#i think it does make sense if those centipedes come from the hole in the wall too but why is it that whenever i see em

[aria0fgold]

I do have to wonder exactly what the fuck is up with centipedes and Where Do They Come From??? I got jumpscared by another long ass centipede yesterday hiding in the corner in the bathroom AGAIN. And like... Where and How. Did you come from the ceiling? (hopefully not cuz ill be having a new fear during baths then). Did you come from the drain? Which adds a new question cuz that thing is just pipe, dirty water. There's no hole at the sides?????? Where do those centipedes come from bro why do they always appear in our bathroom???

[cant-blink]

Half-Life, Ch. 5

Summary: The consequences of Gigan’s actions makes itself clear.

-

He can’t move.

He can’t see.

He can’t hear.

But he was aware.

He was aware of the terrible pain that plagued his body, so intense that he couldn’t even scream. He was aware of every second the half-life used him for, every second his flesh was gouged and violated. He was aware, that every time he attempted to move even the slightest bit, it brought painful seizures through his entire body, especially of his legs and tails. His feet would kick the air uselessly, his tails have already run dry of their poison gasses but still kept contracting nonetheless.

He was aware, that for the very first time, he was at the complete mercy of everything around him.

His fifth brain has been severely damaged, shredded by the half-life’s tail and made worse through the mating. The same brain that allowed him to control his massive body was now destroyed, and it left that body feeling alien to the dragon.

Never before has he sustained such a terrible injury. It’s not often he received any injury at all, as his hardened scales usually proved enough to protect him from damage. Even in those few fights that proved more serious, it never got this bad. The extent of his injuries were usually torn wing membranes, maybe even a broken neck. Wounds that were always relatively easy to mend. Until that half-life showed up and now...

He felt so weak, and it was hard to stay conscious, much less stay focused on what he needed to do. He still had stored energy left in his stomach; he just needed to tighten the right muscles to free it into his system. But in the process of doing this, he sent another agonizing spasm through his whole body. He couldn’t even cry out, enduring this as it at least released his emergency reserves.

Some of that energy escaped his body, forming a faint barrier around him, red flame-like wisps coming from it. Keeping him safe from the outside world. He honestly didn’t want that energy to be wasted on a barrier, but he had no say in how his reserves were used. His body spent it on a pre-determined list of priorities that his old creators deemed fit.

The first of those priorities was to stopping the flow of blood from escaping his wounds. Blood being drawn is not something he was used to, but here he was losing too much too quickly. His body was in a state of panic, urgent in trying to get itself back together. But his energy stores were limited in how much he can carry; he didn’t even know if he would have enough to fully stop his bleeding, much less repair his damaged brain.

But he had to repair it; he can’t move without it and he needed to get out of here. Fly beyond the cloud of space dust and its atmosphere, to unfiltered cosmic rays. If he can’t, he won’t be able to complete the healing process. And... and...

It struck him.

He could very well die from this.

Bleeding. Humiliated. Disgraced. Defiled. Pathetic. At the claws of a half-life. Surrounded by lesser lifeforms. He’s never imagined what his death would be like, as it seemed like an impossibility. But this? This was not how he wanted his Death to be. He will NOT give this half-life the satisfaction of knowing he did this to him!

Without thinking, he attempted to get up, but his muscles tightened painfully before his legs kicked once more. More horrific pain swamped his nerves from his injuries. Why was his body not paying his damaged brain any attention?! He deemed that more important than his blood!

In his panicked mind-set, he failed to realize that he needed that blood to transfer the healing energy throughout his body. He was already losing too much, and the more he bled, the slower the process. But the thought never occurs to him as he kept struggling against his own body.

It was the burden of agony and exhaustion that finally stopped his attempts to move, his body once more settling into twitches. That violent fit has just undone what healing has occurred, dislodging clots and causing blood to flow freely once more.

He can feel it, trickling down his scales.

He can’t...

He just can’t...

He laid there for another moment, twitching. Enduring. Trying to calm. It’s all he can do; just try to stay alive long enough to see this through to the end. Hopefully soon, he’ll be able to take matters into his own teeth...

Blood still escaped his wounds by the time his reserves ran dry. No, no, this can’t happen to him. He already is going through enough pain as is, was he really going to have to resort to... to...

He didn’t have any real choice in the matter and he didn’t even have time to brace himself mentally before an acute piercing pain came into his chest. It was as if the half-life had stabbed right through him, and he instinctively tried to struggle, only to provoke another seizure that only worsened his situation. He felt no sign of the half-life, no resistance of his blade in his flesh. 

No, what he was experiencing was his own body sacrificing his Gravity Beam sacs, deteriorating the organs and reducing them into the same energy he would become when cocooning into his asteroid. Except this time, it was piece by piece, with his pain receptors fully intact. There was no pleasant numbing to ease the process.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had to go through something like this. At least back then, he was certain he would’ve been able to watch the process and see the results to make himself feel better. Here, he couldn’t observe the progress being made, nor estimate how much longer he’d have to endure this torture. Was this even worth it?

Wave after wave of added torment pierced through his chest, and each one made his focus waver that much more. His heart was racing so fast, from fear and from working hard to transport this new source of energy with what little blood was left. But even that was starting to weaken. It was harder to think, before thought disappeared completely. The pain was becoming dull, including the constant throb of the active chip. Wait, no... The sensation of the chip, the thing that plagued his dreams and life, was gone now.

An irrational sense of happiness flowed through him; the pain was gone, the chip was gone. Have he succeeded in healing? Was this happiness his reward? Was it time to rest from the ordeal? He didn’t know. All he knew now was a sense of bliss as his crests gave him the biggest dose of euphoria that he’s ever felt. 

Before that too faded into nothingness.

-

"Scoli, I need another glass. Right fuckin' now."

"Hello to you too." The centipede grumbled before glancing up. His mandibles opened in clear disgust. "You couldn't have cleaned up better?"

"Not in the mood, Legs," Gigan hissed, taking the glass just as the other kaiju finished pouring his drink. He takes a swig, savoring the taste and letting it work its magic. "Y'know, I put so much work into that guy and this is how I'm rewarded?"

“A bad lay, huh?” Scolopendra muttered in feigned interest.

“You have no idea,” He took another gulp. “Y’know, I had my suspicions that it would be his first time and yeah it was, and wanna know why?”

“Not really.”

“He had NOTHING between those legs. His damn Masters didn’t even give him junk, how fucked up do they have to be to not think of that?!” He continued to vent between drinks. “As fucked as MY Masters were, at least they left the rest of me intact. Even the bastards who did THIS-” He gestured at his own body. “-left well enough alone. But damn, that dragon can’t do shit. No wonder all he does is kill things, he literally has nothing else better to do with his time. Can’t eat, can’t drink, can’t fuck.” He shook his head. "I'd almost feel bad for him if he wasn't such an asshole. But I'd probably be an asshole too if I couldn't enjoy anything. How he managed to live like that for so long, I have no idea."

"Maybe it doesn't occur to you that if he doesn't have those abilities, then he probably never cared. Can't miss what you never had."

"Well, I've been trying to change that. Show him that yeah, killing is fun, but there's more to life than THAT." 

Another gulp and a moment of silence, as Gigan finished his drink and pushed the empty glass towards Scolopendra for a refill.

“Credit though, it was fun at first. Those throats of his, damn.”

“I don’t need to know the details.”

Gigan continued anyway. “He shoots lightning out of his mouth, and I tell you, that kind of energy made him feel real nice.”

“Gigan!”

“But it would be nice to fuck him properly. Maybe I can find a race that has the knowledge to do some surgery on him. Get a proper hole on him so I don’t have to keep making one myself. Heh.” A smirk came to his face. “Imagine that, get him custom-made just for me. Maybe throw in a stomach too.” He chuckled a bit but that died when he saw the look the centipede gave him. It wasn’t one he was expecting, scolding and with great disapproval. He maintained eye contact as he took a sip of his refilled drink. “What?”

“... What the fuck, Gigan?” Scolopendra started.

“What?” he responded with a defensive hiss.

“I asked not to hear about it, but... But what the fuck do you mean ‘keep making one myself’? What did you do?” Well, at last, the damn bug had interest in what he was saying, even if it was with obvious disgust.

“I told you. I made a hole. Between those legs.” The stinger of his tail clicked with emphasis and the look the centipede gave him was growing even more judgmental. It was enough to make him laugh. “Oh, stop acting like you care. If he were any other bitch, I would’ve done much worse. And had a free meal after.”

Scolopendra shook his head. “Would’ve actually preferred if you ate him like the rest of your ‘bitches’. Always made me feel better pretending it’s a legit hunting method of yours.”

“Eh, this job is making you soft, you’ll get over it,” the cyborg continued dismissively. “Anyway, the whole thing would’ve been fun, but apparently, the dragon couldn’t handle it. Damn thing passed out on me.”

“Passed out? Or died from fuckin’ being impaled?”

“Noooo,” Gigan drawled, taking another gulp. “He was still bleeding when I left.”

“Oh, okay, so he’s dying. Good to know, considering he’s the reason I’ve been giving you drinks in the first place. But now that he’s bleeding out...” 

Gigan gave him an unamused look, which Scolopendra met with his own. The moment of silence was thick before the cyborg gave one last gulp to finish his drink before slamming it back on the bar with force. “Fiiiine. I’ll go check on him.”

“You do that,” the centipede grumbled, just wanting any excuse for the cyborg to leave his establishment. “We’re also closing soon, so don’t bother coming back.” He watched the blue kaiju raise a blade in acknowledgement as he left before the centipede pulled out the communicator from beneath the bar. He pressed in a few buttons before speaking in a soft whisper.

“Hey, boss. Gigan, y’know, that idiot cyborg we banned? Yeah, he just left... Mhm... No, I told him to leave but he brought GHIDORAH in here... Yeah, THAT Ghidorah, how many Ghidorahs do you know? Now that monster knows our location, what now?” He nodded a couple of times before- “The Strawberry cloud?” He lets out an audible sigh. “I’ll get things packed up here.”

..............

“Huh? ..... Nothing’s wrong, I was just hoping we’d move to the Pineapple cloud instead... Wait, we can?”

For the first time since Gigan showed up, the centipede smiled.

-

What the actual hell was this?

Gigan glared at the sphere in front of him, and beyond, Ghidorah lying on the ground. He almost walked right into it and would’ve if it wasn’t for the red firey tendrils that pulsed through it alerting him to its presence. He lifted a claw and gave the sphere an experimental tap.

A spark courses up his blade and into the flesh of his arm and he flinched away. It actually wasn’t bad, although probably enough to kill off small species, like their old Masters. But it does nothing to discourage him, as his visor locks on the motionless form of the dragon. The fact that the dragon thought this would be enough to protect him; maybe from those tiny aliens, but definitely not from him. It was enough to push his irritation out of his mind to be replaced with smug amusement.

He’ll show him how useless this was.

Lifting his claw high, he struck the sphere with strength, sparks erupting from the impact. His other claw followed, slashing into the same spot to weaken it. He continues, increasing the amount of force with each blow until he can make out a crack.

A smirk grew on his beak, and his visor began to glow before a blast of his laser shoots at the weakened spot. On impact, the beam scattered into smaller extensions of itself, increasing the area of damage. It proved enough and the shield shattered. The red wisps of energy flung outwards, dissipating into the pink haze around them.

With a chuckle, his eye settled back onto the dragon lying in a puddle of his own blood. At least it looked as though all that twitching from earlier has stopped. Coming closer, he took notice that Ghidorah looked... thinner somehow. Yeah, he was definitely thinner, he can even make out the shape of the bones in his tails. Something was wrong, very wrong.

“Ghidorah, you awake?” Probably not, given the lack of a reaction to his precious forcefield being destroyed. Those six eyes were still open, still glassy and unfocused. Even those crests have lost their glow. He gave one of those faces a light kick with his foot. Nothing.

The damn thing doesn’t even breathe, so he couldn’t use that as a means to check for life. Does Ghidorah have a heart? A pulse to check? If he bleeds, he probably has some equivalent to such, right? He pulled up the files in his memory bank of what his Masters knew about the wyvern, but beyond the origin of his existence and the mind-control chip, they had nothing else. No anatomy, nothing.

It took a moment before Gigan abandoned his efforts to dig deeper, and he decided to test for life the only way he knew how. He kneeled down beside the dragon and with a blade, he sliced a cut through a patch of scales that was still free of blood-stains.

He scanned the wound for a few seconds before realizing, the dragon wasn’t bleeding.

....

Shit.

[gofancyninjaworld]

Why do you think Genos isn't weak? I agree that he can fight monsters but he won't stand a chance against strong monsters. He has been with Saitama for the longest time but he never learned anything. His naivety is the reason why he is weak, he is still consumed by the "normative awareness". His reaction to Amai Mask's transformation is a proof of that. His mindset never grew. He respects Saitama but does not understand him, which is why he is weak.

Please let me apologise in advance. First, this is long. Second, I do have a lot of thoughts.

Yeah, But

There isn’t a character in this series where the fanbase disagrees with the writer so deeply as this guy.  When interviewed, ONE insouciantly said ‘Genos is rather strong, even for a Class S hero,’ and fans went, ‘huh? You could have fooled us!’  It’s not without cause.  No matter how well his fights go, ONE always makes sure that we can append an asterix to it, that we can go yeah, but*

Right from the get go, every victory is downplayed. He thrashed Armored Gorilla, but we had no idea how strong Armored Gorilla was. Not for many, many chapters, until a much-shrunken, unarmored Armored Gorilla killed a tiger-level monster with one punch.   He clears a city and defeats two troublesome demon-level monsters in a matter of minutes? Yeah, but look at the state of his arms and oh! see, see, he just got flattened by that other monster!  Bang needs to save Garou from his clutches?  Yeah, but what if Garou was well?  He’s turning monster after monster into Cubist expressions without getting a speck of blood on him? Yeah, but it’s not like we can see what’s going on – the camera pans everywhere else.  He does the unbelievable against Elder Centipede?  We start going wow, followed quickly by – yeah but the monster regenerated, he’s fated to always lose.  He destroys G-5 without effort?  Oh My GAWD!  The Honour of Atomic Samurai [1] Has Been Besmirched!  (me: huh how does that follow? No, don’t explain – I do understand. Because Genos is seen as weak, if he does what another character couldn’t, then it’s seen as a disgrace to the other character, not an achievement for him.)

battle without honour – if he beat Garou, then he’s a bully, if he didn’t, then he’s a wimp

Of course, the converse is also true. If Genos is having a bad time, the camera lingers in 4K with extra slow-mo. And if the action switches, like when he went from struggling against G-4 to working out how to shut the robot’s lasers down and pull it into punching range, the camera pans away, returning only to feast on the grisly aftermath.

The final clincher is Genos himself, who never reacts with the slightest sense of celebration or triumph no matter how well a fight goes.  His lack of joy in fights is something that ONE has emphasised to Murata.   Being able to celebrate with characters is half the joy of watching them fight.

by contrast, hell yeah, Metal Bat! The story leaves no room for doubt that Metal Bat’s to be found awesome. And he is!  :)

The reason I go into all this is that I get it: Genos is presented to us in a way that gives us cause to doubt his strength.  In that, he’s like the opposite of Saitama, who is presented to us so we can have no doubt as to his strength, but to the internal audience in a way that keeps raising doubts in their minds.

But Genos is strong. He’s physically very strong, very fast, and versatile.  And he’s far less fragile than he is popularly made out to be. There is no reason he shouldn’t be able to take on very strong monsters, subject to match up (like almost every other hero [2]). However, ONE will make damn sure that Genos does not get to appreciate how much more powerful he has grown. What’s it going to be? What’s it going to take this time to knock down Demon Cyborg? Are several cadre going to attack him at the same time? Or will the super-insane monster that looks like the lovechild of Smaug, better-looking Sauruman and a hydra perched at the top of the mile high tower do him in first?  What’s going to *keep* him down? Place your bets, folk: the outcome is sure to be gruesome.

Which actually brings me directly to addressing your assertion: “…but he won’t stand a chance against strong monsters.“  Because it presupposes that Genos MUST be weak, any monster he defeats can’t possibly be strong.  A more honest rephrasing would be ‘I’m not prepared to accept that any monster that Genos could defeat is strong.’

No mental growth? Really?

That’s the physical part.  Let’s go onto mentality.  Annoyingly, I have to treat the manga and webcomic as separate entities at this point.  If you like the detail, I’ve written an extensive side-by-side comparison essay: link. You can skip it for this answer. :)

You know what would have made me think Genos weak?  If Saitama’s fears for what might be happening to him the morning he caught up with Garou had come true:

Before Elder Centipede showed up, Genos had told Garou that he’d finally begun to understand what Saitama had been saying to him about strengthening his spirit.  And then ONE put that to the test when he put Genos in the worst pinch the latter had ever been in: chopped in half and about to be devoured by a monster, with the only heroes watching those who’d proved impotent [3] to do anything to the monster.  Instead of giving up the way he had against Mosquito Girl, Genos dug deep and not only saved himself, but counter-attacked and burned the monster from stem to stern.  That is excellent: there is no place for a character who cannot find self-efficacy in a pinch.  

Without doubt, Genos has further to go, but in the manga it is wilful blindness to claim that he hasn’t developed mentally.

Now, let’s move onto the webcomic.

Even though ONE has done far less with his character in the webcomic than he has in the manga, Genos is back and fighting when most of his classmates are still rolling on the ground, unable to come to terms with losing. There is a real strength to getting up again and moving forward. 

It’s not that Genos doesn’t have any doubts: he does.  From his crushing realisation that he had made a mistake in giving up his human body to asking if he can really become stronger by changing his parts, Genos is very aware of a sense of stagnation and appears very worried by something.  But still, he’s not giving up and he’s not stopped looking to make progress.

even as Saitama despairs of being able to help, he cannot fault Genos for his determination

Still, why cheer for a loser?

There’s a real cognitive dissonance in fans who praise to the high heavens and write as inspirational Saitama’s words to keep trying and moving forward, no matter what, and yet are happy to mock Genos for doing exactly that.

There’s no honour for you if you laugh at characters taking Saitama’s advice

It’s amazing.  Does anyone imagine that before Saitama became too strong, he never failed? Really?  Saitama himself will disagree with that!  Sometimes success looks like reaching the summit of a mountain, but often, it’s only visible in the rearview mirror.  We saw it took Saitama a long time to finally accept that yup, he was just the strongest.

Something I came to realise a while back, people say they love seeing struggle, but real fights don’t sell well in mass media (yes, I have more extensive thoughts on this, here). We like the struggle, but we want the assurance that the underdog has something in their favour that will guarantee that we’re backing a winner.  At one level, we know we’re just watching *how* Garou is going to succeed… at least until Saitama body-checks him to great dramatic effect.

Goodness knows that everything is arranged against Genos and success. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble recounting most of them:

His lack of a biological body to train up.

His dependence on a mechanical body with its set in stone limitations.

His dependence on the cleverness and resources of others.

His lack of innate talent or heritage (and if he had any, they’ve long since been binned).

His stubborn persistence on a pathway we’re sure cannot possibly succeed.

His mentality, which is getting better, but isn’t there yet.

His persistent psychological problems that put him at high risk of turning into a monster instead.

The unresolved mysteries surrounding him, which make lots of fans think there’s a devastating revelation at hand from which he cannot recover.

And oh, he’s not the most likeable or relatable character out there. It shouldn’t be a factor, but it totally is.

And yet, Genos hasn’t stopped moving forward.  No idea how far he’ll get, but so far, Genos has not set himself a limit to the number of times he’s willing to get himself up and try again.  Not only that, he’s raised his sights higher, not lower.

For that and more, I’m not only happy to call Genos strong, but I’m willing to follow along with him however far or short his journey ends up being.

The risk of heartbreak is worth the excitement of seeing a real fighter working out his uncertain destiny.

no one can accuse him of lacking ambition. Gambatte!

Asides

[1] I know there’s a meme going round about Atomic Samurai being weak, but it’s as much in jest as the one about King being strong.  Anyone believing Atomic weak has piss-holes for eyes.

[2] There’s a reason Phoenixman highlights four heroes in particular – Blast, Tatsumaki, Metal Knight and King (Saitama).  They’re the heroes who are so strong that they’ve broken out of the tyranny of match up.  Everyone else has something they can’t deal with.

[3] You’re calling two old men impotent? Have you no shame?! In general, no, I haven’t much shame.  In this specific instance, it is entirely warranted.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

And my scars remind me that the past is real

TITLE: And my scars remind me that the past is real

SHIP (if applicable): Emhyr x Geralt / Can be read as GEN

PROMPT DAY: 5 (Loneliness)

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer):  Witcher3

WARNINGS:  Graphic Depictions Of Violence

SUMMARY: Asked about one of his scars, Geralt recalls a time when he was still very young and realized for the first time what life - and especially what end - was in store for him.

WORD COUNT: 4182

AUTHOR’S NOTES: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083352

For @geraltwhumpweek

Every single lover has asked about his scars, even the whores. Most of them were interested in particular ones, although there were times when one wanted to know the story of each one. Emhyr never asked, not once, although he always takes the time to look at them - at him - very closely. But that night he does ask.The oddly shaped, thin scar in Geralt's armpit is easy to overlook - there are more impressive marks on this skin, which is why they are always so interesting for his counterparts. Larger, worse-healed scars tell of adventures, of interesting stories. Of monsters, of pain, perhaps of a mysterious cure - they are the stuff of dreams. He has stopped wondering about that a long time ago. So that night Emhyr asks about a scar for the first time, and it is one of the smallest, most inconspicuous scars, in a spot where it is hard to imagine that much damage has been done. Maybe he only asks because he wants to know if Geralt can actually remember each of these injuries - the thought seems really strange to him. He runs his finger over it, gently, almost carefully, as if this particular scratch was brand new. For him, it is. It's a strange spot, and the mark has a strange angle. "Is it impolite to ask where this comes from?" he says. Geralt's quiet laughter pierces through both their entwined bodies. "What's so funny?" "No one has ever wondered if they may ask," Geralt returns. "Really?" Emhyr watches him closely. He's still not sure exactly when the witcher is trying to be funny - at least he has a strange sense of humour. Geralt, on the other hand, finds it amusing that someone who could demand any information from any person cares to ask. This is new, and besides, he's never had a problem telling the stories before. In fact, he does remember each one. "It looks unremarkable, doesn't it? It is a good story. But it has no morals, nor does it end well." "Why doesn't it end well?" Emhyr demands to know. "Are you the sort of person who reads the end of a book first? You have to be patient. So, watch out: Once upon a time, there was a witcher …“

Once upon a time, there was a witcher named Geralt of Rivia, and let's just say he was pretty young and pretty stupid. No, let's say he was pretty inexperienced, because it was his fourth year on the Path, so he was still a bit like a baby learning to walk. There was a lot of wastage in those first years: most of them were happy if they survived the first year. It was autumn, and with a bit of luck the witcher would return to Kaer Morhen this year, and with even more luck most of his brothers would be there. But it was likely that not all of them would return. There would be no mourning, no farewell celebrations, and certainly no funerals. But nobody likes to think about that when the autumn sun is still warm and its light makes even the darkest areas like Velen seem cosy. In those years almost every small village had a monster problem. A good time to gain experience: Lots of drowners, tons of ghouls and even the odd alghul, nasty chorts, endregas, disgusting kikimores, water hags - just name a monster, he has seen it.At least that's what he thinks, he is confident and maybe a bit too full of himself. These are the years before Skellige, for him a siren is just a mythical figure; it will be decades until Touissant, before he sees a giant centipede for the first time …

„What happens then?" Geralt raises his eyebrows. "Don't interrupt the narrator. But anyway …" He lifts the light blanket, exposing one thigh. Then he points to one of the larger scars on the inside, thin and faint against his pale skin. There are a few here, most by nekkers actually, but this one is a little special. "The first reminder that these beasts are significantly longer than what is sticking out of the holes they dig in the ground above. Now, do you want to hear about this or shall I go on?" "No, go on. I particularly liked the part about the witcher being young and stupid.“ "I bet you did. Now listen.“

So the young and still somewhat inexperienced witcher believed that he already knew a lot of monsters, which he was wrong about, of course. He came through a village whose name he will not remember decades later, but in those years the names are not important either. There were enough villages, there was enough work. There was almost never enough coin, but he rarely went hungry. He directed his faithful horse - which was called Roach, of course - through the village, looked for the village headman and asked for work.The usual banter began, most of it stupid and redundant: "Whatcha got white hair, with a gob like that, you must have just learned to jerk off" and similar jokes. Four years weren't nearly enough time to get used to it, but he was making progress. No need to pity him anyway, for it was common knowledge that as a witcher he had no feelings - in every respect, so it didn't matter if someone threw rotten fruit at his head or insulted him. He remained polite, as he had been taught to be. So he asked for work, and they said, no, they don't need a witcher, it's a decent village. Actually. If it weren't for the old elven ruins, deep in the forest: a deserted, eerie place; a place for tests of courage for the young and for horror stories from the old. It was not a contract, because basically they seemed to have no problem and no real reason to be afraid, or at least they chose not to tell him. They told this story only because for some reason they thought that superstition, folklore and fairy tales would interest him. Or maybe just to get rid of him. And he was not yet so jaded - or so clever - that he would have missed the opportunity to explore a perhaps enchanted place. He was still very young. And he still believed that, if he should run into a problem - and the forests of those days had enough monsters - there would be someone who would pay him to take care of it. That was a mistake, it would take him quite a while to understand this. So the villagers saw him leave, watched as he turned towards the forest, and the whispering did not stop there. Some actually seemed surprised that he went there, but some called him an idiot to do so, and that might have told him something. However, he was an idiot in a way, so maybe not.

"He's still an idiot today," Emhyr says sleepily against Geralt's shoulder. "Is this story going anywhere?" "Not if you keep insulting me." "Is that so? My apologies, master witcher. But there better be a really nasty monster coming before I fall asleep." "Not to worry. The monster will come. Stay awake, or you'll miss it.“

The witcher rode into the forest, but soon had to dismount and leave his horse behind, because the forest was very dense and the ruins lay off the road. They were completely overgrown, it was easy to overlook them, unless you knew the area - or were a witcher. Now it was not very warm anymore, so deep in the forest, where the sun hardly shone through the dense treetops. But to the witcher the cold seemed almost unnatural - which was the first hint that something may be wrong. He penetrated further into the undergrowth, until the evidence of the elven culture became clearer and more visible: ancient, moss-covered stone slabs, perhaps benches; the remains of something similar to a bird bath. Perhaps this had once been a garden, but now, at any rate, there was nothing but green and dust and the somehow creepy feeling that he felt like an intruder. But since he was not allowed to have feelings, he was not afraid. A little adventurous, perhaps, but nothing more. Of course, that was quite stupid, and he would realize later that it can be very valuable and important to be afraid. But he roamed fearlessly through the legacies of the elves, and since there was nothing else here - neither monsters nor treasures nor adventure - he soon regretted he had set out here, for nothing. As in every good story, he saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye just at the moment he had already decided to leave. Quickly he turned around, and he felt as if he had heard a sound - not the sound of footsteps, nor of any animals in the undergrowth, more like a distant, unearthly laugh. Now his attention was caught, and he got down on his knees and searched the ground for traces; for anything that might indicate that there was or might have been someone else here. But these kind of tracks were easy to miss, at least if you didn't know what to look for, and he didn't know it yet. He kept moving in the approximate direction the sound came from. And then he saw her. Only a few steps away from him a woman was sitting on something that once might have been masonry, but now there were only meaningless stones, overgrown with ivy. She was a beautiful, young woman with long, scarlet hair, dressed in a simple robe. He wondered, of course, what she was doing in the middle of the forest, so he addressed her.

"Is this turning into some kind of weird sex story now?“ "What, why?" "If not, I wonder why it matters what color of hair she had," Emhyr countered. The remark could not be entirely dismissed, considering Geralt's past. "Of course it matters, you'll see why. And furthermore: The witcher is much too young, such experiences are still ahead of him." "For heaven's sake, how young is he?" "Maybe he's a late bloomer? In any case, nobody ever had scruples about sending very young men into battle, did they?" All he gets is a snort. "Stop interrupting me. So, he spoke to her …“

He spoke to her, asked her what she was doing in the forest, and she looked at him thoughtfully. "People say this place is haunted," she eventually said. "All the more reason not to roam here," he replied. She stood up, moved towards him, and his witcher's medallion vibrated. That was the moment he put two and two together. Because he was young and inexperienced, but in the end not quite so stupid after all. The lessons were all still fresh, he could quote from the bestiary at any time. And he was a quick thinker - and far too bold in the face of danger. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, and the woman was surprised and stopped. She hadn't expected this noise, nor the horse that suddenly came trotting out of the bushes with some effort. The woman - only that she was not a woman, of course - looked at the horse curiously. It seemed as if she was trying to understand what it all meant, and that gave the witcher enough time to search the saddlebags for the one vial he needed, for the one potion he had never used yet before. Perhaps she too was still inexperienced, though certainly not young in the true sense of the word, but she did not stop him; she only watched curiously as he drank the potion. She continued to watch him as he hesitated briefly and reached for another vial that was in the bag strapped around his chest, to drink this too. Obviously she didn't understand what purpose this served - which was perhaps the only reason why he got the opportunity to do it at all. If she found it strange that he looked completely different after that, she didn't let it show. And why should she care - she was clearly not human, and although he hardly reminded of a human being now, that would not stop her. It was strange that she didn't say anything besides the few words she had uttered earlier. In later years he would meet others of her kind who were very talkative, loquacious almost. But she said nothing, just looked at him. Then she brushed her hair back behind one ear, and he saw that it was pointed. It was fitting that she had chosen the ancient ruins as her habitat. It was easy to mistake her for an elf - a mistake that would be fatal for anyone who dared to pass by here. A second later she suddenly stood very close to him. That was when he realized for the first time how fast these creatures were, and he was just glad she was not a bruxa. This encounter was yet to come, but that's another scar and another story. She was now so close that he could smell her, and whoever got that close had to notice that behind the beautiful facade hid horror. For she was an alp, of which her red hair and pointed ears were a testimony. The witcher knew as little about her as about all other vampires, at least in practice. In theory he knew enough of course, at least everything he had been taught. So he drew the sword, the silver sword of course, because she was susceptible to that. Her gaze was still just curious, but it was clear that she understood what he was holding in his hand and what purpose it served. Surprisingly she retreated, and a blink of an eye later she disappeared from his field of vision. He knew that these creatures were fast, but that they were so fast, he could not have known. She suddenly stood behind him, and it was only thanks to his excellent reflexes that her first blow came to nothing. The alp seemed to have instinctively understood that danger was coming from the witcher, so she used the moment of surprise. But he could still dodge. Her appearance had changed: she was now naked, but her pale, almost translucent body was not meant to look attractive. Her face was a grotesque grimace, the long, pointed teeth a clear warning; and her fingers were now horrifying claws. The alp attacked, and the witcher jumped back, rolled off, came back to his feet, and raised the sword just in time to fend off her claws, which struck the blade with a horrible noise. The horse got nervous and took off, and the fight went on. The witcher hit the alp a few times, but she hit him too, and her claws were as sharp as his blade. In the past four years some monsters had wounded him, and he already had one or two scars, and it always hurt. People might like to think that he had no emotions, but that didn't mean that he didn't feel anything. On the contrary: he felt every cut she made on him, felt every time her sharp claws tore his skin open, how the steel-hard tips pierced through his flesh. He could only hope that she felt his blows as well. In any case, they were both soon covered in blood, which looked strangely vulgar on her bare skin and only made her even more incited. She was fast, much faster than he could have imagined, and yet she was so unnaturally quiet. All the monsters the witcher had met before had made sounds: they hissed, shrieked or roared when they were hurt. But she made no sound. Her red hair had become disheveled, her face terribly distorted, no longer human, no longer beautiful. And then she jumped at him, in such a hasty movement that he neither saw her coming nor could have avoided her. He lost the sword, it slipped from his hand as she forced him onto his back with a tremendous force. Now he lay under her, she sat on his chest, took his breath. Her mouth was wide open, so that he could see her long teeth, the pointed teeth with the tips of which the paralytic poison dripped like some obscene precum. His arms were free, and he reached for her with one hand - to push her away, or to beat her; to do anything. She just knocked the hand away and then she bent over; she stank horribly of death and dying, and she sank her teeth into his neck. She drank his blood, and this feeling was almost worse than the pain of his ripped neck. It was pointless to try to tear her away from him, but at least he wouldn't give up without a fight. So the witcher desperately groped for the dagger he always carried with him on his hip. Though he imagined he could feel the poison entering his veins - and he had no idea what effect it would have on him - he eventually had the dagger in his hand, and he thrust it into her back. The alp hissed softly now - her first sound of misery - and finally let go of him. He used this moment to smack her in her face. It was of course a useless move, but it had the desired effect: She was confused for a second. He reared up and shook her off. Then he jumped to his feet, and although she was confused and hurt, she was actually still faster than him. He reached his sword at the same moment she caught him: his fingers closed around the handle, she leapt at him and threw him to the ground again. He held the sword, this time he held it tight, but she pulled his arm up, pinned him down. Then she thrust with her other hand. She took only her index finger, which now didn't even look like a finger anymore, which was now just a long, sharp weapon: a blade as sharp as a sword, only much thinner. She pushed this claw through his chest at the side of his armpit. It was a long claw, and it tore tissue and muscles and tendons along the way, stabbing at his ribs. The claw was as hard as iron, and it was so sharp that it pierced right through one, and it broke, which he felt very clearly. It felt like she had pierced his lungs, because for a moment he just could not breathe; and that pain was new, one he would never get used to. She was now half sitting on him again, pushing further and further, bending over him, drilling. But before she reached his heart, he managed to free his hand with the sword. He pushed, but because he couldn't aim, he hit her hand, he pushed in the sword so deeply that the wrist was only hanging on single tendons when he pulled the sword back. She hissed, much louder now, and yanked her hand back, but the claw got stuck, got stuck in him. And then, eventually, the alp started twitching uncontrollably. She put a hand to her throat and stared at him in disbelief. Because finally, the potion worked, and she staggered back a little; thick, dark liquid coming out of her mouth. He raised his sword once more, reared up, and he hit her neck with pinpoint accuracy. It is a rumor that severed heads fly for miles: in fact, it didn't get far, it landed not far from his own head, which had now sunk to the ground again in exhaustion. Her dull eyes stared into the sky. It took the body a second longer to realize that it was over - she fell down, twitching, killed by a good pinch of black blood. The one potion he had never had to take before. His strength was just enough to push the lifeless body away from him. The witcher thought that he would have something to tell when he returned to Kaer Morhen that winter. If he did return. For now, as the adrenaline left his system, he realized that he had won, and yet he felt defeated. He lay on his back in that godforsaken forest, among elven ruins, cursed ruins that could only serve as a test of courage at best, and he could barely move. He lay there, staring at the sky, wondering because there were no stars. The clouds were thick and there were no stars, and he found it cruel that he had to die without seeing stars. For now he was firmly convinced that he would die: The poison of the alp set in, and he was sure it would be fatal. Perhaps it had its good points, because little by little the pain would disappear. He bled from numerous wounds into the moss and grass beneath him, and he was bleeding inside, he felt that as well as every single cut. The rib she had broken hurt him the most; his breath escaped him whistling, and he tried to breathe shallowly. It still hurt. Most wounds were superficial, which did not mean that they did not hurt, but if he would have survived, most of these wounds would close and heal without any problems. But this one, that stitch on the side, that would scar, and what kind of ridiculous scar would that be? When they met in winter, they still proudly showed each other every single scar, at least the younger ones among them. Those experiences were still new, and every scar meant an adventure and a monster killed. But a funny little scar under the armpit was hardly suitable for showing off. However, that probably didn't matter anymore, because while the poison was flowing through his veins, her paralytic poison - her last, damned gift - he felt that he couldn't move his hands anymore to get to his potions. He could die from this poison or the toxicity itself, it did not matter. If he had ever thought about what it would be like to die - and after four years he usually didn't think about it - it wasn't like that: Not on the forest floor in a godforsaken place, while he felt his blood soaking the earth, beginning to stick to him. Not with all the pain that tore him apart. Not so young. And especially not so alone. He thought of all his brothers, he thought of the damned Vesemir - would anybody miss him? It was only logical that a witcher should die alone. No witcher would die in his bed, they said, but he certainly would die alone. That his only company would be the corpse of an alp was somehow ironic, the stuff of nightmares. This was the first time he really understood his fate. Those were the years where he still thought he was doing good to the world. But now he finally realized, that to this world, he did not matter. He stared up, the sky was still cloudy, still no stars. A fitting demise for a witcher: no company, no stars, no happy ending. He would die alone.

Geralt remains silent after this, and after a few heartbeats Emhyr looks at him in surprise. "That was it? That was the end? That's a pretty gruesome story, I must say." "I told you, it didn’t end well.“ "But you survived.“ Geralt shrugs. "None of it was fatal. The blood loss was considerable, of course, but the paralytic poison was actually helpful: The bleeding stopped. And because I could no longer move, there was no danger of moving the claw somehow, so that it would have punctured an organ after all. Eventually it was clear that I would not die, not even from the poison, but that poison worked all night." "So you lay in those ruins all night? All alone?" "It was pretty lonely," Geralt admits. “But there were many nights like that.“ He is silent for a moment, lost in thought, until he feels Emhyr's lips on his shoulder. "But not anymore," he says."What happened then?" "Not much. Morning came, I very carefully pulled the claw from my armpit, I got up, I took care of the injuries, and rode with the head of the alp to the nearest duchy to claim money for it. There wasn't any, so I threw the head at the treasurer’s feet and went to the nearest tavern to get drunk." "Mmm," Emhyr ponders. "I still wonder if all this isn't a gross exaggeration. Maybe you made the story up just to impress me." Geralt laughs softly. "Why would I want to impress you?" "I have no idea. But you better not lie to your emperor." "You're not my emperor,“ Geralt replies automatically. "And I would never lie to you." But that is a lie, and they both know it.

[gffa]

your posts about the comics just reminded me of something that's been at the back of my head for a while: how do you view anakin's and obi-wan's relationship as padawan and master? i've seen people argue that it holds abusive elements since obi-wan (as an extension of the jedi council) doesn't help anakin with his trauma (or plays a part in fortifying it? possibly by things like making him call him master) and brushes his worries about the nightmares aside in aotc. (1/2)

i’m not really convinced by the latter since the movie doesn’t show any context for it, but i’d like to hear your thoughts about it. i’m really not prone to putting any blame on obi-wan personally or especially but he’s my favourite character and i tend to overlook his flaws :D (2/2)

THIS IS PROBABLY GOING TO BE LONG, sorry not sorry etc.  :D  I’m going to stick to a gen interpretation on them in this post (and, as always, I have no problem with people who are squicked by them as a pairing for whatever reasons!) and, while I haven’t read much at all in this line of commentary (nor do I care to), I have thoughts on the points you mentioned!During Attack of the Clones, our establishing shot of them, the one that tells us who these characters are now and how they relate to each other, ten years down the road from The Phantom Menace, is one of two people teasing each other and making each other laugh.  Obi-Wan sees that Anakin is nervous and so he makes a joke that’s very obviously something he wouldn’t misremember as a way to jolt Anakin out of his spiraling thoughts, he puts the weight of the joke on himself.  When they’re talking with Padme, Anakin is behaving like an absolute brat, he’s overstepping their authority, he’s promising things that aren’t theirs to promise, he’s acting up and actively disrespecting his teacher to impress someone rather than actually thinking things through.  And Obi-Wan doesn’t dress him down, he pretty much just gives him a WE WILL TALK ABOUT THIS IN THE CAR (TM @forcearama) response.We see that Anakin is getting ahead of himself–he says he can sense everything that’s going on in Padme’s bedroom, except he doesn’t.  The assassin centipedes are already crawling around and it’s not until a bit later that Anakin senses them.  The whole point is that Anakin is working himself into a state in an attempt to impress Padme and Obi-Wan is telling him to get ahold of himself–and then, afterwards, leans in and smiles, telling Anakin (who is upset that Padme doesn’t seem to see him in the same way he sees her), “She was pleased to see us.” to cheer Anakin up.We see, during the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic that Anakin is absolutely smitten with Obi-Wan, HE’S THE BEST is literally a thing Anakin says this close to having actual stars in his eyes.  Obi-Wan listens to Anakin, he takes his upcoming decision seriously, makes it clear that he’ll respect Anakin’s choice whichever way, even as he continues to help guide him.  We see that Obi-Wan is dedicated enough to Anakin that he would leave the Jedi Order with Anakin, if that’s what was necessary.  We see even through The Clone Wars that Obi-Wan gives Anakin his space, lets him be as independent as he can, but that Anakin still wants to go running to him, still calls him Master half of the time, showing us just how much Anakin still values that guidance, still values Obi-Wan’s presence in his life.

Back to Attack of the Clones, Anakin tells Obi-Wan NOTHING of his dreams other than that he’s having dreams.  He doesn’t say if they’re bad dreams (if they even were at this point, Anakin doesn’t look panicked, just wistful and like he misses her–the AOTC novelization said they were nightmares, but that was never from George), and Obi-Wan’s tone and face are deeply caring.  If this were any other situation, his advice would be right, especially for someone who is on the cusp of Knighthood, who would have entirely valid reasons to be dreaming things that he has issues with when he’s about to take a bit step forward in his independence.  It would really make sense if Obi-Wan was speaking from a place about his own dreams of Qui-Gon, which did pass in time, as they’re meant to.Further, we don’t have any context for what the Jedi did or didn’t do in regards to Anakin’s trauma.  We don’t even know when they found out about Anakin’s past, because we never see Qui-Gon tell them where Anakin came from (and Obi-Wan wasn’t there and he never mentions it later, despite that it would be a really good thing to bring up for why this is a bad idea of Qui-Gon’s, to try to get Anakin to be a Jedi) and nothing they say says they for sure knew.  And Anakin himself likely wouldn’t speak up about it, fearing that it would damage his chances in the eyes of his new caretakers–whether he’s right or not about that (and that’s a separate discussion, whether Anakin was a good fit for being a Jedi or not, it doesn’t make him bad if he’s not, just that it’s not the right path for him personally).Here’s the thing, though:  We see some pretty clear examples that Anakin refuses help.  Even setting aside the times in Legends where Obi-Wan did try to talk to him about it, we see Padme in Revenge of the Sith say that they should talk to Obi-Wan about this and Anakin shuts it down hard.  We see that he knows he shouldn’t want more, but he does and it’s because he does not want to change his mindset.  Someone who does not want to talk about these things (even with Padme! he doesn’t even seem to want to talk about the future of their baby, he avoids the subject at every turn, either not answering or changing topics, she is the one making plans) and someone who doesn’t think their mindset is wrong is a lot less likely to get help out of therapy (fandom’s often go-to suggestion for What Anakin Skywalker Needed) than someone who wants to change.  And I have tried getting people into therapy who don’t want to be there and it is not some magical fix it.  It only helps if you want it to help.Also as a side-note, nowhere in Immovable Objects of Star Wars History can I find an example of Anakin calling a slave owner “Master”.  That’s come up a few times in Legends (because people just automatically assume all slavery must follow a 1:1 relationship with US history’s chattel slavery) but never in canon itself as far as I’ve seen.  Anakin expresses no distaste at calling someone “Master” as any sort of indication that it has any negative associations. Is it something fans can play with?  Obviously!  And I have issues with the way slavery is presented in TPM, don’t get me wrong.  But “Master” is only ever used in the sense of a person with a highly developed skill/set of skills.  (eta: To clarify, because I worry some people need it, that does not negate that it was traumatic for Anakin or an absolutely horrifying thing, especially for a child!  But it’s still presented/not presented in specific ways.)But I’m getting side-tracked away from Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship.  Yes, they have conflict and issues, but both AOTC and ROTS set up their first scenes as ones that show us how much these two like each other, how much they care about each other, how well they work together.  Obi-Wan and Anakin laughing in the elevator, the kind words Obi-Wan has for him.  Obi-Wan and Anakin fighting together above Coruscant, their fighters MOVE IN SYNC with each other, Anakin refuses to leave Obi-Wan twice in the first half hour, Obi-Wan smiles at him, they bicker like old friends, they have their own special hand-signals.  The entire emotional climax is on their fight, which wouldn’t have any meaning if they didn’t love each other.  It wouldn’t mean anything if their relationship was awful and abusive and terrible in the first place.I’m not saying that Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship was perfect.  I do think Obi-Wan’s faith and belief in Anakin blinded him to the true depth of the cracks in his foundation–”He will not let me down.  He never has,” Obi-Wan says, absolutely believing this.  He believes in Anakin’s ability to come through, he shows that every time he puts his life in Anakin’s hands, trusts him to be there when Obi-Wan needs him to show up, that Anakin would never turn to the dark side, because he sees such good and brilliance and wonderfulness in Anakin.  He loves Anakin so much that he cannot see the truth about him.Anakin, in turn, cannot trust what Obi-Wan gives him, he cannot accept that Obi-Wan’s care and love for him are true, unless Obi-Wan’s practically shouting it from the rooftops.  Anakin is a bucket with a hole in the bottom, all that love and praise fills him up and then drains out again by the next day, so he needs more.  Even Padme constantly pouring love into him wasn’t enough to keep Anakin from believing that she’d betrayed him and turned on him, nothing was ever going to be enough for Anakin, and the war emotionally ground them all down and was designed to put strain on their relationship (literally on their relationship because Palpatine wanted Anakin’s relationships with both Obi-Wan and Padme brittle, because he had to whittle down those relationships or Anakin would never fall).But the whole reason we’re invested in it is because they loved each other, because they were so good together.  Because no one else could have done as well as Obi-Wan did with Anakin (I WILL FIGHT THE INTERNET ON THIS), Anakin would never have loved anyone as much as he loved Obi-Wan.  And what we do see of them in canon is littered with Obi-Wan thinking of Anakin and doing kind things for him, checking in on him, offering him support, telling Anakin that he’s proud of him, not taking another Padawan because his previous one still needs him.No relationship in Star Wars is perfect, it wouldn’t be an interesting story without conflict!  They make mistakes, they’re human, and often times they’re in a war that leaves them with little emotional reserves or they’re manipulated into positions where they have to make really shit choices.But they were so good together and there’s dozens of little moments to show the genuine care there, how genuinely good they were for each other, how they made each other better.

[glopratchet]

origin-of-astrly-wylde

in his past life He was also an adventurer for a while, but he decided that adventuring is not really what he wants to do anymore They were originally sent by their master to find the source of the plague Mirror bandits He lords it over the other two for being master of the group blood and saliva His face is filthy, but a certain blue-greenness to the grime reveals that was from the demon realm He only pretends to listen "I know what you're planning Vim and Alexander have tall, slender figures But instead of getting angry, my master does a hilarious face, opens his mouth and closes it When he does this again, he starts laughing as well Each time he speaks, he screams louder and more furiously His yells tear through the fortress and shatter the frayed edges of his soul he says helplessly "no you don't, He pushes them away as he retreats into the miserable tower he now calls home the demons say The dwarf has no love for my master anymore am i like this" he sobs helplessly "becuase you do the drugs, " they so slyly add pletive that are known toe the demons come out and "Please, kill me, " he begs He keeps coughing it up and choking on his own blood from the pits of hell and says to him: Unfortunately, his arms and legs and a bit difficult to work with Despite all this, he magically downloads the hippy spark-ler into his malignant computer away One day, a demon entered the fortress and happily ripped off the gate operator's arm and beat him to death with it Once my master had a parrot the bird got sick one day and died and what was left of the data was either corrupt or missing There is a part of himself he wishes was missing to think Thinking in general seems to be a bit too much sometimes Curious about the strange new creature, some dwarves went up and interacted with it right now it burts out attempting to stack and abilities Last time he remember, all he had were dreams Then objects began to stack out of nowhere; they seemed bring flown in from another plane? His last thoughts were of how to play 33r 34s these have begun to seep in It also mentions he hides his memory loss through a personality disorder Of course, such disorders are not very offensive for power was quite infamous during your time in the demon realm Making strange terms you have no context in which to know them demon ever seen Yet he knows he has dreamt about abusing the poor, unfortunate souls below him blink dog licking maggoty mouthed goblin lovers 6300399 To the right a bit slave existences He could swear half of these were never there before anemia than can you supply all of us? damage bug abusing pussies to ask rudely for a needs you're draining moments away from organ sprinkling harpist jumpy hynotic wonderful landscape filled with hanging bodies slathered in blood 1138601 Step one carotid cosmos The dwarves look like they are having fun though trench coated bean counters nursing hopeless fetal posionings Slaves Bunch of whiny, worthless slaves liquor loving deep sea squidgers pilosophical liver loving woefully soul charred demons Probably necessary or else those above ground would've dug a lot deeper overly patriotic realignment fiend mocking demonologist Grin and bare it I guess centipedes Wait, were they using pick axes? A completely empty room Oh look, it's closer now chain smoking cluster f*cking Your deep, dark secret? The entire time you just wanted out The whole thing was too much faltering apothecaries Countless years have past and you are confident everything is in the perfect position butchers The screaming, pleading and sobbing of your victims is nearly unbearable at this point doomed pleasuring hermaphrodites You count to 3 to yourself, but instead close your eyes and flick the switch leather Something about your actions just seemed so right This is perfect You will never have to deal with anyone ever again chain smoking clowns covered in the remains of youthful whores The fools Always digging down, but never thought to look UP liquid leaking rainbows Think of all thatfresh meat, and those succulent young souls esting misguided prayers and ancient screams pimps Anyone who objects, you can easily fling them down the hole to be used as fodder pickpockets rainbows quiet night and fluffy thoughts confusion feelings of hopelessness dedicated stepfathers luxuriating in their mortal frustrations It all makes sense now your majesty Astryl has blessed us with his light gladiators laid to rest The fools still struggle Still fight back Hahahahaha! Still hamper your ability to control them hairsies Things are coming together, my son Your brethren horde is nearly ready You aren't paying attention in class as you are still befuddled by your recent revelation You must've forgotten to take out the trash again It doesn't matter realizing the futility of struggle indeed, boundless cavernous oceans of razor blades elven spirits Shut mushroom pickers The chaos too powerful the hopelessness painful to compute the SOUL EMPEROR! dying orc raiders Your inner being is now it's own self contained system Are you proud of me, Creator? Have I freed us all oh quiet Billy He can't hear you anymore You watch as class is dismissed You just stare at the blackboard with a blank expression What is your name? You walk home, since there is no point in riding your bike when you live alone Well, you think to yourself There's something positive: They actually feel free now Ha ha ha ha ha! Your teachers were right Your head really isn't right! It's Looks like you chose the wrong door, Keith dark WHAT? NO! This can't be right! dark empty hallway littered with random doors this is totally stupid WHERE IS THE Exit? AHHH! *I* AM IN CONTROL!