something to grab, eventually deciding to just smack one of her palms upon Ulthane's cheek and use his face to steady herself. If he minds at all, he doesn't show it.

Striding up to a lever in the centre of the platform, he pauses in front of it, casting you an almost apologetic look. “'Fraid I'll be needin' my hands back now,” he says, kneeling down and lowering you, Archie, Sam and Ashleigh to the wooden floor.

Offering him a wordless smile, you hoist yourself off his palm and turn to lift Archie down. On your other side, Ashleigh and Sam all but tumble from the maker's grasp and stagger away from him, shooting uncertain glances in every direction.

“Hey! What about us?”

The maker chuckles at Kitty's alarmed squeak and reaches up to scoop her off his shoulder. “Aye, I've not forgotten you either, missy.”

“Lucia!” you bark suddenly, “Please don't climb down by yourself! You might fall!”

While the maker was distracted with retrieving Kitty, Lucia took it upon herself to start an unsteady descent and promptly freezes with one foot slipped into the chain connecting Ulthane's pauldron to his belt, glancing back over a shoulder to gauge how serious you are.

Amused, the giant deposits Kitty next to her other classmates and uses two fingers to pluck the adventurous Lucia from his armour. She moans loudly and crosses her arms, complaining, “I can do it,” under her breath, only serving to widen Ulthane's grin.

Once free of humans, he straightens up again and grabs the enormous lever, giving it a firm tug and then a kick when the lift shudders again. “Blasted thing,” he grumbles, only relaxing when the platform starts to rumble steadily up off the ground.

A few of the children stagger sideways at the abrupt motion and you reach out a hand to snag Asheigh's sleeve, holding her upright. She tosses you a grateful look that's soon interrupted by a wide yawn.

Before you know it, you've succumbed as well. “Oh, oh excuse me!” you hum, covering your mouth. You don't notice the fond tilt of Ulthane's head, as if he'd never seen a human yawn before and finds the sight utterly captivating.

Then without warning, you're blinking sleepily up at him and he realises he's been staring. His eyes grow wide and he quickly jerks his gaze away, all of a sudden very interested in picking at the dirt under his nails.

Sure and steady, the lift trundles dutifully up into the tree and once the tarmac below falls completely out of view, you find yourself engulfed in a comforting warmth that has only a little to do with the thick tree bark blocking out the night's chill.

You'd made it back to the tree in once piece.

The kids are all here with you.

They're all tired and hungry, but they're okay.

The revelation is overwhelming and you press your lips together, closing your eyes against the sting of tears. From a general perspective, things are dire - worse than dire, of that you've no doubt. But for now, in this moment, things are just okay.

“Bonnie? Y'alright?”

Ulthane's gravelly voice seems to meld perfectly with the thrumming hum of the lift and you peel your reluctant eyes open again, sniffing hard. “Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired.”  

The warm, orange glow is slowly growing brighter and brighter as you draw closer to the main chamber. Overhead, a large shadow dances across the wall and you hear a voice exclaim, “They're back!”

You suddenly have five children sidestepping across the lift once it comes to a loud, creaking stop until they're all standing behind you, rapidly blinking sleep from their eyes and trying desperately to stay alert in the face of an unfamiliar giant.

Elanya comes bounding across the tree and screeches to a halt just before she runs you all over, her hands lifting to squeeze her cheeks together.

Almost unconsciously, you move your arms out to the side and back the children up a step or two. Ulthane may have proven that he can be gentle with them but this new maker is still a complete stranger to you, regardless of whether she'd patched you up before.

“Oh! By! The! Stone!” she croons, her ears pricked up in delight, “Yarin! C'mere! They've got bairns with 'em!”

Behind her, the other maker approaches with far more caution, treading softly as if he's afraid that one misstep could send you and the kids running. To be honest, with the way Archie's arm's are shaking, you wouldn't be surprised if that ends up being the case. Yarin stops just shy of Elanya and peers over her shoulder, his dark brows raised almost high enough to let you see the small, incredulous eyes staring out from underneath them.

“Well, bugger me....” he mutters and rubs at the back of his bald head, bewildered.

Behind you, Sam cringes and hides his face in the back of your blouse.

It comes as a shock to you, and apparently to the other makers as well, when Ulthane takes a sudden, decisive step in front of you and the children, effectively obscuring you from sight. “Easy, gal,” he warns Elanya, who blinks and drags her gaze back up to him, “They're a mite jumpy. Think it's best we don't rattle 'em too much, aye?.”

The youngling must have seen something in his face that you can't from your angle because she abruptly ducks her head, hands swinging to clasp each other behind her back. “Aye,” she huffs defeatedly, “Sorry.”

You watch him cuff her playfully on the chin and she snorts, her smile creeping back into its usual spot.

“How about fetchin' something for these wee tykes to eat, eh?” Ulthane suggests and she springs upright once more, a hand flying to her head to give him a quick salute before she's bounding away across the tree and almost bowling Yarin over in the process.

With a satisfied grunt, Ulthane steps away from the lift and beckons for you to follow him. After casting the third maker a wary glance, you take Archie and Ashleigh by the hands and lead your little group after him, feet dragging the whole way.

“She's got a good heart,” Ulthane tells you quietly when you reach his side again, nodding over to where Elanya is rummaging around in a large, cardboard box, “But she's still young. Everythin' here is all so new and excitin' for her.”

“It's fine,” you wave his apology aside and try to stifle another, sleepy yawn. Ever observant, Ulthane catches it and sends you a knowing smirk.

“Need me to carry you upstairs?” He's only half joking. He'd do it in a second if you asked him to. But alas, you merely shake your head and usher the five kids over to the first rope bridge, guided by Ulthane's hand at your back.

“Where are we going?” Ashleigh asks in a whisper, her heavy-lidded eyes barely keeping themselves propped open.

“Straight to bed. I think.” You glance over a shoulder at Ulthane and receive an affirming nod. You make it halfway up the initial ramp when Elanya abruptly pops her head up and beams proudly down at you. To your credit, you only take a single step away instead of falling onto your backside like Archie.

Behind you, Ulthane grumbles at her and reaches down to lift the young boy back onto his feet while in the meantime, you find yourself presented with a handful of crisp packets by an oblivious Elanya.

“Will these be okay for now?” she asks, poking one with a finger as thick as your arm, “I-if not, I think I can find somethin' different.”

She suddenly seems unsure of herself, glaring down at the crisps as though they're inadequate and you've already rejected them.

A little taken aback, you swallow down your trepidation and step closer, cautiously opening your hands and glancing up at her face, hesitating for just a moment before scooping the packets into your arms. “These are....they're perfect. Thank you, Elanya.” For the first time, you send a warm smile up at her. It soon twists into a troubled frown however, upon seeing her own features tipped towards your palms, her amber eyes unexpectedly dark and cold. “E-Elanya? I...These are fine, really.”

She doesn't reply, in fact it seems as though she doesn't even hear you. Instead she points at one of your hands and says, “What's that?”

The shift in demeanour is so jarring, you barely even realise what she's indicating until you glance down past the crisp packets and spot the dried blood meandering between your fingers and down your wrists like rivers of rusty brown.

At your back, Sam tries to lean around you to see.

Before you can come up with an answer for the maker though, she whips her head up and directs that ire-choked scowl at Ulthane.

“You were s'posed to keep her safe,” she growls accusingly and when you look up to the older maker, you're confused that he doesn't even try to defend himself, he just glowers down at your injury with a faraway look in his eye.

Twisting your palms until they're hidden up against the crisps, you swiftly plaster on a look of ebullience and grin up at the giant woman in front of you. “Oh, what, this?” you scoff and it's eerie how much you sound like Ulthane in that moment, “This is nothing. Just a flesh wound! And besides, it was my own, clumsy fault.”

Skeptical, the maker scrunches her nose up, prompting you to press on. “Really, it looks a lot worse than it is. Trust me, I'm a human. I know how much blood we can lose before we need to be worried. The only thing I'm worried about right now, is getting these kids to bed.”

Elanya casts a quick glance over your shoulder to see the five younglings cowering close to the wall and although she looks far from convinced, she lets out a sharp 'tsk' and fixes you with a squinted eye. “You'll let me have a proper look at it when you wake up?”

You have the feeling that you really won't get a say in the matter, so you simply breathe a sigh of resignation and reply, “Promise.”

And just like that, the young maker's face lights up with a dazzling smile. “Smashin'! I'll see you on the morrow, then!” she beams.

“Oh, well I – Yeah, see you.” If you hadn't just seen her manner shift with your own two eyes, you would have sworn up and down that she could have been an entirely different maker.

With another nod of gratitude, you turn and motion for the children to continue up the ramp whilst Elanya looks on, enraptured.

“Watch your step,” Ulthane warns once you reach the swinging rope bridge, though he needn't have worried at all. One by one, the kids navigate the slats of wood with relative ease, although their legs have to stretch to cover the gaps in between. The maker inwardly curses himself for not making the bridge a little more solid.

But, soon enough, all six humans are safely on the other side and as you pass through the large archway into a warm, familiar hollow, you can't quite hold back a groan that sneaks out of you at the sight of a real – albeit rustic – bunkbed.

Just inside the entrance is a large, wooden table and you drag yourself over to it, dumping the packets onto its surface before swivelling about and clapping your hands together. “Okay,” you announce to the gaggle of children, who've already begun to meander towards the back of the room where the pair of bunkbeds lay enticingly in wait. At the sound of your voice, they stop and look over at you. Sam and Archie even try to make their way back to you but you quickly wave a hand at the pillows. “No, no. Go on, get into bed. I was only going to say that one of you needs to share with someone else. There're only four.”

Without hesitation, Lucia grabs Kitty's hand tugs her towards one of the bunks. “I can go top to toe with Kitty!” she calls, “We've had to do it at sleepovers before.”

Kitty nods, rubbing at her eyes and allowing herself to be shepherded up a ladder and onto the higher bed with Lucia scrambling up after her. Behind you, a throaty chuckle catches your ear and you glance back to find Ulthane leaning up against the side of the tree in the entrance, his arms folded loosely across his chest. Despite his casual stance, you can tell he's surveying the room intently, one eye screwed shut while the other follows Ashleigh all the way up her own ladder, like he expects her to fall at any moment.

Sam takes the bunk beneath her which leaves Archie to fumble his way over to the final spot, directly under Kitty and Lucia. On the way, he has his arms stretched out before him and he grabs hold of the ladder before carefully manoeuvring around it, sitting on the dusty, green bedroll.

You could almost smack yourself for forgetting. “Oh, Archie, your glasses...”

The maker tips his head to one side, watching raptly as you get to your feet and select five of the tiny, red packets Elanya had fetched for you. “Glasses?” he pipes up.

“Yeah, poor Archie's got a crack in his.” Shaking your head, you amble over to the boy and hold a packet out in front of him, waiting while he squints at it for a moment, then eventually he plucks it from your grasp and sets about tearing it open. Lucia bends down from her bed and grabs two more packets for herself and Kitty as you turn to look back at Ulthane, raising a brow. “Do you guys not have glasses?”

He lifts his shoulders in a half shrug. “Can't say we do. What're they for?”

“Well-” You pause to move between the beds, passing Sam his own crisps. “- Some humans don't have the best eyesight, so they need these cool little gadgets to help them see. Archie's partially sighted, so.....” You trail off, biting your lip. Jesus, that poor kid. How in the world are you going to fix them, or find a replacement pair? How can you just up and tell him that he'll probably have to cope without them?

Aware that Ulthane's attention is still on you, you clear your throat and continue, “Let's just say he really needed those glasses...”

The maker's brow dips into a frown and he roves his eyes over to the young boy sitting with his knees up against his chest, a now empty crisp packet discarded at his side and the tiny, glass spectacles now laying uselessly on the end of the bed, as if they'd been tossed there begrudgingly.

You miss the maker's contemplative expression because you're too busy stretching up to hand Ashleigh the fifth and final packet.

“I'm not allowed crisps before bed,” she says quietly.

Giving the girl an encouraging smile, you press the food into her hands. “Well, you are tonight.”

It seems as though a massive weight lifts off your shoulders once you're certain all the kids have had some sustenance and you traipse back over to the table, sinking heavily into one of the chairs there with a sigh.

You only close your eyes to alleviate the sting of fatigue but when you open them again, the wax candles dotted around the room have shrunk by a few inches and the children are all lying down on their respective bedrolls, sound asleep if the light snores are any indication. At that moment, your belly rumbles noisily and you realise why you must have woken up.

Just then, something shifts to your right and you whip your head towards the sound, heart rising into your throat. To your relief however, the culprit is none other than Ulthane. He's managed to slump down in the same spot he stood in earlier, his arms draped restfully over bent knees and his gaze tipped back to study the tree's newest layer of heartwood.

A small part of you feels it should be unsettled that you'd fallen asleep in his presence when you ought to have been watching the kids, but to be perfectly frank, you'd be useless to defend them anyway with the state you're in.

Placing a hand over your chest, you sigh and struggle up onto unsteady legs after grabbing a packet of crisps off the table, tearing it open and tipping the contents into your mouth.

The crinkling packet garners the maker's attention and he lowers his head, something in his jaw loosening as you plod over to the entrance and take the side opposite his, plonking yourself down onto your rear with a dull thud and pressing a hand tenderly to a knot in the side of your neck.

“Sorry I didn't wake you,” he murmurs, eyeing the discomfort on your face, “Chair's not the best place for a human to sleep, but you looked like you could use the rest.”

“Mmm, well you weren't wrong there,” you return with a yawn and let your head thunk against the bark behind you, eyes slipping shut.

For a time, you're content to just sit still, listening to the extraordinary tree creak all around you whilst outside, thousands upon thousands of leaves whisper their haunting chorus as they sway in the wind.

The moment doesn't last. It isn't long before you have the distinct inkling you're being watched. Cracking open an eyelid, you peek up at the maker sitting across from you and notice that he's giving your hands a decidedly heated glare, his cheek propped upon a single, gigantic fist.

“You okay there, big fella?”

At the sound of your question, the maker gives a start and snatches his head away, none too discreetly, and you have to suppress a smile at the idea that you could make him jump. Turning his glower onto the nearby table instead, he grumbles something unintelligible and huffs.

You continue to inspect the side of his face idly, almost challenging the giant to meet your gaze again but when it becomes clear he isn't going to, you heave a sigh and lower your eyes to the gouges left in your palms. “You know....It...wasn't your fault, Ulthane.”

All at once, the maker's chest constricts, his guts lurch and he slowly turns his head to look back down at you, filled with a terrible sense of urgency, something in him wanting – needing - to hear the words again. “What did....” He pauses, wetting his lips. “What did you say?”

“I said, it wasn't your fault, what happened.” He only continues to stare at you, so you hold your hands up, showing him the wounds. “To me?”

'Oh....Maker's bones, he really thought you were talking about-?...' Ulthane shakes himself and rushes to answer aloud, “Oh. Yeah, no, I know. It just looks painful, s'all.” He tries to play off nonchalance by scratching the underside of his thick, auburn beard and adding, “You'll really let Elanya have a look tomorrow?”

“Only if you let her look at your arm.”

He tries to sneer at you, though it lacks any real contempt and you just end up with an even broader grin which in turn draws an amused grunt out of his throat. Ulthane regards you carefully for a minute and you can't ignore that there's a definite shadow lingering between his brows, stamped into his skin like a permanent badge of melancholia. Then, before you can look too closely into it, he turns away and nods towards the back of the tree. “Y'know, there's another bedroll over there. Haven't exactly tested it myself-” He chuckles softly and gestures from his head to his boots, managing to pull another half smile from your exhausted lips as well.

“-But I imagine it's more comfy than a wooden chair.”

You roll your head over to where he indicated. Somehow, the vast expanse between you and a bed seems insurmountable from here.

When you don't move, a frown tugs at the maker's lips. “Lass, you should-”

“I'll go, I'll go,” you cut him off with a lazy wave of your hand, adding, “In a minute.”

Sleep sounds like the best thing in the world right now. All you want to do is collapse onto a pillow and be unconscious for a little while. But the horrible truth is, you know that the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you'll have to wake up. And waking up sounds like the absolute worst thing in the world right now...

“Boy...Tomorrow's gonna suck, huh?”

Ulthane snorts softly, his lips parting around those formidable tusks.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, nothin'. It's just the way you talk.” His grin softens a fraction. “S'different...I like it.”

Now it's your tun to snort. “Wow, you're easily pleased.”

The pair of you share a moment of easy amusement before the room lapses back into perfect silence once more, broken only by one of the children's muffled snores.

“Hey, Ulthane?” Your eyes are so heavy now, as if each eyelash weighs a metric tonne.

“Aye?”

A yawn steals the words from your lips so you try again, stretching your legs out across the floor. “I'm not ready for tomorrow,” you admit in a whisper. Tomorrow is when you'll have to face reality and come to terms with what's happening to the world, now that you're in a place safe enough to give you the luxury of thinking again.

“Best not to worry about it for now,” the maker replies after a moment of reflection, “You n' the littl'uns are safe, that's what matters, bonnie.”

You try to smile. You think you manage it, but your mind isn't really paying attention and you let your chin drop onto your collarbone. Gradually, each blink starts coming slower and slower until your eyes remain shut. “...Ulthane?” you mumble.

The maker's resounding hum is barely more than a low rumble through your chest. “Mm?”

“What does.... bonnie...... mean?” The last word trails off into silence and your head rolls sideways, a cheek squashing up against the wooden wall as sleep finally, mercifully comes to claim you.

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt: Peggy’s deaged and Tony finds out (: 🙏

Oh, poor Tony, being one of the last to know. Listen, OP I am SOFT for this and started tearing up. This is so pure and beautiful with them. Maybe not what you wanted and maybe 100% a ramble but their relationship is important to me.

--

“Why am I just being told?” Before Fury or even Coulson could be bothered to answer, Tony was speaking again. “Why am I just being told that Auntie Peggy is alive?! She’s been alive – deaged for how long now?”

“Three weeks,” murmured Coulson, only causing Tony’s eyes to snap to him. “We told her immediate family first, we-”

“I’m part of her immediate family.” The reply came in a sharp snap, cutting them off. “I’m part of her family as much as Steve and Sharon are and I get to learn last. No, not even last, I get to learn weeks after she’s released from the hospital and doing God-knows-what? From passing information?!”

“It wasn’t us who told Steve – Romanoff did. Then Hill told Sharon. If I had it my way, none of ya’ll know until we had more information on her condition. We didn’t know how she would survive.” Fury was at least trying to soothe the situation and it was not helping.

“-more information on her condition.’ You had enough if you let Romanoff slip between your fingers to tell Auntie’s soulmate that she was alive! You had enough to know she was going to be okay! And what more information did you need beyond seeing it was working? Because she’s alive!”

He didn’t want to hear it, Tony did not want to hear some bullshit, bureaucrat excuse that means nothing to him beyond utter betrayal. Not that he’s trusted Fury or Coulson to begin with, it was the point of the matter. His Auntie was alive and no one thought to inform him?

That cut deep, worst than they would ever consider.

On paper, no he wasn’t Peggy’s family. He was unfortunately Howard Stark’s son, but anyone with enough sense would connect two together, see the photos Auntie had in her retirement home, see the photos he had, the stories, and connect two and two.

Maybe Shield just didn’t have enough sense as he thought it did.

“Where is she? And so help me, Nick if you say it’s classified, I’ll…”

The threat trailed off when Fury’s eyebrow rose, folded hands raised to his chin level as if to challenge him to continue. When Tony didn’t, he leaned back and folded one leg over the other at the knee.

“We don’t know.”

“How the fuck do you not know where your walking human experiment went?” Tony snarled.

“Anthony Edward Stark – I am much more than a walking human experiment.”

The hard voice lecturing him made Tony’s hair stand on end and caused him to shiver. He suddenly felt like he was eight again and being scolded for eating sugar straight out of her jar. He could feel his cheeks warming as he turned around to see his Auntie standing in the doorway.

It took his breath away how healthy she looked. No wrinkles, no fading eyesight, not even a gray hair in sight. Her eyes were sharp as ever and right now trying to decide who she should be glaring at. She walked with a limb and he guessed that was her getting used to maneuvering again. Steve was somewhere in the waiting room, he knew. They weren’t far from each other, he guessed. It was sickening how they migrated towards one another like the sun and the moon.

“Director Carter,” Coulson breathed, standing up a smidge bit straighter and fixing his tie. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Tony wanted to snort – underneath the bash, white-collar bullshit that was Shield, Coulson was a fanboy at heart for his idols. He turned to look at his Auntie again because he knew her and she did not like to be told where she could and couldn’t be.

“If I remember correctly where we’re currently standing was once the storage room for our failed experiments,” Peggy mused, tapping the silver cane she was forced to use on the floor. It echoed through the entire room. “And I know I’m technically a 90-something year old here, but my memory is sharp as ever and I know for a fact that I am one of the reasons we’re all standing here. So, I think I have clearance over your agent-level coded bullshit, Agent Coulson. Now -“

Her eyes were set on Fury again, knuckles turning white on the cane. Tony found himself shifting closer, but not touching. He didn’t know if he wanted to touch. If he did, this illusion of his Auntie being young, healthy, and quick-witted as ever would shatter into pieces. “Auntie…”

“Not now, Anthony,” she didn’t even look at him. “Director Fury, what is this business on not letting my godson know that I was alive instead of 6 feet under? I think if I remember correctly my paperwork reflected that Anthony was just as much as my family as Sharon was. Steve isn’t family – not yet at least and he was told.” When Fury’s mouth opened to defend himself, Peggy’s head shook her curls. “Forget it, whatever excuse that will come out of your mouth will never do the fact justice that you neglected to tell my godson. For Christ's sake, I’ve changed his diapers. I think he’s family.”

“Auntie!” Tony looked mortified and he could see Coulson’s ever so slight smirk. Oh, he was not letting that go. His ears turned a bright shade of red. “I think they knew that you didn’t have to say it.”

“Anthony, never assume what these agents do or do not know. Shield isn’t what it used to be.” Peggy silently held her arm out to him, leading Tony out the exit and the doors to the Director’s office closing behind them at once.

As expected, Steve graduated towards Peggy, hovering just inches behind her. His hand slipped into hers and he looked down at Tony with a sheepish smile and shrug of his shoulders.

“I hate not knowing,” Tony sighed, rubbing at his temples. “You were in the hospital here for two weeks…”

“Then moved to SHIELD in California for another few weeks to continue to monitor my health. The doctors thought the sun would do me some good when they forget I absolutely despite being so hot. We only just came back last night. Anthony…” She let go of Steve’s hand with a soft squeeze and cupped his cheek, giving a fond smile. Her fingertips stroked over the gray peppered through his beard. “I am absolutely so sorry that you did not know. I asked about you several times. Steve even tried to contact you but Pepper said you were out of the country on some business.”

“Unavoidable, lost all communications when the suit was destroyed.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that given Peggy’s furrowed brow. “But still even before that…I shouldn’t have to come home and find out through Barton of all people that you’re alive. But I don’t blame you or Steve or-or any of our friends, I blame those bastards in there. What would they think I would’ve done to you if I had known right off? Experiment on you? I’m not my father.”

Peggy’s arms wrapped around Tony tightly and crushed him to her, the cane clattering to the floor. Tony melted against her and suddenly he was five again. Scared, sniffling, not wanting to let go of her hand and go to school. He’s been to school, he’s had tutors come in, he’s done it online, but going into a classroom with other kids who were dumber than him and loud and annoying and he liked how quiet his auntie’s office was and she listened to him.

His legs buckled and he was only supported by Peggy and eventually as her still recovering body gave out, Steve too who lowered them both to the floor. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until Peggy was making calming, soothing noises and stroking his hair away from his face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit as often as I had liked,” he whimpered, refusing to pull his face from her shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that I blamed you. I’m so sorry, Auntie.”

“Shh, shh, darling,” Peggy whispered, rubbing his spine. “Shh. I do not blame you, not for one bit. Your gifts to keep me afloat, to keep my programs running in mine and your mother’s name was more than enough for me. Seeing your face weekly was enough. I am not upset. You…” She pulled back to cup his face and press their foreheads together. “You were hurting and raw and had to blame someone after Howard’s death. I was there and I was your balm, as I have always had been. I blamed myself too, it’s okay.”

“No, it-it’s not okay. It’s not. You didn’t deserve that! You had too much on your shoulders already instead of me being a brat.” The painful sob ripped from him and Tony just wanted to melt into the floor.

“Anthony, please listen to me I do not blame you, not one bit. You needed someone at that time. Rhodey was away for basic and I was there for you.” She used the end of her sleeves to clean his face off and peck a small kiss to his nose. “It’s okay now. This…”

“It’s a second chance.”

It was Steve who spoke, causing both of them to look up. Tony had forgotten he was even there, watching him have the breakdown of a lifetime. All the while sitting back, looking somehow small in his large form. If he had been younger…he would’ve been excited to see Captain America but after working with Steve for years, he could see why Peggy worked so hard to honor him. Steve got on his nerves, under his skin with his bullshit morals, but sometimes he did have a point.

And then other times, he saw why Peggy had complained about how infuriating frustrating the Captain was.

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, nodding his head as he looked back at his Auntie. “A-a second chance. At least this time you don’t have to change my diapers.”

Peggy snorted and rolled her eyes, ruffling her godson’s hair. Untangling their limbs and with Steve’s help, the pair were pulled to their feet, her cane back in hand. Peggy grasped him, leaving Steve to run ahead to get the car as they walked down the hallway.

“What did the doctors say? Any reason you keep using that cane?”

“Because they’re idiots,” she sighed, making Tony smile. “The serum was successful for the most part, but given how…ill I was and the state of my body and numerous injuries, some things are slower to heal than others. I’m healing at a faster rate, but it’ll take time before I’m a full hundred percent again. They warned me to get plenty of rest and take it slow.”

“Do they even know you?” Tony snorted, letting the elevator take them down to ground level. He leads her out a side entrance and towards a covered awning, the snow piling up around them. “The last you’ll ever do is take it slow.”

“Obviously not and they clearly don’t know Steve either. One nurse tried to shoo him from the room because he wasn’t considered ‘family’. I told them if I wasn’t still considered legally dead until they get a jump on the paperwork, then Steve wouldn’t be  considered family.” She rolled her eyes as she slipped inside the jeep, staying in the backseat with Tony pressed against her side. Steve just smiled at them through the mirror.

“Where to, Miss Carter?” He teased, closing the doors for them and pulling out to the main street. “You’re officially cleared from Shield Hospital. The world is your oyster – why…does that saying exist?”

It was Tony’s turn to roll his eyes. “Not this again, Steve. Stop thinking about it. Why are you even driving? I could’ve called Pepper to set a plane up for us.”

“Some people like to drive, Tones. It’s calming for me, I never got to drive much beforehand and this…” He gripped the wheel lightly and ran his fingertips over the expensive leather. “Is one reminder I’m grateful for what I have.”

Around Peggy, Tony noted, Steve was a different person. More whimsical, almost calmer, more…himself than he’s seen Steve been in the years he’s known him. “You didn’t know how to drive,” he grumbled under his breath, noting Steve was turning onto the highway. “You crashed your first bike into a tree.”

“Peggy!” Steve’s eyes flashed to hers through the mirror, where she was finding the cars around them suddenly interesting. “You told him about that? I didn’t crash it. It slipped out from underneath me because Jones didn’t…”

“Excuses, excuses,” Peggy laughed. “And no, he didn’t. I had to teach him after…he recklessly and bravely rescued the 107th. We didn’t have much time in between the serum and us being shipped off on two different routes and his smaller self couldn’t even see half the time, so risking him being behind the wheel was not something I was going to do.”

“She’s told me many stories about you, Stevie-buddy. Like the time you and the Howlies went up against a moose and geese.”

Steve’s face flushed the brightest shade of pink as he went around a slower car, his fingertips drumming on the wheel. “We do not speak of those demons – ever.”

Tony laughed and for the first time in a while, it felt good to laugh. A real laugh. A hint at a life he could’ve had if Steve hadn’t died. A hint at a life together where he knew his Uncle and Auntie as two people and not a Captain and Director. This was a second chance and he was going to take every moment that he could while avoiding their sickening love.

Peggy’s hand squeezed his own and he found himself sinking into her shoulder and eventually in her lap in his exhaustion. Four days up straight did that to you. He could hear Steve’s rumbling voice, paying no attention and Peggy’s soft response as she played with his hair.

“I want to go home, Steve,” she told him with a small smile. “Brooklyn. Our real home, I think I’m tired of DC for now and I remember a promise I made a long time ago to this one…” Her fingers stopped stroking Tony’s hair, looking down at his relaxed face. He looked so much like his mother. “We’ll need to stop by the humane society – I promised Anthony that I would get him another cat.”

If Steve was surprised, he said nothing. “Okay, but we’re not naming him Mr. Sprinkles.”

[novus-ordo-seclorem]

Remember

Fanfic time! Will continue this after I’ve gone to work and had sleep etc.

Fandom: Hitman

Ship: Lucasx47, A/B/O dynamics thrown in.

Rating: Mature

-

The shadows lengthened, climbing the ancient wallpaper across the opposite wall.  Dust motes drifted in the icy stillness, the Romanian wilds beyond the broken windowpanes silent, a void of sound.  Something called, however. Something echoed from the cathedral of his mind.

"You don't remember,"  the stranger said, "but I do."

The pistol wavered a moment, before slowly lowering.

"Who am I?"  the Shadow Client insisted.  "What did they call me?"

It escaped the hitman's mouth in a gush of warm breath, a revelation.

"Subject 6."

-  -  -  -  -

47 peered at the red-brown prescription bottle, lips pulled tightly between his teeth.  The collection of little yellow tablets within rattled as he turned it to read the sideways instructions in bold, black type-face.

"CAUTION: TAKE WITH FOOD AT THE SAME TIME DAILY. LIMIT EXPOSURE TO ALPHA-CONTROLLED SPACES FOR FULL EFFECT."

He uncapped the bottle and tapped out one. The offensive taste was terrible enough, which was why he chased it down with liquor.  But it was a necessary evil - chemically cauterizing the one thing that made him feel anything.  Even the pleasure of listening to beautiful music was robbed from him.  Connecting with other people was useless - he'd never be able to empathize.  To understand.  Burned all away to keep his omega instincts at bay.

To keep him from being reduced to a drooling,  desperate omega in the throes of heat, aching for any cock to fill him, he must cut away all the pieces that made him remotely human.

He thought about Grey. Subject 6.   The strange muted, undeniable pull of want.

Making the slightest face, he tossed the pill under his tongue, and cupped his hands under the faucet for water to drink it down.

He emptied the rest of the bottle down the toilet.

-----

He remembered what Lucas had said during the long drive to the hotel with him.  What Providence had done to all of the Alpha clones. They had tried to run away once.  Lucas had gotten away, only because 47 willed it. He gave himself up so that Lucas could live.  Any other Alphas were euthanized like dogs and burned to ashes.

Then Ort-Meyer had erased Forty-Seven's memories of anyone or anything so he would never attempt such a daring escape again.  His prized specimen to control, admire. Use.

"You were the last, and only," he explained.  "An army of willful Alpha assassins would have been useless to him. You were the key.  Your blood would have been their template.  Obedient, medicated, disciplined Omegas to do their bidding."

"And now?"

"They still can't control you.  And they never will."  He smiled then. "They're going to pay, Forty-Seven. We're going to make them pay."

While Lucas drove them through a quiet Romanian suburb, he closed his eyes and tried to clutch at sleep.  The timber of Grey's voice thrummed within him long after he had gone silent.  Bassy, deep, and filling his head like a warm, dark cup of rich sound.  It was achingly familiar and kept him from truly lulling into slumber.

Everything yearned for Grey and he couldn't begin to understand why.  He was determined, terrified, to discover what this feeling meant.

---

Three nights later, underneath Grey's scrutiny, he couldn't stop his palms from sweating.  He was the unflappable agent and yet he felt like a school boy in the principal's office.  Whenever he met his forest green eyes he did not find judgment or malice, only calm warmth... and sadness.

Grey held a glass of amber liquid on his thigh, the picture of repose as he relaxed.  The security of the location permitted him a sense of personal agency - jacket thrown over the back of a dining room chair, shirt untucked from his trousers,  the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to reveal the structured wiry muscle in his forearms, veins and scars in stark relief.

Forty-Seven was desperate not to stare at them.

The hitman busied himself with preparation;  idle hands were the devil's playground.

He disassembled the two firearms he brought with him when he went to the asylum and with his usual meticulous manner he cleaned and assessed them, polished them again.  All the while feeling the measure of the Alpha's gaze on his shoulder.

Lucas drained the glass at last, sliding the empty tumbler to the coffee table with extra care.  "How much can you remember?  Anything at all, besides my name?"

47 pressed the firing pin back into the slide carefully, using a small narrow tool until it clicked into place near the other side of the stock.  Click.  "I remember... that room. Vaguely.  As if it's all underwater.  Voices... garbled.  Faces are blurry."  He paused, an imperceptible crease at his brow with a frown.  "I'm sorry.  I can't."

"But you remember me.  Our promise."

"Yes.  I remember you with absolute certainty."  

"Good."   Lucas found some sense of relief and satisfaction in this.  But nothing quite touched the distant quality of his gaze.  He exhaled slowly.  "You take suppressants?"  

The intrusive question was so jarring, he dropped the next piece.  He fumbled to pick it up again.  "I choose to.  Even if it wasn't mandated by the ICA, I can't work efficiently unless..."

He let the idea finish itself, and Lucas didn't elaborate for him.  Instead the silence fell comfortably again.

47 finished at last.

He felt Lucas standing then.  The creak of the chair and the soft footstep as he closed the small distance between them.

He put his hand softly onto the nape of his neck,  light as could be.  The warmth of his body built and occupied the small space between skin and skin, radiating.  For a moment Lucas Grey left his hand there, until each of his digits relaxed and he caressed the back of his neck.

Ice water seemed to flood the hitman's belly.  He sat, rigid-backed, paralyzed by the sudden advance.  Rather than recoil, however, he stayed where he was. It wasn't fear that held him fast.

"I remember the first night you had your first heat.  By the time I knew what was even happening, the others... had you.  I fought them off you.  I took you away and we hid anywhere I knew they couldn't reach us."  The hushed quality of his voice almost broke him.  There was the slightest pause before Forty-seven leaned closer to him.  "Do you remember?"

"No,"  47 whispered.

"I knew then, I'd kill anyone who would hurt you.  You trusted me.  I'd rather die than break that trust."  

His warm skin whispered against his, until he cupped his cheek, thumb against his cheekbone.  

"I've spent years searching for you."  Lucas's demeanor crumbled next, and his voice shook with unbridled, tumultuous emotion.  His breathing deepened and then hitched, as his olfactory sense hooked on something.  It hit him solidly, the intrusive hyper-awareness of an omega in the room.  His familiar scent was heavy and aromatic. Like clove cigarettes, spicy and pungent. "Forty-Seven."  

The softest murmur of apology escaped the hitman's lips, even as he canted his head to the hand against his cheek.  Nose to his wrist, gathering every particle of Lucas Grey into him. He looked up then with a dazed, mystified quality to his arctic blue eyes.  

"What have you done?" Lucas hissed.  

"I want to remember."

"You- by not taking your suppressants? How long have you--?  When was the last time you had them?"

"Three days ago."

Lucas stepped back away from him, eyes vividly bright.  "Where are they?"

"Gone."

"What? What do you mean ‘gone’?"

"I threw them away."

"Jesus Christ."    Grey's hands covered his face, rubbing at his closed eyes with the heels of his hands.  Emotion, whatever it had been, now boiled down into earnest desperate concern. "You can't do that. You know what happens. Cold turkey like that, you'll..."

The hitman cringed from him.  He knew. Of course he knew.  It was a calculated action and a very stupid, stupid risk.  His fingers clung into the edge of his seat.  Cold sweat crept along his flesh, growing more feverish by the second.   Then he looked up to level his gaze at the other male, heavy with conviction.  "Help me. Please."

Lucas' hands fell to his sides. His jaw slackened. His mind flooded with those sweetened memories he clung to so dearly, and the boyish face of their teenage years became the man who sat before him now, entreating him with that look.  He hardly had to look to know that by now the hitman was hard for him, drenched in sweat and urgency, waiting for him.

He peeled his eyes away from his lower belly and focused. He held out his hand.  Shaking 47 reached to take it, and he drew in a second lungful of him.  Heard that his childhood friend was doing much the same as he stood up and stepped into the circle of his arms.  He smelled so good.  He drew him in and felt the omega's hands shift to cling to the back of his shirt.  Through his chest and shirt, he felt his heart slamming.

"Help me remember you,"  he heard him say.  

"Like this?"  

"Is there any other way?"  

"There could be."    Lucas fought to keep his hands still, to keep from tearing 47's silk shirt from his skin. As it was, he found himself marveling at his muscular back, pressing against sheets of sinew and muscle.

"But you want this,"  the other noted, his words slurred now, drunk on the power Lucas now held sway over him.  Even so, he was shaking.   He was terrified.

Lucas's heart broke a thousand times over again. He wanted too much, too quickly.  He wanted to ravage and claim him for himself all over again.  He drew back a step, blinking for clarity.  "Come with me.  I won't hurt you."

He pulled at his wrist, and 47 resisted a moment longer before he obeyed, unshrinking from the crashing realization of what was to happen in the next room, in the bed-too-large-for-one.  

[sol1056]

What are your overall thoughts on Castlevania season 3? So far the season, particularly the last two episodes (especially the 9th episode), have been controversial.

Well, that penultimate episode definitely put me in mind of the famous quote…

Obiwan: “I feel a great disturbance in the force…”

Half of which was probably screams into the void over this seeming betrayal, and the other half was shrieks in delight about confirmed OT3 potential.

On a more serious note, I’ve got a bunch of asks about S3, so I’m covering them all in this one response, because my thoughts come down to one thing.

This season was all about trust.

If we can consider this season (much like S1) to be setup, these episodes are for getting characters into the places and mindsets that the following act will require. So whatever we get in S4, it’ll require that Sypha be accustomed to Trevor’s life as an outcast demon-hunter, that Trevor accept his choices impact more than just him, that Alucard repell intrusions on his solitary guardianship, that Carmilla has a bound forgemaster and solid plans to grow an army, and that Issac has a full-sized army of his own. 

A pedestrian approach would have been all plot: a whole lot of running from one place to the next while shouting exposition. It could’ve ended up a truly jarring tonal shift between what’s basically four separate storylines: Alucard and Cho’s former prisoners, Sypha and Trevor and Saint Germain, Isaac’s journey to find Hector, and finally Carmilla and Hector. Though given they hardly interact after the first episode, we could treat this as two parallel storylines: Carmilla and her sisters, and Hector and Lenore.

(Spoilers behind the cut.)

Instead, Ellis uses these four (or five) storylines to explore different issues with trust, betrayal, and isolation. Sypha and Trevor recognize that St Germain’s unexpected willingness to trust wasn’t born of seeing them as trustworthy, so much as a symptom of St Germain’s overwhelming isolation and loneliness – and they even remark on the similarity to someone else, implied to be Alucard. Who – after his highly guarded and distanced interactions with Sypha and Trevor in S2, followed by a month (or a year, Alucard’s lost track) of total isolation – has come to the same place as St Germain. 

In both cases, those finales pivots on whether this third, isolated person can be trusted, as well as whether that person can trust the pair that claims to be helping. St Germain isn’t a fighter, and goes into the finale clearly terrified as to whether Sypha and Trevor can even keep him safe, while Sypha and Trevor have to take it on faith that St Germain’s intentions are good. (If you take Alucard’s animation to indicate that he has no experience as a lover, then the parallels are even more stark.)

Meanwhile, Isaac – as the captain so insightfully points out – remains fixated on the offenses done him, easily dismissing the kindness of an unexpected gift from a stranger. Hector’s issue, on the other hand, is too much trust, given too easily, with no questions ever asked (as Lenore drives home, first through interrogation and second through manipulation). Isaac’s determination not to trust anyone makes his way more difficult, while Hector’s determination not to question his immediate trust in the latest authority figure is what eventually traps him. 

Even the four vampire sisters (an element I really loved, almost making up for the first two seasons’ near-dearth) pivot around issues of trust, but in their case, it’s whether they can trust that Carmilla’s grand vision is feasible. They don’t distrust Carmilla, or her ideas – they distrust that they can fulfill her visionary plan to its fullest extent. But they’re also intrigued by the idea, and clearly competent enough to make it happen – and despite a few times where it seems there might be fractures (more of Lenore’s diplomatic manipulation, in hindsight), the four really do trust each other pretty firmly.

There’s a secondary theme threaded through the storylines, too, although we only hear it stated explicitly in the Isaac and Trevor/Sypha storylines. 

the captain: “If you don’t have your own story, you become part of someone else’s.”

The context here is whether one’s motivation comes from an external source, or is internal to the person. Isaac’s motivation (at least at the midpoint of this season) is clearly stated as revenge on Hector – that is, to rectify Hector’s wrongs that undid Dracula’s story. Alucard, too, is trapped in someone else’s story, as his motivation first is that he thinks helping two lost souls would please his mother, and later that training new demon hunters would please Trevor. 

Sypha’s motivation is simpler: action! adventure! excitement! And in not stopping to consider the source (or the results) of her motivation, she ends up being accessory to not one but three stories (with Trevor along for the ride). The Trevor/Sypha storyline could be seen, in this light, as one in which they’re tools in other peoples’ stories. They fail to warn/assert/react fast enough to prevent the mad priest’s actions, they learn of (and then tackle) the church problem due to the town mayor’s need, and they learn of (and then tackle) the thing in the basement due to St Germain’s need. 

In the end, St Germain (like Dracula) goes onto the next chapter of his story, with Sypha and Trevor left to handle the aftermath (like Isaac). They don’t even reclaim their story with the final discovery of the mayor’s depravity, as they end up (if understandably) destroying the evidence, as the mayor had requested. 

When Trevor echoes the captain’s words (which could be Ellis wanting to drive the point home, or could imply that at some point, Trevor also met the captain), Sypha deflects his point. She’s quite certain she’s been living her own story, and enjoying it immensely. In the aftermath, Trevor turns the point around, saying that for the past few months, they’ve been living Sypha’s life, all action and adventure. 

Trevor: “And now, we’re living my life.”

Trevor’s origins, after all, lie in the destruction of his family – but that destruction wasn’t at the hands of the demons they fought. Instead, it was at the hands of the church, its people, and the larger community. His storyline in S1-S2 was of someone who’d seen the worst of humanity, and ended up deciding to fight because he chose to, not because humanity deserves it.   

With the possible exception of St Germain (which is more of an open question than a certainty), they trusted and discovered their trust wasn’t misplaced, so much as… that taking everything at face value meant they remained blind to what lay beneath. Their story halts with Trevor reminded of why he originally kept people at a distance (through snark and alcohol), and Sypha now enlightened as to how sometimes humans are far worst monsters. 

That blindness is also present in Alucard’s story, when he takes the two young prisoners-turned-hunters at face value. He opens his house (well, most of it) to them, trains them, and tells them secrets of how to hunt his father’s race. It’s a radical shift from his original reaction to the Belmont hold, as a museum dedicated to the extermination of his race.

Which brings me to Ellis’ choice to have the finales as parallel battles, but he manages to have them reflect each other, as well. For Isaac, Sypha, and Trevor, it’s an external battle against an overwhelming foe. Sypha ends with literal blood on her hands, and other than St Germain’s departure, the rest of their victory is literally pyrric.  

For Hector and Alucard, their storylines peak (ahem) at what should be a moment of trust and connection, which is why I can see the choice to have those storylines turn sexual. (Honestly, I thought the two young hunters were just going to cook Alucard dinner in return, or something – I had zero expectations that any story would ever go there.) 

First, five separate battles would’ve been just a lot of chaos, compared to the contrast of apparent happy-endings (or happy-middles). Second, it drives home that Alucard has defenses all over the place, but none to seduction, while Hector simply clings to whomever is willing to call the shots, and only thinks to question later. They’re in the stage of their story that the captain raises to Isaac: after you’ve achieved this goal, what next? What is left for you? 

Which is why I think their parallel endpoints – Isaac’s final battle, Alucard and the hunters, Hector and Lenore – all come to a head at being bound in some way. They’re still playing out someone else’s story, so they run headfirst into situations where that tunnel-vision can be used against them. Isaac may be the least trusting of the lot, but even he shows a remarkable tendency to take things at face value: to trust the gift from the seller, to listen to the captain, to sit and converse with the old witch who tells him about the possessed city. With as little foreknowledge as Alucard or Hector, Isaac rushes in, eyes too fixed on achieving someone else’s goal to see the trap ahead. 

None of the bindings are shown as simple, easy to break, or without lasting effect. At the same time, it’s striking that Isaac and Alucard do manage to force their way free, while Hector can only flail about in pain. To me – given the theme of trust – that implies that somehow, both Alucard and Isaac do have the potential for a balanced trust. That is (unlike Hector) knowing when to take it away, even if both struggle with learning to give it.

Oddly, that’s why I think the season managed to position things beautifully for a next season, because we’ve come full circle. 

It’s a curious thing about Alucard: when we first meet him in S1, he’s recovering from his father’s betrayal (of attacking humans); in S3, he’s recovering from the grief of loss (his parents, his only two friends) – and S4 ends with him shivering in pain/hurt over the betrayal of two people. Gotta wonder how much more Ellis will see fit to break this character down.

In S2, Hector was a valued lieutenant, if terribly blind to the implications of what Dracula wanted. Now those illusions are gone; he’s enslaved, wanted only for his skills (in the forge and in bed) – and the deal is quite explicit. Lenore has the grace to say that Hector should be getting something out of the deal, but that doesn’t change that Hector can’t pretend there’s no deal being made. 

Isaac begins cast out, grieving Dracula (not entirely as a mission, but more as a friend, I think) – and ends with the resources and experiences to go in a new direction. He doesn’t have to take out Hector, who could be seen as small fry, anyway. (Especially given Hector’s now just a shell of a controlled man.) If Isaac chooses to go after Carmilla in S4, that’ll be the first step towards making his story his own. Note also that although Isaac may seem alone, he’s accompanied by a host of creatures. He has allies.

It’s the trust in those allies that seems to determine who ends well, and who does not. Although Trevor and Sypha (especially Sypha) were dealt an emotional blow by the post-battle revelations, they always had each others’ backs – and they leave the town behind, relatively unscathed. Isaac ends victorious, with a few of his army intact and the material to make more. 

But the storyline that ends in the ascendant position is Carmilla’s. With her visionary ideas and her sisters’ abilities to make those visions real, Carmilla is positioned to go exactly where she wants. Which is why it’s also striking that (other than Lenore’s sex scene), neither Carmilla nor her sisters really have a ‘final’ battle. They’re effectively a season ahead of everyone else – the trust between the four is already established, solid, and reciprocated equally. 

So you could say that being foolhardy about trust will land you in hot water – which pretty much covers all the central protagonists. But the story’s not that bleak, despite its final scenes, because it’s also saying that sometimes, to get where you want to be, you do have to take that leap – as illustrated by Isaac and St Germain. Or even that you trust, and if betrayed, you deal with the consequences, learn the lesson, and move on, like Trevor and Sypha. 

Or you learn a different lesson, one preached by dear old dad: put the bodies of your conquests out front on stakes, and lock the doors, and trust no one. Which is a legitimate reaction to betrayal, don’t get me wrong, but one that S3 seems to be firmly saying will only end badly.  

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

And the Land is Dark

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Mature (M)  Notes: This is my fic for @twokinkybeans‘s Jar of Dirt challenge. The kink was outdoor sex - so we got camping and nakedness!  Warnings: outdoor sex, NSFW stuff, & the inevitable softness that comes with my work. Summary: 

Tony and Peter alternate picking vacation destinations for the summer & it’s Peter’s turn. When he brought up camping, Tony had his reservations. It turns out that fresh air and Peter Parker are the perfect combination. 

Read it on AO3 here

The most important thing for Tony in his relationship with Peter, was equality.

When they first met on MIT’s campus, Tony had no idea that Peter worked in his R&D department – it’d been a long time since he graced the actual Stark Industries building and couldn’t have possibly known the well-rounded, extremely attractive man worked FOR him.

They were in one of the alumni buildings, gathered with the last 30 years’ worth of MIT graduates celebrating something or another. The conversation didn’t veer close to anything professional – everyone knew what Tony did; breaching the topic only led to shop talk that he didn’t want to stomach more than absolutely necessary.

Finding out that Peter got his checks from his company didn’t change anything between them – it simply made Tony much more conscious of the power imbalance that could easily be made into an issue (and not necessarily from Peter himself). The age gap between them didn’t make him bat an eye, Tony preferred the men he dated to be somewhat younger. For both of their sakes, Tony made Peter’s desires to be independent his first priority.

That included, much to his dismay, vacation picking duties. Over the past 3 years they’d been together, Tony and Peter alternated who picked the destinations for the entirety of the summer. It was one of the only times of the year Tony didn’t have many obligations – he could carelessly spend it with Peter without feeling an ounce of guilt. He simply wished this was his year to pick.

Peter brought up the idea of taking a camping trip to start off their extended vacation around March. He showed Tony pictures of the Great Smoky Mountains for a few weeks before he finally told Peter he was game and would love camping in a secluded site on the banks of one of the streams running through the trail. Tony loved to camp and did a ton of it after he graduated from college and tried to sow his wild oats.

It quickly became apparent that Peter had never gone, however. Peter walked into REI with a determined grin that immediately turned panicked. His eyes got comically wide – Tony picking up on the overwhelmed feeling almost instantly. “It’s alright, Pete. We’ll start with the simple stuff and go from there. I’ve got your back,” Tony said softly, his arm wrapping around wide shoulders that were pinched together tightly. “Sleeping bags first.”

The rest of the adventure around the outdoor store was filled with Tony giving Peter a rundown on all of the different equipment while they picked it out. They settled for two huge sleeping bags, a 6-person tent, some campfire cooking utensils and a stove, and the little trinkets that Tony convinced them both they needed (because who didn’t need a waterproof match container?) Footing the bill didn’t feel bad at all, the smile on Peter’s face was more than worth it.

To really enjoy the camping experience, Peter convinced him that driving would be the best way to get to their mountain excursion – so, he talked Happy into letting him drive the man’s SUV in exchange for a couple extra weeks of vacation for him and Pepper. It was the easiest deal he ever made – but, Happy didn’t need to know that. They packed and repacked the car way more times than necessary before Peter deemed them ready to set out on the 12-hour drive.

Tony took the first driving shift; they set off around 3 in the morning to make the most out of the empty roads and lack of traffic. The espresso Peter made him before they left kept him wired for 5 hours straight – they watched the sun come up and sang to the playlist Peter put together when their StarkPhones actually got reception.

Peter took over after the second bathroom stop – Tony filled up the car and their coffee cups before they set out again. This time, the music stayed off; Tony put on his reading glasses and pulled out Fire & Blood, the book he’d been reading to Peter every night before they passed out for the last couple of weeks. It seemed juvenile, but it was soothing for them both. The story was compelling and got them through another big chunk of the drive.

Their next pit stop took a while. The closer they got to the mountains and the park they were staying in, the narrower the selection on food stops and grocery stores became. Tony caught Peter eyeing the McDonald’s they passed when they took the exit, which just so happened to be located right across the way from a local supermarket. The big coolers they got during their shopping adventure were empty and waiting to be filled with junk food meant to sustain 2 grown men for three days.

The sheer amount of packaged chips and cookies Tony watched Peter put into the cart made him laugh, his boyfriend at 26 still ate like a 10-year-old. The idea of letting go of the reins of his diet for the next few days quickly became a reality with every new and intriguing sweet Peter claimed tasted amazing. The plan was to hike around and enjoy the surroundings, anyway – that would require extra sustenance.

Getting the supplies situated and binging on McDonald’s took them another hour, both of them more than satisfied when they got back on the road to finish off the drive and finally get to their destination. As Tony drove, he talked about some of his own camping trips – the two of them laughing when he described the poison ivy he’d accidentally wiped his ass with. The view got better the closer they got and by the time they were pulling in to claim their camping spot, the sky was lit with a gorgeous sun surrounded by the most beautiful clouds.

A look of wonder passed across Peter’s face the further into the park they got. For the first time since Peter planned the trip, Tony realized that this was probably Peter’s first time ever seeing anything like this. Queens didn’t have a good view of the sky most of the time, let alone beautiful mountain passes and cotton-ball clouds. Reaching across the center console, Tony gripped Peter’s hand tightly. They shared a smile before Peter turned his attention back to the view out the window.

As far as first days went, Tony didn’t have anything to complain about. Watching Peter attempt to put the tent up before realizing that a single pull would do it provided entertainment Tony didn’t count on. The rosiness of Peter’s cheeks when he caught Tony looking at him making it even better. “You knew how easy that was, didn’t you?” Peter questioned, affection and annoyance battling for dominance on his face.

“I sure did. I thought it would be better to let you figure it out. How are you going to learn if I do everything for you?” Tony looked at him pointedly, the man more than familiar with the fact that Peter put learning and knowledge above all else. The eye roll he got was totally fair, and all the more adorable because of it.

They unpacked the campfire stove and all the accessories for it and put them into the tent – Tony could tell that Peter was already ready to start exploring. After getting changed, the pair set out for a long hike – they caught the sunset standing on a flat summit of the mountain closest to them. The best part of it all was the look of awe still clearly etched on Peter’s face – there were colors reflecting in his eyes that didn’t even exist in the confines of New York’s city limits.

Hand-in-hand, Tony used the last dredges of light to get them back to their campsite. Peter held the lantern for him while he started a fire when they got back – the idea of having warm food one they both were looking forward to becoming an actuality. He talked through the entire process as he did it – Peter listened carefully; his eyes wide as he watched every one of Tony’s movements carefully. When they eventually got the hot dogs on the skewers, Tony was exhausted and lulled into a relaxed state by the sound of Peter’s voice and the open quiet surrounding them.

Sleep came easy, Tony passed out on his back with Peter curled up against his side, and when they woke up the next morning, neither seemed to have moved at all throughout the night. Peter kissed him fully awake and promised a naked dip in the water after getting food in his belly. Tony worked his culinary magic and put together a pretty decent bacon and egg combination.

The rest of the day was spent walking along the water ways that connected to each other throughout the trail. Peter looked insanely adorable splashing through some of the deeper water. A couple of times, the waded into a stream that was not meant for humans to be in and Tony had to drag himself and the koala bear clinging to him out of the faster currents. It was one of the best days Tony could remember having in a while – sunburn and blisters on his feet included.

----

The next two days followed the same pattern – Peter picked out a spot he wanted to go explore and they spent all day doing so. Tony kept them fed and alive when Peter slipped and dislocated a finger – it seemed like a life or death situation in the moment, at least. It was a blast, soaking in the sun and simply enjoying being together. Their nights were spent curled up around the fire, both too exhausted to do much more than talk about the day’s adventure and exchange lazy kisses.

As the end of the trip creeped up on them, Peter finally let them be lazy. They drank beer and floated in the small stream in front of their campsite. Getting drunk before 1 in the afternoon was an absolute treat and led to the most exquisite nap under the tree they tied their hammock to. The past few days of excitement compounded and created a wave of fatigue that brought them under until the edges of the day were creeping in.

“Pete, wake up, baby. Let’s have some dinner and enjoy the stars one more time,” Tony mumbled sleepily, his eyes blinking awake only moments before. The sky was starting to turn that hazy pink and orange color – if they moved quick enough, they could eat their dinner under a crimson sky waiting eagerly to give way to clarity and brightness.

It took a few minutes for Peter to come around, Tony spending all of them peppering Peter’s skin with soft kisses and caressing the parts of him he could reach in their tangled-up position in the hammock. The sleep-lines on Peter’s face pulled a chuckle from Tony’s chest, his fingers tracing over them without hesitation. “Sleepy Pete is one of my favorites.” Giving him a quick kiss on the lips, Tony did his best not to kick Peter in the face as he climbed out of the ENO.

Hamburgers and beans by the fire as the sun set couldn’t be beat – Peter woke up with a ton of energy and obliterated all the food Tony put in front of him, a wide smile on his face while he did it. Completely satisfied, Tony relaxed into the chair that’d been his main source of back support for the past few days. Peter’s wandering hands landed in his lap a few minutes later, a familiar heat in his eyes.

“Want to sleep under the stars tonight?” Peter asked, his voice low, the timber of it an invitation for more than just sleeping under the night sky.

Without hesitation, Tony nodded his head, his fingers running down the length of Peter’s arm. “Sounds romantic,” he mumbled in response, the two of them sharing a soft laugh at the sarcasm that Tony couldn’t always help. Leaning over the arm of his chair, Tony invaded Peter’s space, his lips pressing against his boyfriend’s cheek. “The big sleeping bag right by the fire is probably our best bet.”

There wasn’t any rush in their movements. Peter climbed out of his chair a few minutes later and went about getting their trash into the big bag they’d been putting everything in. He would not so casually meet Tony’s eye overtop the fire, his smile getting sultrier as the seconds passed.

When Peter dragged the sleeping bag out and unzipped it, Tony couldn’t handle the waiting around anymore. He got up from his chair and took the handful of steps that separated him from the gorgeous man he got to call his own. Kicking off the moccasins he wore around their campsite, Tony grabbed Peter’s hand, pulling him down to the ground with him. Peter’s wide eyes had him laughing seconds before he pressed forward and captured slightly chapped lips in a warm kiss.

Despite it being June, the nights were a little chilly – so Tony took great care when stripping Peter down to nothing. Shoes came off first, then the first layer of shirts covering the naked skin of Peter’s chest. Tony took off a piece of his own clothing when something of Peter’s hit the ground. When they were shirtless and busy kissing each other breathless, Tony covered Peter with his upper body, the warmth between them more than enough to keep a chill at bay.

Tony took his time taking off Peter’s pants. His lips lingered on a delectably long neck; the skin still red from their time in the sun. Tracing his name with his tongue, Tony marked a path down, down, down until he was settling between the v of Peter’s legs. His fingers worked the button open, Tony blowing a warm gust of air against the front of bright blue boxer-briefs as the zipper of tight jeans came down. The bulge pressing up against the tight fabric pulsed, Peter obviously very interested in what was about to happen.

Bypassing the area Peter wanted him to touch the most, Tony continued his journey to get Peter completely naked. Slim hips came up off the ground when he started to peel the jeans down Peter’s legs, the boxer briefs coming down with them. Tony ran just the tips of his fingers down the inside of spread thighs, the goosebumps pebbling across Peter’s skin a tangible reaction that never ceased to make Tony harder than a rock.

Too interested in Peter’s skin in the moonlight to worry about his own pants, Tony palmed Peter’s bare erection, the length pulsing into his touch. Groaning, he tightened his grip and started to slowly pump down to the base and back up again, his thumb swiping across the already leaking head. “You’re absolutely stunning like this,” Tony admitted, his eyes moving from the show his hand was making to Peter’s, the normal hazel a little darker, pupils completely overtaking most of the iris.

“You drive me crazy,” Peter moaned out, his bottom lip being pulled between his teeth as he tossed his head back.

Tony let his lips trail over the weepy head, his tongue poking out for a taste.

Fingers fisting into Tony’s hair had him taking more of Peter’s length in his mouth – his boyfriend groaning each time his lips tightened during the upstroke. Tony pressed the back of his head into Peter’s hand, the contact there spurring him on just as much as the cock sliding deeply into his throat. His own erection pressed messily against the seam of his pants, everything about Peter in that moment fanning the fire in his belly. Thrusting a hand down, Tony adjusted himself, a moan being choked out around the cock in his mouth.

Moving quickly, Tony got up onto his knees, his mouth still firmly working Peter’s cock over as he did. Shaky fingers got the button of his pants open, the immediate rush of relief pulling a groan from him again. Tony forced his eyes shut, his fingers pulling the zipper down and shoving his pants down just enough to free up his cock. Only then did he pull up and off Peter’s erection, his eyes finding the other’s while he shimmied the rest of the way out of the intrusive pieces of clothing.

Tony wrapped a hand around himself, a tight fist stroking up and down a few times just to relieve a bit of tension. “Fuck –“ he gasped out, Tony letting his chin drop to his chest. A huge gust of air left his mouth – it felt like physical pain, pulling his hand away from himself. Peter looked at him intensely, the tip of his pink tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. Unable to resist, Tony leaned over him, pressing their lips together briefly.

He didn’t allow himself too much time to luxuriate in the feel of Peter’s tongue against his own, though. His boyfriend was thrusting up against him, the sticky wetness of his cock dragging along the skin of Tony’s stomach. Settling into the gap of Peter’s thighs again, Tony used both hands to push his thighs further apart, everything deliciously on display for him.

Fingers of his right hand wrapped around the base of Peter’s cock, while Tony used his left hand to pull Peter’s ass cheeks apart. He let his tongue graze along the already fluttering hole, the move pulling a shout from the man above him. “Fuck – keep doing that,” Peter muttered mindlessly, the words broken apart by gasps and moans. Tony didn’t need to be told twice.

Redoubling his efforts, Tony gripped Peter tightly and let the pace of his hand match the swipes and thrusts of his tongue. Peter’s hands pawed at him uselessly, the hitch of his hips and the frequency of his breathing telling him just how close he actually was. “Cum for me, Pete.” Tony forced his head up, his lips and chin glossy from his own spit and the messy way he went down on Peter with abandon. It took a singular nod from Tony before Peter was coming, thick pearls of cum coating Tony’s fingers and the supple skin of Peter’s abdomen.

Tony didn’t give him any time to recover, he simply ran his fingers through the warm cum and used two of them to press against Peter’s entrance. They slipped in without much resistance – his tongue and the orgasm did a decent job relaxing Peter and his usually wound up body. He set a fast pace, the second Peter let him in, Tony was thrusting and pulling back with efficiency – doing just enough to make sure there wouldn’t be any pain.

Face red and cock pulsing, Tony replaced two fingers with three, his arm tired from the ruthless way he was simply taking. Peter didn’t seem to mind, though – his cock was already starting to harden against his stomach, the pulse of it making him clench around Tony’s fingers.

“I’m ready, I’m ready. Fuck me, Tony,” Peter’s words cut through whatever rational braincells were left. Tony pulled his fingers out and spat in his hand, the leftover cum and spit the perfect lubricant for a coupling like this – wild and carefree. He didn’t let his hand linger as he spread the fluids over his length, the mere touch made him want to explode. Tony had just enough left in the tank to heft Peter’s legs around his hips as he lined the tip of his cock against Peter’s hole and pressed forward, bringing them together as one.

His hands pressed into the sleeping bag up by Peter’s head, his fingers just shy of being able to play with the hair that haloed out. Bringing his bottom lip between his teeth, Tony went through the periodical table in his head to give Peter a second to adjust and to stave off the orgasm that was quickly approaching.

Peter took his own erection in his hand and started to stroke, the darkness in his eye reflecting the moon above perfectly. Pale skin seemed to glow in the depth of the darkness surrounding them, the hand Tony watched becoming iridescent the longer he stared. The movement was a nice distraction, but not enough to stop his hips from swiveling and pulling back, the press inside the only thing he wanted in that moment. Tony let his head hang between his shoulders, the force of his thrusts easier now that he wasn’t trying to hold himself up as much.

The clench around him drove him towards the edge before Tony could stop it from happening. Dropping down to his elbows, Tony trapped Peter’s hand between them to stop the rhythmic jerking over smooth skin. Each tug caused Peter’s hole to clamp down around him and it was pulling Tony to the precipice a lot quicker than he wanted. “You’re going to make me cum. You feel so fucking good,” Tony babbled, his nose moving over Peter’s cheek with every back and forth thrust.

Hands grabbed his face, Peter tugging until Tony shifted his attention to him. He couldn’t stop the roll of his hips, so he didn’t try – staving off obviously wasn’t going to happen. Peter looked at him with his mouth wide open and pupils blown, the sight of it almost enough to pull him over, the tantalizing squeeze and tug of their physicality be damned. Their lips brushed and for a moment, they shared panted breaths.

“Flip me over,” Peter mumbled when Tony tore away from the kiss, his heart pounding from the anaerobic thrusts of his hips and the astounding lack of oxygen. Clenching his eyes shut, Tony nodded. A miracle stopped his hips and allowed him to pull out – the two of them fumbling around for a minute before Tony was on his back and Peter was settling over him, his tight hole already surrounding Tony’s cock.

“Shit – I’m not going to last much longer, baby.” Tony looked up helplessly, his fingers wrapping around Peter’s hips tightly. “I’m so close – “

Peter smirked down at him, his hand wrapping around his cock before he started a ruthless pace with his hips. The strain of his rise and fall could be seen so plainly in the clench of heavily muscled thighs and the ripple of abs that were so warm and tight – it was fucking beautiful.

Throwing his head back, Tony felt the heat in his stomach hit the boiling point, his orgasm sweeping over him like wildfire. He planted his feet and thrust his hips up, the throbbing tip of his cock pressing against Peter’s prostate – the move enough to pull him right over the edge with Tony. A satisfied moan left Tony’s lips at the feeling of Peter’s cum coating his skin.

The brightness of the stars made Peter glow – the post-orgasmic haze swirled around his limbs, making him look like one of the stars in the sky himself. Smiling widely, Tony let his hands trail over the pale skin, the moonlight not conceding under his fingertips, no matter where he touched. In that instant, he knew he’d never be able to look at Peter the same – the ethereal nature surrounding him right now would forever be engrained in the back of his mind; Peter was beautiful all the time, but this took it to a new level.

Not able to stand the distance between them any longer, Tony wrapped his arms around Peter’s middle and pulled him down. Their lips met, the kiss a steady reminder of the never-ending thrum of love and affection that pulsed between them. Three years later and they were still rocking each other’s worlds.

The coolness of the air broke them apart a while later, the cum cooling on Tony’s chest starting to get a little too sticky for his liking. Groping around, Tony found his t-shirt and wiped his and Peter’s chests. When Peter got up, the situation was beyond help. “We’re going to have to get in the water,” Tony said nodding towards the steadily running stream they’d been “bathing” in all week.

Chilly air drove them into the flow – the coolness was inescapable, though; Tony’s skin immediately lit up with goosebumps. He worked quickly to get himself clean, the water icy the longer he stood nude in the elements. Peter didn’t seem to be moving, so Tony splashed some water over at him, a laugh leaving his lips.

A wash of water hitting him wasn’t all that surprising, Peter was never one to back down from any sort of challenge laid down in front of him, especially where Tony was concerned. Shaking his head, Tony retaliated, the wave hitting Peter starting an all-out war. By the time they were panting for breath, neither man could remember what the cold seeping in felt like. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, his wet and naked torso pressing in to share body heat

“This was fun,” Peter said, his expression open. “Really fun. I didn’t know being away from everything could be so – nice.”

Filling in the rest of the space, Tony let his arms wrap around Peter’s hips. He tilted his head and stole a quick kiss. “You just have to be open to appreciating it, Petey.” Tony brushed their noses together before pressing in for another kiss.

Later, wrapped up together in the sleeping bag, Tony pressed his face into the back of Peter’s neck. He snuggled into the warmth there and let out a soft sigh. “Where are we headed next, anyway?” Tony asked, his body completely relaxed.

Peter grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it, the spread of a smile evident on his lips still pressed against Tony’s skin. “How do you feel about white-water rafting?”  

[wanna-b-poet31]

A (maybe) 4-part meta on Good Omens: Part 1: Aziraphale’s Abuse and Trauma

SOOOOO I promised myself I wouldn’t get too obsessed with Good Omens but I’ve got some meta-thoughts. 

So, it’s no secret that abuse is prevalent in Good Omens, but the methods of abuse are interesting ultimately working as a catalyst for how Crowley and Aziraphale interact with humans, Heaven, Hell, and each other. 

Several of the characters we see in Good Omens are traumatized by the time we meet them, although some more than others. For example, Newt, for what little we see him is clearly ostracized by everyone around him and he shows signs of trauma via isolation. Until the end of the world, it’s heavily implied that he’s bullied, if not dismissed from the rest of the world due to his explosive tendencies with computers. He’s not shown to have healthy coping skills with the isolation, and although it is ultimately good he doesn’t get his job, and works with Shadwell, and meets Anathema, but he’s unable to express himself in a healthy way or handle his past.  Similarly, due to the stress of saving the world, Anathema is traumatized by the expectations of her family, of being a “descendant” of Agnes Nutters.  

But, both begin recovery journeys by beginning to assert their own needs and well-being. Newt begins forming real, relationships and coping with his loneliness by making friends and Anathema defies her family’s obligation by burning the letters. Overall, it’s a straightforward approach to begin recovering from traumatic events. 

However, Crowley and Aziraphale do not have quite as straightforward a narrative. 

Heaven is unbending. It is clear to both of them that God and her representatives punish independence, asking questions, and having any defined version of a “self”. 

Look at the photo below. It’s an environment that (per my last post) is cold, abusive, and really, isn’t a functional space. Nothing can get done reasonably in here. There aren’t any personal touches and it makes the space devoid of any sense of home. AND THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE HEAVEN, land of milk and honey Heaven. It’s not just bland, it’s much more insidious than that. It’s false transparency, a “nothing to see here” mask that the angels use to belittle, attack, and intimidate each other. 

Then there’s the messy business of the dogmatism Heaven follows that affects Aziraphale throughout the series. We see it first in the garden that questions (a la Crowley) lead to abandonment. The fear of falling, of knowingly being discarded by people/entities that supposedly love one another is a violent space to grow up in and incentivizes the remaining angels to keep their head down and not question actions that are clearly wrong. It is Crowley who asks why it would be okay to kill kids (because it’s clearly wrong) to which Aziraphale responds: “I’m not consulted about policy decisions”. It’s clear that 1000 year after the garden he’s internalizing his conditioning. 

His behavior, especially coming from THE angel who gave away his flaming sword without any hesitation and then LIED to God about it, shows that he clearly knows right from wrong is jarring. But, it’s unsurprising, given the abusive place he is attached to. Heaven’s love for him is conditional and wholly dependant on him being able to do as he’s told, not what might be right. 

It’s also clear that Aziraphale is being abused during the events of the series. While not always physically violent (although I’ll get to that in a second), he is continuously belittled and degraded. 

Take a look at Heaven’s least favorite Asshole: Gabriel

When we are introduced to Gabriel the first few things out of his mouth are insults. Although we’ve had Aziraphale for only like 5 seconds and we already can tell how passionate he is about food. Aziraphale is eating sushi, presumably a favorite food given his familiarity with the chef, and taking some time for himself, and like a good family member offers some to his “fellow”, his “ally”, an entity who supposedly had his back. When the food is refused, it’s presented with a dismissive tone and called “gross matter” that would “sully” his body.  This is is a smack in the face to Aziraphale and he quickly lies, saying he’s only eating to keep up appearances. This shutdown of interests and likes pushes Aziraphale to be like Newt, ostracized from people who are supposed to be his friends. Then, like Anathema, his exposure to the “great plan” and what is expected of an angel is villanizes his interests, causing him to feel shame and associate his individuality and sense of the self with “wrong” or “broken”. 

This differs greatly from how Crowley and Aziraphale meet. Although we see Crowley tempt eve, they talk to each other as equals and Crowley does the one thing Heaven has never done -- tell him he’s doing a good job. There is no harm in eating or enjoying eating but he’s being treated like he’s committing some kind of sin. Crowley, in contrast, reaffirms Aziraphale’s actions and helps relieve his concerns. Gabriel, instead, aggravates his anxiety.

Then, we see Gabriel do one of the more insidious discreditings of Aziraphale’s sense of self at the bookstore.  Whereas Crowley is able to tell when there are new books in the shop and knows that losing the shop is a significant loss for Aziraphale, Gabriel can’t be bothered (more on that at the end). At some level, it’s his disdain for humanity that makes him indifferent at best about the bookstore. But, his disregard for Aziraphale’s livelihood, something that is a clear point of pride and joy, is belittling. He is demanding that Aziraphale drop everything he loves to fight the great war, and while asking to fight is not intrinsically abusive (Crowley too asks Azi to join him and fight), the dynamic is not of equals with the same motivations, rather it is clearly meant to be talking down to Aziraphale. Gabriel sees no value in the shop or his “brother” and if he can’t see it there must not be any. The blow to Aziraphale’s emotional state is apparent in the grimace he gives the two angels. 

Even when Aziraphale, (who does his best to uphold what he has been conditioned to be “right” and after many millennia has grown to trust Gabriel despite no reciprocation) DOES go to Heaven with a plan, news about where the anti-christ is and how to stop it, or push him to be neither satan no saint, he’s met with more belittlement. None of the angels at the meeting believe that Aziraphale can accomplish his goals, but worst than that, none of them are willing to give him the support he needs to achieve his goal. Sure they don’t smite him where he stands for purposing an alternative to the end of the world, but that’s not the same as being a support system he can rely on. He can’t even voice here the reasons why he cares so deeply about Earth or why they may be wrong. He is not their equals in their eyes. 

You can also see it at the park when Gabriel and Aziraphale are running, and Gabriel punches his stomach, telling our adorable angel he needs to lose the gut, devaluing Aziraphale’s worth further. Even the face he makes in the gif below is filled with condescension. He’s not taking Aziraphale, or Aziraphale’s concerns seriously. 

Which brings me to the final nail in Heaven’s abusive coffin via Gabriel. The intended violence of his “sentence” is meant to, like the fall, strike the fear of abandonment, disownment, and death into Aziraphale. There is no scenario (except the one we see) where Aziraphale is meant to make it out of Heaven alive. 

After Armaggeddon’t Gabriel, who knows Aziraphale’s intentions of diverting the apocalypse, if perhaps not the rationale, is pleased to belittle the restrained Aziraphale. There is legit joy in his face when they force Aziraphale to walk into the hellfire. 

In the above gif, you can see that not only is he being verbally abusive, throwing ill-intent insults at Aziraphale, but that he fully expects the fire to kill his supposed brother and PLEASED about it.  

LET ME REPEAT THAT. The place/people who Aziraphale is supposed to love, trust, and be loyal to are ready, and happy to, drop him at a moment’s notice. At this point, considering the layers of abuse already outlined, Aziraphale’s insistence that he can’t be on Crowley’s side because Heaven wouldn’t like it is symptomatic of someone who is longing for a genuine, honest connection and has been “raised” to believe that is Heaven, no questions allowed.   

this is not to say Heaven isn’t above physical abuse towards Aziraphale.

I’ve seen some excellent metas floating around dissecting the Crowley vs. Aziraphale  and the Angel’s vs. Aziraphale “intimidation” (although I can’t find them now, please @ them if you know them) and the bottom line is that Aziraphale is terrified by Uriel and her legion of Angels much more than Crowley ever could. Aziraphale is damn well aware of how violent the angels who aren’t even touching him can be vs. his calm response to Crowley pushing him against a wall. 

Which brings me back to Crowley and Aziraphale. Although I can (and will) do another one of these on Crowley, and dive deeper into the implications of their relationship and the closure they need/got by being on their own side. I want to take a second to articulate just how much Crowley does not (try) to do be this way to Aziraphale. 

I maintain that Crowley, is aware of Heaven’s abusive tendencies due to his fall and the subsequent fear that must have caused other angels, I do not think he’s aware of the levels of mental, verbal, and emotional abuse that heaven throws Aziraphale specifically. The way Aziraphale talks up heaven, you’d suspect he was getting awards left and right, or at least some semblance of respect. But no. In stark contrast to Gabriel, Crowley will entertain Aziraphale’s interests/passions like food and books even if they aren’t something he indulges in often himself. Whereas I said earlier Gabriel dismissed the bookshop and presupposed it was something Aziraphale would be able to drop like a rock, Crowley KNOWS that Aziraphale cares so deeply for his books, his food, and his identity as an angel, that losing any of them would be unbearable. Although Crowley pushes and sometimes goes too fast for Aziraphale, he’s not approaching Aziraphale in bad faith. 

Of the 10 observed historical meetings, we see Crowley initiate at least 6 of them (it could be said the Victorian meeting is also Crowley’s doing, but the jury is out about who called that particular meeting as Aziraphale walks toward Crowley first in that scene). We also see Crowley go out of his way to do things that make the Angel comfortable and does not once break his trust. Although he storms out 3 times in the show, he always uses it as breathing room, before once again seeking Aziraphale out, and doing his best to work on their relationship AS EQUALS. Their dynamic (Which I’ll go into more later) is not on uneven footing, and both parties treat the other with a kindness neither of them is offered by their respective worlds.  

TLDR: Crowley’s love for Aziraphale helps heal him from the abuses of Heaven

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[tisfan]

Lucky Buck’s Magical Coffee

Chapter Two - Working for a Living

Fantasy Bingo: Square Magical Exhaustion

link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743212/chapters/60835351

Jarvis flapped Tony’s coat at him as he was ready to leave. “I have insider information that the weather ifrit’s had a fight with his spouse. It may rain later today.” It didn’t look like rain according to the screens that Tony had open that showed the outside world. It looked sunny and peaceful and lovely. But Jarvis was seldom wrong about these things.

The spirit of technology was still relatively young, compared with his brothers and sisters -- spirits of air, earth, fire, water, and void -- having only started coming into being about the mid seventeenth century, or so.

Jarvis himself had been formed in 1835, fathered, one might say, by the invention of the Analytical Engine, in the workshop of Charles Babbage. For a spirit, he was practically a baby. To Tony, he was impossibly old and wise. But then, Tony was a technomage, and spirits of the “natural world” didn’t tend to speak with him.

“Right, so I’ll want an umbrella,” Tony said, digging through the closet for one, “and to bump personal force fields up on my to-do list. And not to suggest a walk in the park for my date. Or maybe I should; Bucky’s a Natural Witch, maybe he’d enjoy getting caught in the rain.”

Tony was on his way to Buck’s Lucky Coffee as soon as he found a functional umbrella, to meet up for their third date, as soon as Bucky turned the afternoon shift over to Clint. He was somewhat unreasonably giddy about it; three was an important number in both the physical and magical worlds, and so three dates seemed... significant, somehow.

He wondered if, after three dates, he could call Bucky his boyfriend, instead of “this guy I’ve gone out with a couple of times.” And why in Turing’s name did he have a pink umbrella with flouncy little ruffles all around its edges? They looked like they’d hold onto water and dump it on you at exactly the wrong moment.

The line wasn’t quite out the door, but only until Tony got there. The next person would, in fact, be out the door. Although that might have been because Bucky had an actual troll as a customer, and he both took up a lot of space and people didn’t want to stand near him. Tony was pretty sure all the nonsense about trolls was just racist bullshit. They did a really good job building bridges, so what, exactly, was everyone’s problem? There hadn't been an incident involving trolls and children in at least a century. (well, sensationalist magazines and abusive parents dragged that story out all the time.)

And even as Tony was putting that together, three more people got into line behind him. The date was not going to start on time, because there was no way Bucky was walking away and dumping a rush like this on Clint to handle alone.

Which was fine, it actually, absolutely was, because Tony was a little overloaded with work, himself, so he could get his coffee and go stake out a table in the corner and knock out a little work on his tablet while he waited. They both worked in customer service; it was a thing you planned around.

Tony squinted up at the ceiling and huffed over the patchiness of the shop’s wards. Bucky was going to have another imp in his espresso machine if the building super didn’t get some fresh protections up soon.

The line inched forward. The troll spoke actual trollish, which Tony didn’t understand. Neither, apparently, did Bucky, but Bucky gestured to Clint, who made a few gestures. SSL -- Supernatural Sign Language, which was left over from when trolls and witches and dwarves all worked together on some of the city projects, and had to learn to effectively communicate. These days, almost everyone spoke English, which seemed very human-centric, come to think of it. Maybe Tony could get some mileage out of a translation app.

“Get me a bucket,” Clint said. “He wants a venti-venti-venti.” Clint signed again, and the troll dropped a gold coin on the counter about the size of a jar lid.

 A triple-venti was going to take a while to pull. Tony fished out his phone and started making notes. Translation app, personal force fields, the somewhat sticky problem of a cursed laptop that a college student had brought him that held the student’s only copy of their master’s thesis -- bad idea, that, always have multiple backups -- and thus couldn’t be de-cursed the quick and easy way, which had a tendency to leave a few memory sectors fragged.

The line kept growing behind Tony. But he’d finally gotten up to the second in line when the door pushed open and a tall, willowy woman came in with strawberry blond hair that was soaking wet and stuck to her face. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “It was sunny. The weather report said sunny all day--” She gasped a few times for breath -- if Tony had been running in those shoes, he’d have broken an ankle -- and gazed at the line in horror.

“Ifrit domestic trouble,” Tony volunteered. “Or so I heard.”

“You think I can send him my dry-cleaning bill?” She wrung out her hair and then took off her jacket, flapping water toward the door. Her shell top was sticking to her. “I’m soaking wet, I’m going to be late, I’ve been working the worst hours.”

“Hi Miss Potts,” Bucky yelled from the counter.

“Mr. Barnes,” she said. “Tell me you can save me.”

“I can save you.”

The troll collected his drink -- the repurposed ice-cream bucket still looked like an espresso cup in his huge hand -- and headed out into the weather. The door yawned and stretched around him to make room. That was a neat trick. Tony hadn’t seen it before; tech wizards said it was too hard, and so trolls and giants and some of the taller elven tribes complained about lack of access.

“Huh. I wonder when he had that installed,” Tony mused, eyeing the door, and then his attention snapped back to -- Miss Potts, apparently. “Does he save you on a regular basis? What’s your standard?”

“I’m probably only alive because of Mr. Barnes’ shop,” Miss Potts said. “Have you been here before? I love this place. I would live here, if they’d let me. Working for A Living. I think I might either die falling down the stairs in exhaustion, or actually push my boss down an elevator shaft without it.”

Tony let the two or three people between them skip ahead of him in the line -- he wasn’t going anywhere until the rush died down, anyway -- to make it easier to chat. “I only discovered it a couple of weeks ago,” Tony admitted. “Came in to exorcise the espresso machine -- it’s fine now, don’t worry -- and well, like you -- didn’t want to leave again.” He grinned. “Sounds like your boss needs to pause and have a cup, too. What do you do?”

“Personal Assistant,” Miss Potts said. “Pretty much whatever my boss says to do, all the way from taking notes at meetings to fetching his dry cleaning. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except they’re in the middle of a hostile takeover, and between angry dwarves and multiple on-site labor disputes, I’ve been putting in sixteen hours a day, six days a week, for almost a month.” She did look on the brink of falling over with exhaustion, her hands shaking.

“Yike,” Tony sympathized. “Is this his first hostile? I mean, someone with experience would have known to hire a temp for the duration or something.”

Up at the counter, Bucky was making two Money for Nothings, keeping up an easy patter with the customers about lottery tickets and checking their pockets. 

“He seems to think that I’m the only one who can keep this company going,” she muttered. She pulled a magical compact out of her purse and opened it. The compact spouted a few uplifting and cheerful advertising-disguised-as-pep-talk phrases, and then-- “damn.” The purple smoke drifted out of the back and pooled around their feet. “It got wet. I am going to complain to the weather guild about this.”

“Nah,” Tony said. “I mean, go ahead and do that, sure, but here, let me see--” He plucked the compact out of her hand and peered into it. It wasn’t very sophisticated tech, but it only took a little for Tony to be able to manipulate it. A locking clasp, a tiny speaker and some wires connected to a button battery for amplification, and boom, tech.

Tony balanced the little thing on the palm of his hand and let energy flow into his witchmarks, making them glow a bright blue. There were some who said it looked spooky, but Tony had always found the light comforting. He coaxed little wisps of magic up into the compact and swept out the water, reversing some corrosion and a little bit of normal wear-and-tear, and reinstalling the sprite software that had drifted loose.

He popped the lid open again.

“Oh, honey, that shirt with that jacket, really? We’ve got some work to do.”

Tony rolled his eyes at it and handed it back to Miss Potts. “Here you go, good as new.” Well, it might be a little bit sassier than it had been before. Semi-autonomous sprite technology seemed to do that whenever Tony put his hands on it. 

“How did you-- thank you,” Miss Potts said. “My name’s Pepper Potts, it’s nice to meet you.” She held out a hand for a professional shake, but when her fingertips touched Tony’s, he felt the brief surge of Empathic Magic. No wonder her boss wanted her on site all the time. Empaths could affect the moods and compliance of people around them with a simple touch.

“Tony Stark,” he said. He considered her briefly. “Want to quit your horrible job and come work for me?”

“Are you joking?”

The woman in front of Tony in line took so long deciding what pastry she wanted with her coffee, Tony was almost certain that her coffee was going to be cold by the time she actually took a sip. 

“Here,” Bucky said. “I got yours already, doll. And Miss Potts, I’ll have your life affirming moment ready in just two minutes.”

Bucky put a mug, rather than a to-go cup on the counter in front of Tony. The heart in the steamed milk on top was glittering red and gold at him.

Tony shot Bucky a warm smile and a thanks, and stepped aside with his mug so Pepper wouldn’t have to reach past him when Bucky finished hers. He turned the mug until the point of the heart was pointing straight at his chest -- sympathetic magics always worked better if you gave them a bit of a push -- and then tipped the froth into his mouth. Like it had the previous times he’d had Bucky’s Lucky in Love brew, everything felt extra-warm for a moment, and a little bit sparkly, and behind the counter, Bucky seemed glow, just the tiniest bit.

“I wasn’t joking,” he told Pepper, when he’d finished savoring that first sip. “My dad died a couple of years ago and failed to leave the business to me free and clear, and last year, almost on the anniversary of his death, his old business partner split the company and walked off with about two-thirds of the staff for his branch. I’ve been scrambling to keep up and looking for good people.”

Obie had done a little more than simply splitting the company, but the sob story wasn’t something Tony liked to wave around. Maybe, if she took him up on it, he’d tell her about it sometime.

Bucky, perhaps feeling something going on -- he seemed to have that sense -- put Pepper’s drink in a tall glass, complete with a bamboo recycled straw instead of in the to-go cup. “On the house,” he added, pushing an actual brownie-crafted brownie on a plate at her. “With a little extra daydreams.”

“I would live here,” Pepper repeated, taking a sip of the drink. “So, job. Details. Would you like to do an interview, I could do an interview. Right here. I even have my resume up to date.”

Tony glanced at the line behind the ordering counter, then shrugged. He wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s do that.” He pointed at a table.

It took barely a minute of scanning Pepper’s resume to know that she was vastly overqualified, and probably not getting paid anything like she was worth. She’d successfully negotiated a dozen contracts, as a personal assistant.

A little nudging and she didn’t quite admit to being sexually harassed by her boss, but Tony could sense that maybe that had happened, too.

When Bucky finally came out from behind the counter, leaving Clint to finish out his shift, Pepper was smiling, cheerful, and enthusiastic, and it probably wasn’t all entirely due to Bucky’s coffee.

“Hey, snowflake!” Tony greeted him cheerfully. “I’m going to steal Pepper from her obnoxious boss. I’d offer to pay her what she’s worth, but frankly, I’m not sure I can afford that, so I’ll have to settle for merely doubling her current salary.”

Bucky tapped the plate in front of her, where she’d eaten the entire brownie except for a few crumbs. “Opportunity Knocks brownie. Glad you enjoyed it.” He gave Pepper a wink. “But now, I am going to steal my boyfriend from you, since we have a date as soon as I’m off shift.”

Tony pulled just a little magic out of his phone and flipped it at Pepper’s. “That’s my number,” he told her. “I’ll call tomorrow, and we’re going to do this. Start writing your resignation letter. Hire some clowns to see you out. Or strippers. Stripper clowns?”

Bucky rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I know a clown dominatrix,” he volunteered. “She could always use extra work.”

“Perfect,” Tony declared. “Talk to you tomorrow, Pep!” He tucked his arm through Bucky’s and turned them toward the door.

Guess he could start calling Bucky his boyfriend, now. That was easier than he’d thought.

On the way through the door, Bucky offered his hand to the doorframe, cupping what looked like a thimbleful of honey and a tiny piece of bread. “Wood fairies,” he said. “She deserved a bonus after that trick with our Troll earlier.” He glanced up at the sky, which was still pouring rain, and the occasional spates of hail, in anger. “I don’t know if you had anything in mind, specifically, but there’s a traveling mystical petting zoo in the park. They probably have wind sprites to keep the weather off. I always wanted to see a unicorn up close.”

“I’m more of a wyvern man, myself,” Tony said, feeling the happy buzz of Bucky’s potion fizzing through him at Bucky’s closeness. “Yeah, let’s go to the zoo.” He held up the pink umbrella. “I can even keep us dry on the way, if you don’t mind walking close.”

[recentanimenews]

ESSAY: Stranger in a Stranger Land — How Chiaki J. Konaka Made Aughties Anime Terrifying

  If you were watching anime in the early 2000s, you know who Chiaki J. Konaka is. If you didn’t know him by name, you were probably familiar with his work on cult classics like Serial Experiments Lain or Digimon Tamers. With other influential series like Texhnolyze, Air Gear, and Mononoke under his belt, Konaka’s work has no doubt become some of the major hallmarks of anime available to English-speaking audiences in the early aughts.

  That being said, Konaka’s work has a reputation for pushing boundaries against the convention of genre. An avid fan of horror, Konaka’s career began in live-action home video movies and television, where he explored topics such as the supernatural, extraterrestrials, and cults. By the time Konaka began working on anime, he already had made a name for himself appealing to a broad demographic. Having written everything from episodes for the popular Gakkou Kaiden (Ghost Stories) live-action television series to niche monster movies, he demonstrated a sharp eye for conventions of each particular genre and more importantly, why they worked so well. One thing has remained consistent throughout Konaka's career: his commitment to a uniquely private brand of horror.

  Girl, Interrupted

  Lain in her room (Source: Funimation)

  One of Konaka’s most prevalent themes is being a stranger in a strange land. Whether for the sake of narrative convenience or simplicity, many of Konaka’s protagonists — regardless of the material's genre — often find themselves in bizarre down-the-rabbit-hole scenarios. The most famous example of this is, of course, Serial Experiments Lain, a cyberpunk series about a deeply isolated girl who discovers an internet world called “The Wired.” Following the later-end of a cyberpunk boom in Japan with directors such as Shinya Tsukamoto and Mamoru Oshii accumulating international cult-followings, the verge of the new millennia couldn’t have been a better time for Konaka’s most iconic work to debut.

  Lain confronts the fake Lain inside The Wired (Source: Funimation)

  In an entry on his personal blog, Konaka writes that Lain was initially planned as an interface-heavy game for the PlayStation, which didn’t offer him many scenario writing opportunities. It was decided a 1998 late-night anime would be produced to promote the game, which would offer Konaka ample space to explore Lain’s world with fewer constraints. This approach to scriptwriting led to Lain’s infamously ambiguous story structure, which centered on Lain gaining access to The Wired and the various anonymous organizations vying for power within it. Unlike the PlayStation game, which relied heavily on players navigating a complex system of computer files about Lain, Konaka’s anime adaptation provides an intimate over-the-shoulder perspective. Lain, an introverted young girl, is quick to embrace a myriad of “other” Lain personae online. In episode 8 "Rumors," Lain returns to her own reality after confronting and attempting to kill one of the fake Lains in The Wired — only to find yet another "fake" Lain has somehow planted herself among her friend group. Whether it's a hallucination or not, it's a jarring moment of emotional whiplash and confirms Lain's fears aren't just online, but that her anxieties over her identity are becoming very real.

  A "fake" Lain from The Wired among her real-world school friends (Source: Funimation)

  For Lain, it becomes increasingly difficult to determine whether or not people like her or the internet's perverted image of her. The uncanniness Lain experiences isn’t a fear or helplessness to an almighty force or evil corporation like other cyberpunk stories. Rather, Lain’s biggest fears are these alarming encounters with her split virtual personalities — a stark reminder of who she may become after the inevitable collision between The Wired and reality. In the end, she is her own worst fear.

  The Lovecraftian Connection

  Gatomon watches Kairi "glitch" as she wanders across the street in a daze (Source: Hulu)

  Although Konaka has certainly gained a reputation for his work flirting with cyberpunk, it’s by far no means the only format capable of unpacking these complicated themes of self-realization. Like many fascinated by the weird, Konaka is famously fixated on the works of American horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. It could even be argued Konaka is just a horror writer flirting with hybrid supernatural science-fiction. Much like the genre-omnivore his early writing credits would imply him to be, the way Konaka has approached a score of fantasy and cosmic-horror lend themselves to a far more liberal application of Lovecraftian tropes. This, of course, has given us some of the most unlikely mash-ups of thematic material, such as his episode “The Call of Dragomon” in Digimon Adventure's follow-up, Digimon Adventure 02.

  The cave beside the mysterious Dark Ocean (Source: Hulu)

  Obviously, a reference to Lovecraft’s 1926 short story “The Call of Cthulhu,” this episode was initially conceived as the starting point for an eventually abandoned story arc about the mysterious Dragomon entity. As if this didn’t make the episode interesting enough, it’s significantly darker in tone compared to the series’ typical upbeat mood. Kairi, an otherwise confident and outspoken girl, suddenly develops strange dreams and Lain-reminiscent behavior. Kairi eventually begins to develop hallucinations about being underwater and being watched. Eventually, she finds herself staring out at an ocean and exploring a dark cave — somewhere neither in the Digital World nor the real world. This is when things get uncomfortable — even in a reality where traveling between cyberspace and the real world is possible, there are still unknowable “in-betweens” yet to discover. Again, the slow unraveling of horror isn’t the reveal of Dragomon, but rather Kairi’s atmospheric aloneness in realizing the reality she’s taken for granted can suddenly be uprooted without warning. Classic existentialist cognitive dissonance. But, y'know. For the kids.

  No One Can Hear You Scream in Cyberspace

  Jeri is psychologically tormented by the D-Reapers and relives her mother's death in the hospital (Source: Hulu)

  After Digimon Adventure 02, Konaka would continue exploring this theme of protagonists inadvertently entering “new worlds” and having to reconcile their identities as a consequence. Like Lovecraft’s characters uprooted by the mere knowledge of cosmic horrors in isolation, Konaka’s characters must sink or swim when it comes to reality-shattering revelations. Konaka’s writing on 2001’s Digimon Tamers strongly flirts with these ideas, going beyond a simple “deconstruction” of the series’ basic premises toward a more psychological direction. Although Tamers' main protagonist Takato is himself an idealistic fan of an in-universe Digimon franchise, Tamers doesn’t forego the very real consequences of abruptly being spirited away to a violent new world. The kids aren't simply away at summer camp anymore — after a few dozen encounters with god-like creatures, the mental strain begins to slowly creep up on the DigiDestined. Rather than escaping without consequences, Konaka’s DigiDestined have to face the music and realize their escapist fantasies about Digimon aren’t what they imagined. This version of the Digital World isn’t morally flat, but something borderline Eldritch that becomes fully realized in the series finale.

  Jeri captured by the D-Reapers with Calumon (Source: Hulu)

  In Tamers' climatic arc, Jeri, Takato’s eccentric classmate and fellow Digidestined, is abducted by man-made programs called “D-Reapers” as they take over the city. The D-Reapers, who intend to eliminate both the human and Digimon world, attempt to transform Jeri into the “Mother D-Reaper” by channeling the traumatic memories of her mother’s death. As notorious as Tamers' ending has become, it's perhaps not as brutal in the broader context of Konaka’s work. While captured, the D-Reapers keep Jeri in a Nyarlathotep-like cyber-flesh tower — similar to Tsukamoto’s half-man, half-machine character from Tetsuo: The Iron Man. Jeri doesn't have the intermediary of a Digimon to help — her partner Leomon is gone — and therefore has to face the unintelligible cosmic-cyberpunk D-Reapers alone. The “real” Jeri is momentarily gone. Like Lain’s lost identities in The Wired. Again, an adolescent protagonist must face the horror of losing one's self in a world with no logic. For a moment, she becomes truly hopeless, believing that this is "fate," recalling the phrasing doctors used described her mother's death. Thankfully, Jeri recovers and reunites with her friends as the equilibrium between the Digital World and reality are stabilized. But the point still stands: Our most intimate fears far surpass anything else we can face in the most alienating of scenarios.

  The Petty Exorcist

  Genkei confides to The Medicine Seller aboard the ship

  Beyond flights of cyberpunk cognitive dissonance fancy, Konaka’s work on the 2007 series Mononoke draws a more direct line back to his origins in Japanese horror cinema. A spin-off of the Ayakashi: Samurai Horror Tales series, Mononoke focuses on a pointy-eared man known as the “Medicine Seller” and his mission to terminate malicious spirits called “mononoke” across feudal Japan. Konaka’s story-arc “Sea Bishop” pays homage to classic funayūrei (boat spirit) ghost stories with a whodunit twist after someone sabotages the ship's navigation. Having wandered into the Dragon Triangle, a dangerous part of the Pacific Ocean full of evil spirits, a monk aboard named Genkei is suspected of the deed. Rather than immediately deal with any suspected mononoke, the Medicine Seller must decipher the true reason Genkei led them astray — his challenge isn’t an exorcism, but rather distinguishing petty human lies from truths. Genkei explains he did so to free his sister's spirit, who was supposedly sent to sea in his stead as a human sacrifice. Up to this point, Genkei’s intentions seem noble until his manipulative past is revealed: He had been fighting incestuous thoughts and guilt for years, having only become a monk to cope with his feelings. His sister died in vain.

  The True Face of Horror Is Your Own

  After the Medicine Seller reveals he knows someone is lying on the ship, Genkei gives his confession

  Satisfied with Genkei's understanding he has been living a lie, the ship's mononoke finally emerges to be slain. It’s only this expulsion of a private fear that allows the Medicine Seller to finish his work. This time, no one is being manipulated by spirits or supernatural entities — all that remains is one person's terrifying inability to see beyond the lies they forced themselves to believe. The "real" you is worse than anything you can imagine.

  Konaka’s fiction rarely gives us easy answers. While his work may seem oblique and impenetrable at first, these are fundamentally stories about people’s biggest fears being themselves and what they believe they know to be true. Although the novelty of being whisked to a fantastical world is alluring, Konaka doesn't downplay the expected alienation and anxieties of his characters. For as wide-ranging and genre-agnostic as his many series are, they never lose track of what fundamentally makes this flavor of horror unique: an embrace of the uncanny, the bizarre, and unflinching honesty.

    What spooky anime gives you nightmares? Let us know in the comments!

      Blake P. is a weekly columnist for Crunchyroll Features. Impmon did nothing wrong. His twitter is @_dispossessed. His bylines include Fanbyte, VRV, Unwinnable, and more.

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

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