#i really chose violence with this one

[chihoshisai]

Threads of Fate

Rosinante x Reader

cw : reader and Corazon are both marines, established relationship, very severe angst, corazon meets his end, couple arguing, bittersweet end // wc : 2.5K

You once were bitter. 

You once said atrocious things.

You once pushed away someone you should have kept close.

With each step taken on the soft duvet of the snow, its audible crunch noise fusing with your ragged breath to fill the dead surrounding silence, your mind inaudibly traveled down the memories it contained.  

Donquixote Rosinante.

The way he suddenly joined the marines. How his smile at first made him look like an incompetent fool. A fool who was ridiculously clumsy. Constantly slipping at the worst opportune moments, yet somehow managing to produce results. Much to your annoyment. A fool who left you no choice but to keep an eye on him. Not because you cared. But because sparing yourself from the earful of superiors was a must. Had knowledge of how this personal involvement with him would evolve reached your ears, you would’ve recoiled and kept to yourself. With each moment sown in the passing of time, intriguing sides of his personality weaved itself to your conscience. His kindness. His attempt at positivity. Even his smile seemed to make him less of a fool. 

Well shit. 

A fool had embroidered an assemblage of feelings into your heart. Each stitch tugged at your heartstrings until your whole body became a puppet of the troublesome sensation. Stomach churning, face reddening and eyes swaying. Thankfully the fool also had the same condition. Reciprocating feelings with his large grin and an embrace so wide it left you floating in his arms.

Then came the happiness. The stolen moments during work. The modest time together at marine bases. The planned day offs. The prude holding of hands. The flashing of his heartwarming smile. The meeting of impatient lips. The running of love hungry bodies. The promises of a shared future. 

The news of his upcoming undercover mission. 

It had broken the spell casted upon you by the clumsy fool. The threads around your heart had grown so thick through the passage of time. So elaborate. So delicate. So intricate. Yet ever so fragile. No matter how sturdy embroidery was, it still remained vulnerable to sharpness. It was all that easy to cut a thread. After all, all it took was knowing that the one who weaved the pattern one day decided to halt the continuation of the project. Therefore making it hard for the person who had once been patternless to comply. 

“Why would you propose to do such a dangerous mission?” Bitter words flowed from your lips while your gaze held resentment and betrayal.

Rosinante stood on the other end of the sitting room, leaning against the window, glancing at your restless form that paced around. “Because he’s my brother and I know what he’s capable of. Doflamingo must be put down.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be the one to do it!” Your hands extended towards him before lowering in a fist. 

Rosinante avoided your gaze. “He’ll be more inclined to let his guard down because I’m his blood brother.”

“He’s a madman!” You exclaimed without regard for your lover's feelings. “He wouldn’t be swayed by some brotherhood bond. If it was so easy, he wouldn’t have parted ways with you in the first place.”

“That’s because I was a different person as a child.” His lips curved downward at  the mention of the past. 

A sigh escaped your lips. “Rosinante, please reconsider this.” The two of you had been content together. And now you found yourself desperately grasping that reality. 

Sending a warm smile to ease any concern, Rosinante took on a softer tone. “I promise to write to you and call occasionally when I can,” he tilted his head in a way that he knew usually made you fold.

However it served as fuel to the rage that boiled inside of you. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?! While you’re out there pretending to be mute in the lion’s den, I’m supposed to nod and smile in relief through every one of your life signals?!”

His eyes widened at the backlash, while his hands raised in a defensive manner. “You don’t have to put it that way.”

“You’re right, because it sounds ridiculous!” You exhaled through your nose, momentarily halting your pacing. How could he act so dismissively towards the situation when his life was on the line?  

“I swear I’ll be alright.” Rosinante put a hand on his chest, forming a thumbs up with the other while his grin flashed towards you.

Truthfully, your blood boiled more and more with his every word, but you decided to take a deep breath to make your point. “I don’t care how many promises, pacts or pledges you make, this is not a great idea. You will be exposed to constant dangers and you cannot guarantee your safety.”

Living with the knowledge that the man who had permanently changed the state of your heart lived everyday with a foot in both death and life would be the start of countless worries and anxiety.

“Dangers are part of the life of a marine. We’ve both experienced it.” Rosinante pointed out with a shrug.

“Except our missions aren’t expected to drag for many years. We’re not some kind of secret agents. Nor were we trained for it.” A hand ran through your hair in desperation.

With  the smile now long gone from his features, Rosinante spoke more seriously. “But this is what I want to do. Something I have decided for myself.”

“Without any regards for me whatsoever.” The words came bolting like an accusation. You didn't mean to, but felt too sweet up to dismiss it as a slip of the tongue. 

“That’s not true. You know you mean a great deal to me.” He shook his head, leaving behind his leaning stance against the window to emphasize his claim. He had even taken a step towards you as though it was to contain all of his sentimentality.

Your body took a step back in response while your chest grew heavy, your gaze wavered and your voice lost its edge. “If so then why do I feel like I don’t have a say in the matter? Why do I feel like I’m the one being unreasonable right now? Why do I feel like I’m the only one who’s trying to protect us?!”  

“I understand and hear your worries. But you must trust in me saying that I will come back to you.” Rosinante tried closing the distance by taking strides in your direction but froze when he saw you moving further back.

“I do not trust in a man that throws his life away.” You sternly affirmed, holding your gaze with his before lowering it.

A stream of sorrow drenched Rosinante's features at your sight. At your words. “It pains me to hear you say you have such little faith in me.” His voice mirrored the desolation of his emotions.

One of your hands grabbed your opposite arm, clutching the skin while your lips took on a dejected pout. “It pains me more to be the only one constantly trying to fight for what we have.” 

“I put in just as much effort.” Rosinante expressed, slightly upset that his actions were being shoved under the rug.

But you were dead set in your pettiness. “Yes, when you weren’t obsessively buttering yourself up as a marine no matter how much I worried seeing you overexert yourself, until you eventually made it in the good books of Rengoku and smiled at me like nothing happened.”

“I already apologized for this.” Rosinante said with patience.

“And will you apologize in the future for this too if you don’t come back to me as a corpse?” Your eyes met his, and this time he looked away. 

A silence reigned. Thick and heavy. Leaving behind a trail of uneasiness.

“You know you did this to me,” you almost inaudibly said.

“What exactly?” Rosinante asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“This whole feeling and falling in love thing. It was never what I sought when I joined the marines. I even surprised myself thinking of maybe quitting this dangerous lifestyle in the hopes of having a more stable future with you.” The confession came with the increase of your heartbeat and the burning of your cheeks.

Rosinante remained silent for a moment. “Right.” He slowly nodded. “I’m sorry I brought this upon you.”

“Excuse me?” 

An underhanded move on your part but why was he apologizing?

“I’m sorry I made your job more complicated for you. I’m sorry you’ve fallen in love with me only for our goals to differ in the end.”

The words came hammering at your chest and accelerating your already speeding heart. With his innuendo, you found yourself lightheaded. “I-ls that it?” You asked, almost baffled.

Rosinante slid his hands in his pockets. “It depends on you. My feelings still and will continue to remain, but my mind has been made about infiltrating the Donquixote family and whether or not you wish to walk alongside me through this path is up to you.” 

You found yourself able to breathe more easily. “If I do agree then what will happen?”

“We will start considering our mutual future together in seriousness once I return.” He gave a look both serious and earnest that seemed to speak more of his convictions than his words.

It slightly unsettled you. And in all honesty, you almost fell prey to it if not for your original desire to not let him go. “Why later and not now? Why waste more time when we can do it now.”

“My brother is a threat and no future can be entertained as long as he remains with the power to ruin it all. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

How could someone be so stubborn about walking to their impending doom.

“Rosinante, if your brother cares about you enough to let you join his crew, surely he’ll be considerate enough to leave both of us alone!” You were losing patience from this back and forth.

Rosinante shook his head. “It’s not just about us, but also the countless other people who will be hurt if he stays on the loose.”

Marines and their goddamn sense of justice. 

“For god’s sake, can you stop being so considerate and learn to be selfish? This is about our future! Our happiness!” You almost rolled your eyes.

“I can’t!” Hearing him raise his voice startled you. “I cannot think of either as long as he remains.” He finished on a quieter note.

He had told you of his past. Bleak, gruesome and cruel. No child would get out unscathed. A heap of trauma was to be expected and yet you couldn't help but add, “you mean you cannot do anything until you get closure. Not done by anyone else but by you specifically.” 

Thankfully Rosinante was good natured enough not to send daggers to you through a glare as his gaze remained serious yet not without affection. “Then you realize why I must stop him.” 

“So you won’t deny it? Wanting closure?” You arched one eyebrow.

“No. I do desire to put an end to him for my own sake too,” he admitted in a hushed tone. 

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled.

“Do you… understand now?” Rosinante took the opportunity to take careful little steps towards you.

“Yes. I understand perfectly well that there is no hope in you putting us first.” Your words, accompanied by your cold gaze, froze him.

And silence fell. One in which both of you replayed the memories of years together like a lifetime flashing before one's eye before death. It held the reality of the situation on a silver platter.

“Is that your choice?” Rosinante asked, his lips forming a thin line.

“Yes.”

The crisp air of the winter island tingled your cheeks, violently brushing past them. Your lungs inhaled a trail of frost that propagated in your entire body, chilling its temperature until even your coat failed to warm you. Selfishly you had asked to be transferred under vice admiral Tsuru who was known to desperately sail after the Donquixote family. And through those similar self interested measures did you ask to venture the island for a proper assessment of the damages left done, promising to bring in a report afterwards. As such your steps led you in search of someone who had rendered you a crying mess one too many times over the past years. 

You weren’t walking to be forgiven. The slow pace that led you upwards the island weren’t about to run asking for intimate threads to be weaved again. Your irregular breaths who faltered under the pressure of the weather did not desire to reunite with a familiar taste. Your eyes that struggled to discern one thing from another wouldn’t hunt for a glimpse of approval. You desired nothing. Such behavior would only be embarrassing. The decision that had been yours made everything slip out of your grasp. Embroidery wasn’t a one person thing. It was a forged bond between its weaver and the threads. Working together. The threads had already thinned through the unaccommodating passage of time and the weaver had long since been gone. There was nothing left to salvage. Starting over wouldn’t be the same. No pieces were exactly the same.        

Simply, it was that wrenching, skin peeling sensation, burning down your gut which turned your stomach upside down that egged you forward. Further and further ahead until you noticed a familiar figure draped in a black feathered mess laying about in the snow. A splatter of blood surrounding it. 

Ignoring the mess that surrounded the area, you rushed onwards. Your breathing growing into a wheeze. Your heart racing until it amounted to nothing but a pound in your head. Your ears ringing, preventing noise from reaching by mirroring the dull silence of snow. And your body temperature that had once been chilled found itself rising into such a burning mess that it left sweat running down as an aftermath. 

The closer you got, the weaker your legs became. Until finally your knees found themselves unable to support you anymore. With this forced crawling position, the reality presented itself bare at the level of your vision. 

The foolish smile hidden behind an unknown tattoo made it too evident that it was him. 

A blur came to seize your eyes. Inaudible sounds and lamentation failed to exit your trembling open mouth. Your entire body shook under its weight, crashing like a boulder on the still form that gathered snow now that the pristine color had recognized it as a part of the land. While your hands clutched unfamiliar fabric and your cheek robbed against what should have been warmth, the wails and sobs found their way into the world. Blazing your throat in their passage to fill the silence with absolute terror. The tears that streamed found themselves exchanging their heat with a foreign cold, burning themselves deeper and deeper into the fabric like a healing spell.  

You now are broken.

You now said your farewells.

You now clutched someone so tightly, regretting not having tried harder to keep them close.

[mackerel1522]

Achilles: Name one hero who was happy. You can't.

Patroclus: I can't.

Achilles: That's because they-

Horikoshi: Actually, I can name a few. For instance, I've got-

Achilles: No. No, you don't. Your characters have been thought wayyyy too much to actually feel happy right now.

Asagiri: Well, I can name-

Achilles: Oh NO. That's a biiiiiiiig NO. You surely not. Between all the death (even the fake ones) AND your very visible obsession on blowing up kids + giving every character trauma - That's a NO.

Patroclus:

Horikoshi:

Asagiri:

Achilles: AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THAT ONE

Achilles: HIS CHARACTERS WILL NEVER KNOW HAPPINESS AGAIN WITH ALL THE STUFF HE PUTS THEM THROUGH

Achilles: AND HIS MANGA ISN'T EVEN CLOSE TO THE END

Gege: *silently trying to espape*

[freakadr0id]

Since it's December I think now is a good time to look back at one of Rise best episodes and acknowledge just how unhinged Donnie is in Snow Day.

This is peak Chaotic Donnie™ and I absolutely love it.

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

Sensei Sharpens Student

this is just 4.5k words of Yang and Cole bonding. I don't know where I found the energy to do this. this was just my excuse to write Cole angst again and be self indulgent but it worked out well. cross posted to ao3 as well

tw for death mentions and mild violence

~

Yang stared down at the child’s body and sighed. So young… it was a shame his life had been cut short so quickly. Kind of. Yang couldn’t quite bring himself to feel grief over the child, especially not when it would all be remedied soon.

He picked up the body, careful to avoid damaging it further — those oni had really done a number on him — and brought it to the altar. The child would have looked serene if not for the ugly gashes marring his face. Falling from a skyscraper was a truly terrible way to go, all that shattered glass and broken bones and simply knowing that you would die and it could not be changed.

“Soon,” Yang whispered to the corpse. “It will all be better soon.” It might not be, if his plan failed, but it wouldn’t be much of a loss. The child couldn’t respond anyway.

He checked his hourglass — only ten minutes until the eclipse. Ten minutes until he’d see if this child could be resurrected. Ten minutes until the Rift could be summoned again for the first time in three centuries.

Yang picked up the Yin Blade and held it above the child‘s head. It was time. He slashed at the air, the blade ripping a hole in the very universe itself, and smiled.

The Rift glowed a radioactive, toxic green, not unlike the green of the Lazarus Pits. The colours in it swirled together in hypnotic patterns, seemingly alive. Yang picked up the child, less carefully than before, for any further damage wouldn’t matter soon, and threw him into the Rift. Perhaps that was a bit of a crude word, but it was accurate. The boy was not exactly heavy, and Yang had been a very strong man in life.

As soon as the body disappeared into the glowing green of the Rift, Yang dusted his hands off and waited. He did not know how long it would take for the child to come back out. He didn’t even know if the boy would be revived, or if he’d ever come out. If the boy was still dead, then it showed that humans could not be resurrected with the Rift. If he was alive, then Yang had his very own pet assassin. Yang would be unharmed either way.

A loud crack of thunder outside had Yang cursing and running to the door. It was the Rift, it must be. The portal on the inside of the temple had closed, but the green glow outside meant there was some degree of success.

He ran outside and found the body crumpled in a rose bush. It was jarringly similar to how Yang had first found the boy, all bones and too-cold skin, twisted in the way that only a dead body could be. Except this body was not dead. It was very much alive. Yang could see the boy’s shallow breathing. He pressed a finger to his wrist. There was a faint pulse, slow but still there. Yang would have let out a breath of relief if he could still breathe. The boy was alive. The Rift had worked. He now had proof that humans could be resurrected with it.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open. It was strange to see the small side effects of the Rift — Yang would have to jot them down. Where before his eyes had been a pale grey, like little pools of moonlight, the left one was now an unnatural green. The same colour as the Rift.

A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face as well, starting somewhere above his hairline and ending just above his chin. It was the same green as the Rift. Yang could find no logical reason for it. The boy’s eye changing colour made sense, the Pits did the same thing, but the scar was unexpected. Yang would have to study that further. He held out his hand and pulled the boy to his feet. He looked disoriented, not completely aware of his surroundings, but Yang smiled anyway. 

“Welcome back,” he croaked to the child.

~

 Everything was black until it wasn’t. Then it was green and pain and screaming and awakening to an unfamiliar place. The boy blinked his eyes at the old man in front of him. He was fairly sure he didn’t know this man. But the boy couldn’t remember much of anything at the moment, so he let the man drag him to his feet and lead him though a door.

“How are you feeling?” The old man asked the boy. They had settled down around a low table, sitting on silk cushions. A plate of cookies was set in front of them. 

The boy did not know how to respond. “I don’t know,” he said. His voice was raspy and unfamiliar to him. That was scary — how could he not know his own voice?

The old man frowned. “What is your name?”

The boy blinked. He thought hard about what his name might be. “Cole,” he said. That sounded right.

“Cole,” the old man repeated. “I am Master Yang. I am the one who brought you back to life.”

Back to life? Wouldn’t that mean Cole had died? He tried to think about what may have happened and was immediately hit by feelings of pain and hopelessness and terror. However he had died hadn’t been peaceful. Cole shoved those feelings down and looked up at Yang. 

“I died?”

“Yes,” Master Yang nodded. “I revived you with the Rift of Return.”

“Did you know me? Is that why you brought me back?”

Master Yang cringed at that. “I did not know you. I simply saw a child in need and helped.”

“Okay,” Cole said. He could tell that Yang wasn’t telling the truth, or at least not all of it, but he had saved Cole from death. That had to mean something.

“I want to train you,” Master Yang said. “In the ways of combat. So that you will not die again.”

“But everyone dies.”

“Yes, but I would still like to train you. So that you can be safe,” Yang fumbled his words, looking for an excuse.

Cole thought for a bit. No matter how hard he tried to remember, he could not think of anything from his past. Granted, he had only been revived for an hour or so, but it couldn’t be normal not to remember. And what if it was people from his past that had caused his death? Yang was offering him safety and training. It would be good to know how to fight, and maybe he could regain some memories.

“I’ll train with you,” Cole told Yang. It seemed like the best option.

“Excellent,” Master Yang smiled wickedly. “Your training will begin tomorrow. You may take one of the empty rooms upstairs.”

Cole nodded and went up the stairs. He opened the first door on the right and looked over the room. It was dusty, clearly having been uninhabited for quite some time. It was still shelter, though, and the bed looked comfortable.

He looked in the mirror. A reflection stared back at him, of a young boy with dark hair and skin. His eyes were strange — one grey, the other bright green. A large crack (scar?) ran down the side of his face. It glowed green as well. Cole shivered at it. The reflection didn’t seem like him, was wrong and unfamiliar. Of course, who even was Cole? How was he to know if this was what he’d always looked like? He couldn’t remember any family or friends, or what he might have done in his free time, or whether he had any goals for the future. It was terrifying to not know who he was.

Yang knocked on the door, shaking Cole out of his spiral. “Cole, I would suggest you go to bed. Your training begins early and I will not tolerate any whining of no sleep.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole said. He shook the dust off of the bedsheets and pillow. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. His body shut down immediately, sending him into a cold dreamless sleep.

~

The knives came towards Cole at full speed, bright silver crescents that threatened to kill if he didn’t dodge. Cole did a backflip to the left and a handspring to the right, then a simple roll to the floor. Not a single one of the knives hit him.

“Good work,” Master Yang said approvingly. He pocketed one of the throwing knives. “But your backflip was sloppy. We’ll need to fix that.”

“But everything else was good?” Cole asked. He hoped he had done well — he’d trained for hours on the corkscrews.

“Yes.”

“Should I practice throwing them now?”

Yang hummed and stroked his beard. “Go to the armoury and get some throwing knives. Make sure they’re the ones with red leather grips. I don’t want you training with the good knives yet.”

“Yes, Master Yang,” Cole hurried off to go get the knives. He found the armoury, an ancient mahogany door leading to it, and stepped in. There were weapons everywhere, ranging from large battle axes to small daggers to deadly poisons in glass vials. He found the required throwing knives and was about to exit when he saw the scythe.

It was a beautiful piece of work, carefully engraved with runes and enchantments. The blade was polished to perfection, shining and gleaming and incredibly sharp. The handle was made of honey coloured wood, wrapped in black leather. All in all, a stunning ten-out-of-ten weapon.

Cole looked at it and went back down the hall to Yang. “Master Yang, I saw this scythe in the armoury, and I was wondering, maybe after the throwing knives, maybe I—“

“Just spit it out already, boy,” Yang spat.

“Could I train with the scythe, maybe?”

Yang frowned. “It is a difficult weapon,” he said. “Not many use it in combat. It’s much more for reaping crops than anything.”

“But could I learn it?”

“Hmmm,” Yang thought. He intended to have Cole master all the weapons he had, scythe included. It wouldn’t hurt to change his plans a bit and have him learn the scythe next. A perfect assassin should know how to use every weapon, after all.

“Very well then,” he said to Cole. “Once you’ve mastered the throwing knives, I will teach you how to use a scythe.”

Cole had stars in his eyes. “Really?”

“I just said you could, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” Cole pumped his fist in a rare display of childish enthusiasm. Yang smiled a bit at that, though he would deny it if asked.

~ 

Yang nodded in satisfaction at his pupil’s performance. Cole had finally mastered the throwing knives — and in an exceptionally short amount of time, too. He could be the world’s greatest assassin given a few more years.

“Did I pass?” Cole said.

“Yes,” Yang said. “You did well.”

Cole lit up at the praise. “So I can learn how to use the scythe now?”

Yang raised an eyebrow at the question. He had not expected Cole to still remember that promise — children had short attention spans, and he’d figured Cole had forgotten about it. 

But a promise was a promise, and Yang was a man of his word. “Very well, then. You may start training.”

Yang made his way to the armoury and found the old scythe. He had not used it in many, many years. The blade would need sharpening, he thought idly.

“Take it,” he handed the weapon to Cole. “I will teach you the basics, and then we will spar.”

Cole took it gingerly and held it with practiced ease. “Isn’t the blade a bit dull?”

“It will suffice for this lesson.”

“Okay.”

Yang held up his own scythe. “I will teach you how to hold it properly, first. Adjust your hands so that— yes, exactly like that,” he said, confused as to how Cole would already know how to hold the weapon.

“Now, scythes are more for slashing than stabbing. You won’t be able to stab someone through the heart or anything. Remember that.”

Cole shifted nervously. “Master Yang, I think I’ve got it,” he said. 

Hmm. That was strange. The boy held his weapon like he was already familiar with it.

“You seem to have the basics down,” Yang said. “We’ll move on to sparring now. Don’t hold back.”

A nod, and then getting into position. Yang looked the boy over and gave the signal. He was off immediately, going straight for Yang’s throat and slashing at it. If Yang weren’t already dead, he would have died.

Yang went at Cole with his own weapon as well, though he aimed to incapacitate, not kill. Cole clearly had no such qualms — mostly because Yang couldn’t be killed — slicing at his throat and stomach. He was nimble, moving in the same way a dancer might, doing unnecessary kicks and spins. 

It was surprising. Not many used the scythe as a weapon — it was too inconvenient. But Cole used it like it was part of his body. Yang found himself once again wondering what the boy’s past was. He had training, of course, but from whom? Who would have trained such a young child to fight like that? Other than Yang, of course.

Cole took Yang’s distraction as an opportunity to drop kick him and end the match. “Sorry, Master,” he said apologetically. “But you said not to hold back.”

Yang sniffed and readjusted his robes. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I don’t know. I think it might be from my past? It’s all still so foggy, though…”

“I don’t believe you’ll need any more training with the scythe,” Yang shook his head. “You’re more than proficient.”

“But isn’t there always room for improvement?”

“A good fighter knows more than just two weapons. You will train with the bow and arrows next.”

Cole deflated a little. Yang found himself feeling guilty at that. Guilty! When had he started caring about the boy’s feelings? Hell, when had he started caring about the boy in general?

“You may train with the scythe in the afternoons,” Yang found himself saying. “As long as all your other exercises have been completed.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

~

Cole was crying. Yang knew this because of the faint sobs coming from his room. He knocked on the door. “Cole, why are you crying?” He asked.

The door swung open to Cole, eyes all red and puffy. The scar on his face glowed radioactive green. “Just stuff,” he mumbled. 

Yang sighed and marched into the room. He gestured for Cole to sit next to him. “Explain yourself,” he said. Not the most sensitive of statements, but Cole seemed to do better without being coddled.

Cole wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I remembered something,” he said softly. 

“Then why are you crying? Regaining memories is something to be celebrated.”

“I remembered someone important. I think he was my friend, or something. But I don’t know his name.”

Yang sighed. “But you remember what he looks like?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “I just remember that he cared about me. I don’t know anything, just vague feelings…”

“Your memories will return with time,” Yang said. “And until then, you have me.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Cole laughed — a dry, broken, laugh, but still a laugh.

“It is true.”

“Thank you, Master Yang.”

“It is a guardian’s job to take care of their ward, no?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then I’m just doing my job. There’s no need to thank me.”

~

Yang was repairing Cole’s robes when the boy walked up to him. He’d been thinking about how reckless children were, and if it was possible to get more durable clothing. He hadn’t been expecting Cole to be awake for several more hours.

“I want to be a vigilante,” Cole said. He looked at Yang in the face — not quite eye contact, the boy hated that, but close.

“A vigilante? Explain,” Yang frowned.

“They fight crime. I think I used to be one, and I want to do it again.”

Yang sighed and put down the sewing materials. He looked at Cole. “You remember your past?”

“Only some. It’s still really blurry, but I’m sure about this.”

“You fought crime. Illegally, I presume. And you want to do it again.”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware of how dangerous that would be?”

Cole shuffled a little, clearly finding the situation awkward. “Yes, but I’ve trained a lot. You said I was good enough to take out an army.”

That had been a bit of an exaggeration. Yang regretted speaking in such a way. “You are good, yes, but that was hyperbole. Nobody can fight hundreds of people at once and win.”

“But I’m still good at fighting. And staying hidden. And gathering information.”

Yang wondered again when he had gotten attached to the boy. He certainly hadn’t cared when he first found him. And now he was worried about the boy being in danger, of all things.

“Cole, when I first found you, you were dead.” Cole flinched at the reminder but nodded. “That was almost certainly because of your ‘vigilante gig,’ so to speak. And you want to go out again to put yourself in danger.”

“I’m trained now.”

“You were trained before,” Yang retorted.

“I’m trained more.”

“You are still a child.”

“But I want to help people!” Cole looked desperate now. “I can help. I have all this training and experience that others don’t and I can save people!”

“Why?”

Cole picked at his nails. “I made a promise to someone,” he said. “‘Always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.’ I want to keep that promise.”

“There are people out there who would hurt you. They would want to study you like a specimen in a lab.”

“Then I’ll avoid them.”

“It’s not that simple, Cole.”

“Master Yang, please.” Cole wiped tears from his eyes. Yang pushed down the feeling of guilt.

“You are trained, but would have no backup. I would not be able to help you if you’re in trouble.”

“I want to keep that promise,” Cole repeated. He had a steely look in his eyes. This was not something he’d back down from.

Yang got up from the table. “You must defeat me in a spar. Neither of us will hold back. If you win, you can become a vigilante.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t?” The boy knew how to read the fine print. That was good. It would be a useful skill in the outside world.

“Then you stay here with me.”

“I accept your terms.”

“Then come,” Yang said. “Whoever gets knocked down first will lose. Any weapons are allowed. Fight dirty if needed.”

Cole nodded and followed to the training room. He took his position opposite to Yang. “I’m ready,” he said. He held his signature scythe in one hand and a set of daggers in the other.

Yang attacked first, a series of blows and kicks meant to incapacitate an enemy. Cole dodged and returned his own attacks, a flurry of knives and sharp kicks. Months of training had honed his skills into something deadly, more fluid than the style he’d had when he first arrived.

A dodge, and then a parry from Cole’s scythe. Yang was careful not to aim for the throat or head, hitting the legs and stomach instead. His sword clashed with the scythe. Multiple knives were thrown at each other. A dagger embedded itself into the wall.

It took almost thirty minutes for Cole to knock Yang down. He used his earth powers to his advantage, creating stepping stones to jump off of and hit Yang in the chest. He fell against the wall without a sound.

“I did it!” Cole cheered. He rushed to help his mentor off the floor. “I won, right? You said we could fight dirty.”

Yang dusted off his robes, rather pointlessly considering that he was a ghost and could not get dirty. “Yes, you won. You may become a vigilante and help save people.”

“Yes!”

Yang smiled at the scene. And if he’d let Cole win on purpose, well, nobody needed to know.

~

“—and it should be black, so that I can blend in easily. But also a cape! And a full face mask, to protect my identity.”

“You should talk less and focus more on your designing,” Yang commented. He looked over Cole’s drafts for the vigilante uniform. They were hastily coloured and roughly sketched — nothing final, just good enough to get an idea of how it could look.

“It should have orange accents, too. And pockets,” Cole scribbled some more notes. His hands were stained with charcoal and ink.

“It is very dramatic.”

“That’s the point!”

“You are adding a… scar to the mask?” Yang gestured at the large zig-zag drawn on the design. 

“It’s supposed to look like the one I have. But orange, so that it matches the theme.” Cole pointed at the large scar on his face. After so many months, Yang doubted it’d ever heal. Cole would have to conceal it for the rest of his life.

“That is a liability to your identity.”

“I don’t plan to take off the mask. No one will know.”

“If you insist,” Yang sighed. He was already thinking of how to get supplies for this project. It would be a pain to find proper metal for the armour.

“I’m going to have a mask underneath, too, if it makes you feel better.”

“Alright, then.”

“I’m also going to add a voice modulator. So that I can sound scarier. And more adult-like.”

“You are barely five feet tall. Hardly an adult.”

“Platforms exist for a reason,” Cole rolled his eyes. Yang tried not to laugh at that.

~

It was finally complete. After hours and hours of work and multiple injuries, Cole had finally finished his new costume. He was quite proud of it — the orange accents weren’t too bright, so that he could blend in easily, but they still stood out. And it had all the appropriate ‘cryptid assassin’ vibes, just as he’d intended.

“What do you think, Master?”

Yang stood over Cole, examining the newly completed uniform. “It is good,” he said. “You have a talent for designing things.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m sure you will strike fear into the hearts of many.”

“I’m not trying to scare people. I want to save them,” Cole said.

“Hmmm.”

“The scaring people is targeted at bad guys.”

Yang nodded thoughtfully. His pupil had grown so much from the scrawny little boy he’d first found. He was a true warrior, now — perhaps not the undefeatable assassin Yang had first sought out to make, but formidable all the same. He was proud of the boy.

“I’m almost ready, now. I think I’ll leave tomorrow.” Cole looked at Yang for permission, as if he had not made up his mind to leave weeks ago.

“Of course. Make sure to visit a lonely old man when you get the chance, yes?”

“I wouldn’t leave you, not forever. You’re my family,” Cole said.

Family? That was a word Yang hadn’t head in a long time. He certainly had never been called family before. It warmed him to know that Cole thought him a member of his family.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Yang said.

~

The next morning, Cole packed his bags and sat beside Yang on the porch. To passerby, they’d see only a young teenager sitting on his own, swinging his legs and looking nervous. To Yang, he saw a boy he’d grown to care for as a son. He didn’t want Cole to leave. It seemed like they’d barely spent a week together, though it had been nearly a year.

Was it selfish, to wish that Cole would stay with him? Yang had grown to care for the boy. He’d never had a family, not in life, but it felt like Cole was his family. Cole himself had said that Yang was his family, and Yang returned the sentiment. Would it be selfish to ask him to stay forever, as father and son, untouched by time or the outside world?

It would be, Yang thought. Cole was nearly sixteen, by his estimates — it was high time he leave to find his own way. Even if his way was to become an illegal crime fighter.

“I’m going to take a train to the main city,” Cole said, breaking the silence. “I’ll figure living arrangements out when I get there.”

“You have enough money? Clothes, food, all your weapons?” Yang asked. It never hurt to make sure, though he was sure Cole had prepared well.

“Yes, Master. I’ve got more than enough of everything,” Cole laughed. 

“That is good,” Yang breathed. He turned to look at Cole properly. “I have a gift for you,” he said. 

“A gift?”

“Yes,” Yang pulled out the dagger. It was an ornate thing, fragile but dangerously sharp. It had been carved from obsidian and inlayed with silver centuries ago. It had been passed down from mentor to mentor over many years. Yang himself had inherited it when he left his mentor. And now it was Cole’s to wield.

“It’s beautiful,” Cole said. He turned it, watching the blade reflect light and sparkle a million different colours.

“My mentor passed this down to me, years ago. And now it is yours.”

Cole held the dagger to his chest. “Thank you, Master Yang.”

“The blade is supposedly enchanted to protect its owner. I hope that it will bring you protection.”

“Thank you,” Cole repeated. He sheathed the dagger into one of his many hidden pockets.

“You should go, now. You will be late for your train.”

“Yeah, I should,” Cole said sadly. He picked up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. The he hugged Yang.

Ghosts cannot be touched. That is a well known fact. But Cole hugged Yang anyway, simply because a boy touched by death like he was could.

“Goodbye, my pupil,” Yang pulled away from the hug. 

“Goodbye, Master,” Cole said in return. He made his way down the path to civilisation and the city.

~

Cole ran down a dark alley, uncaring of the cockroaches and rubbish everywhere. He stuck to the shadows, barely making a sound. The man he was following continued talking on the phone, unaware of the boy behind him. Cole slammed him on the back of the head and twisted his arms.

“You’re going to go to the police station,” he said slowly, “and you’re going to confess to murdering your wife. If you don’t, I’ll know.”

“Who the hell are you?” The man spat. His eyes were full of terror and confusion. 

“I’m the Talon, and you’re going to do as I say or face the consequences.”

“What is this, some sorta bad movie? I’m not doing—“ whatever the man meant to say was cut off as Cole knocked him out. A bit of blood trickled from his temple. 

“Amateurs,” Cole rolled his eyes and picked the man’s wallet up. He’d drop the guy off with evidence and keep the money. There was enough to book himself a ticket to Ninjago City Central, at least. Shame that he hadn’t wanted to confess on his own, though. The justice system would be much harsher on him now. 

He picked the body up and dragged it to the police station. Then he changed into civvies and went up to the bus stop. He looked at the ticket dispenser in the eyes, just as he’d practiced.

“One ticket, please,” Cole smiled. Yang had taught him to be charming, after all.

[dizzybizz]

what have i done

[astarlightmonbebe]

episode 5 has left me considering the different - and similar - ways taeyoung and kwonsook think about themselves, and how they respond to pain/violence.

kwonsook calls herself a monster, someone who goes crazy in the boxing ring. that monster, she says, was created by her father, and her father used abuse, violence, and emotional manipulation to create that monster. he didn’t treat her like human, so it’s no surprise that the way she talks about herself when she boxes is as if she’s discussing an animal: she gets cornered, gets scared for her life, and lashes out to kill. she calls herself a monster with resignation; it’s not what she wanted to be, but she knows it’s what she was. she ran away to escape that monstrosity, to live as a human, doing good things, but that part of her never really died.

taeyoung, too, calls himself a monster. he’s a SOB, he does thing no one with an ounce of humanity would do. he seemingly has no qualms about what he does, perhaps because he can always justify it to himself, always has an exit prepared for when things really get bad (until, i’m sure, he doesn’t). like kwonsook, taeyoung accepts the label of monster, accepts his own inhumanity, even if they are inhuman in very different ways. whereas kwonsook wants to break away from that monstrous part of her - she’s only returned so she can free herself from that part of herself permanently (and if she finds a way to box without a monster, then...) - taeyoung embraces it. it’s through being a monster that he’s found success, how he secures futures for his athletes, and how he’s able to ‘solve’ their (and his) issues. monstrosity was not imposed on taeyoung, but (due to what we know so far) is something he chose for himself (although the factors surrounding this part of his past are decidedly murky).

in this episode, taeyoung and kwonsook also demonstrate similar responses to violence and (emotional) pain. when taeyoung upsets kwonsook by working with her father behind her back, he offers her an outlet for her anger by punching him. later on, after ahreum has already slapped kwonsook, instead of lashing out, kwonsook offers to let ahreum hit her again if it will make her feel better. in parallel responses, both ahreum and kwonsook debate taking that opportunity to hurt, but decide not to (kwonsook because she’s taking a chance on taeyoung, or moreso giving him another one, and ahreum because she decides that she doesn’t owe kwonsook that, that kwonsook is beneath her in terms of boxing, no longer on her level). 

kwonsook learned to respond to pain at a young age. in boxing, you can’t flinch from the hit - you have to learn how to take the pain, absorb it, and get back up to hit again. outside of the rink, kwonsook absorbs the pain, but she doesn’t hit again. she’s experienced firsthand what her hits can do to people, and that terrified her. after all, she only boxed so that she could protect her mother. so when confronted with violence and pain, she takes the hit, because pain is what she knows and understands. it’s the emotions behind it that are hard for her. pain is easy for kwonsook, because she’s used to living through it, surviving it; beneath it, she’s always empty. she’s never really cared about boxing; it was what she had to do. the lee kwonsook that was a boxing genius was a monster she ran from, after all. but in order to break away from that monster, she has to come to understand the emotional investment of her fellow female boxers. before, they were just her opponents, never her friends, but now she has to face their own feelings about the sport, the passion they have for boxing that she never felt. like ara said, she didn’t feel happiness about winning, and kwonsook has never lost, so she’s never had to live with that humiliation, either. how her feelings will change in relation to boxing will likely be a reckoning for her.

taeyoung, on the other hand, is confronting his fair share of non-boxing sanctioned boxing. even though kwonsook is the boxer, it’s taeyoung who’s been touched by ‘true’ violence in this present timeline. his life is quite literally on the line, which has been shown again and again. he’s been ambushed by her father, threatened, blackmailed, and beaten up by chairman nam’s guys. he lives on the edge, anxious at every shadow, which is chewing him alive. to him, kwonsook’s anger is much easier to deal with. he knows she might hurt him, but his potential to hurt her is so much more (and if he does, in that case he’d find her anger justified, and probably let her beat him to death or something if what we’ve seen of his feelings for her is an indication of anything), and she might hurt him, but she’d never hurt him as much as other people in his life at the moment would (i.e. by killing him, or hurting the people he cares about). taeyoung is used to weathering the storm of other people’s dislike; he’s the scumbag, and he does bad things, deserves other people’s anger when it’s directed at him. 

both taeyoung and kwonsook want to resolve things through violence. i think it’s telling that despite being two emotionally aware people, they both consider other people’s feelings to be so easily taken care of. they want the quick, instant pain, and then they want to get it over with. because the violence is what they’re used to, and to a degree it’s what they both think they deserve. however, what lies beneath that, what doesn’t go away with a single hit, is much harder for them to confront and understand. 

[buckybarnesss]

c'est la vie c'est la mort you and me forevermore [x]

[immobiliter]

I was reading our thread with jamie and anora agreeing to marry in the outlander verse yesterday and did I cry a little? maybe

nooooo skells now i'm thinking about it what have you done

[naydralikessoup]

indie game....... save me indie game.........

[mad-hunts]

i honestly feel like even going to a rage room wouldn't help barton because, since people would still be watching him in a way (through the cameras and such) he'd feel like he'd have to hold some of his anger back and thus, the whole thing wouldn't feel anywhere near as cathartic to him as it should be. no... barton just needs to be able to go back to his childhood home and smash everything. and i mean, of course it wouldn't solve everything, but in his mind — at least it'd make him feel a little better.

[megaawkwardhuman]

nandor doodles

[ronispadez]

1 for the choose violance ask?

1: the character everyone gets wrong

AUGGHHHHHHH OHHH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!! LUCAS 4 SURE. also maybe Gerard and Frank and other Band Dudes, but as for actual fictional characters, PROBABLY LUCAS!

Now, we don't have a clear idea of what Lucas is like post time-skip, if he's still the same gentle cry baby as he was before, in the prologue. But you gotta understand that going on a journey like that has got to change a person. He's def a lot more brave than the fandom, AND FUCKING SMASH BROS BRAWL !!! gives him credit for.

Old fanfics will usually give him t-th-he unre-re-alistic s-s-s-s-stuttering habit, which is sssssoooooooooo hard to read sometimes. I understand stuttering as something someone can have naturally, but in this context, it's something he does because he's nervous or scared or flustered. And he does it almost every time he talks until he finally warms up enough, or he's in a perpetual state of flustered. I'd understand if this was an actual speech thing he had that the author brings up, but no, you can tell that the intention is just to make him look more, ... Im not sure the right word, but more Shoujo shy girl like. Y'know?

Mischaracterization can't really be a thing with Mother protags and other silent protagonist. There can be opinions on characters I can either like or dislike, but that doesn't rule out the possibility that the character is "actually" like that. For Ness and Ninten, no one is really right or wrong... Characterizing them as assholes (COUGH mother 1 novel with Ninten/Ken) or as shy or, well, most of the time people just write Ness as a heroic extrovert and/or complete dumbass which personally is the correct way to me.

But in Mother 3, we get more character from Lucas than we do with any other mother protag, in that he's a gentle boy who likes flowers, and the village sees him as a crybaby, even before Hinawa died. (That one lady Flint talks to during the forest fire, before they knew Hinawa died, called Lucas a crybaby)

But fuck dude, even before the time-skip happened, Lucas came in clutch with the drago to save Salsa and Kuma from Fassad!!! You go, baby Lucas! wth!!!!

Anyway I am fucking SICK!!! I AM FYUCKIMG SICKKK!!!!!!!! Of baby-cant-do-nothin-right-pussy-boy Lucas, characterized in fanart or fanfics. I don't want him to just be a stoic asshole, but I also don't want the crybaby part to be laid on too thick, y'know? Characterize him with thought. He can still be a gentle crybaby, but don't make that his whole thing, who cries at any small thing that happens

As much as I love Brawl, it was the start of this trend. As much as I love subspace emissary, they absolutely did Lucas fucking DIRTY. What the fuck is he doing, getting scared over these fuckin doll guys and the poo-poo gas ??? I do understand that he doesn't have his friends and dog with him, so he's lost faith in his solo battling ability. I guess. Also is this after the game ended, where he's endured the worst fucking battle of his life?? Or pre time-skip, making smash, or at least subspace Lucas, a little baby man who hasnt gone thru character development yet? Most likely not. I don't know. Subspace's characterization with Lucas was fucking foul. It started the trend of writing Lucas like a little bitch because that's how most of the world was introduced to him. Most people haven't played his game, so they see him as this little BITCH BOY AUUHGHHHHH

Sorry, I'm rambling and not finishing any of my thoughts, but this is something I have to properly write an essay on or make a fuckin YouTube video about or something. Jesus

I do have to say I think Ness' character in Subspace was pretty cute. I wanna see more fanfics where Lucas gets upset with Ness because he protects him too much and Lucas proves himself as strong enough without Ness' help. And then they kiss maybe. Maybe even hold hands ..

Also I am RIDDLED with Nesscas brain I forgot that's literally what Lucas goes thru when he's with Red, I forgor. But most people just think about the Ness Died Because of Lucas Scene in subspace, not how he protects himself and Red later. Oughhhhhh

PENIS BLAST let's just start over, all the way back in 2008 everybody, cmon, let's go, into the phase distorter

[neutronian]

ty betteridge has no business turning his nose up at mike's little teehee jokes after that punfest.

[spearxwind]

cleaned up talas’ playlist a whole bunch just now

[obeetlebeetle]

trying to crack ep3 is SO hard. wuvvy. hob. what is going on in ur little heads