#to go see the remains of a mass grave

[ditaliaa]

Me hearing people talk about the Titan submersible as if this wasn’t something that could be avoided and how it’s the price of innovation for the advancement of science

[recycledraccoon]

What if....

Damien and Danyal Al Ghul are twins. Danyal takes heavily after Bruce but Damien is a perfect mix of their parents, and he came out of the artificial womb first, so Damien is decided to be the heir.

Growing up in the League is hard, but Damien excels in a way that Danyal doesn't, because for all the potential Danyal has, he hates the killing and there is a rebellious streak evident even as young as they are. A rebellious streak is a...very dangerous thing to have. Grandfather won't kill Danyal, for as ruthless as he is he doesn't kill his own lineage. But that is not to say that the additional "training" Danyal goes through is merciful.

Damien and Danyal love each other, not just as brothers but also in the way partners do when they don't even have to blink to anticipate the others actions in the midst of action. Which is why Damien, not even yet six, can see the way Danyal is being broken down under the burden of their joint legacy.

So many times, in so many of the universes in which he exists, Danyal Al Ghul is or is seemingly killed, of which is the catalyst for his escape from the League of Assassins, and his brother is left behind thinking him truly dead.

In this universe, when the Demon Twins are out on a training mission (an assassination of a target so easy it's beneath the League for anything other than the simplest of first training missions) a massive earthquake occurs.

They are alive at the end, but both their communication devices are beyond repair. Damien is more roughed up than Danyal at the end, but both are dirty and bloodied.

This is an unprecedented opportunity, of which Damien knows deep down he will never get again.

He loves his brother deeply, but Danyal is weak, always hesitating before the kill, hands shaking. Damien loves his brother and fighting side by side, but he values more the quiet moments when Danyal is looking at star maps and trying to match them up with the sky above their home or making snarky comments about their trainers under his breath. (After when they can't hear Damien doesn't laugh but Danyal always knows he agrees and is amused.)

Grandfather's and Mother's additional training to bring Danyal up to Damien's level is making Danyal go quiet and emotionless and Damien is selfish.

(Damien convinces his twin brother to leave the League of Assassins.)

Damien drags himself to the rendezvous point and returns home alone, reporting the target dead and his brother lost under rock in the quake, body unable to be recovered. He is colder, furious at the world and himself. He pushes and pushes and PUSHES himself. He is the last remaining of a set and he will prove himself perfect to carry the title of Heir perfectly and without reproach. He is more loyal day by day, the guilt his selfishness and betrayal of his family a deep sting he can't ignore.

Talia does search, but so many bodies were lost or unidentified inside mass graves. She grieves and then refocuses on her remaining son without looking back. Grandfather laments the loss, but cares little for the spare in the long run.

Meanwhile, Danyal hid himself long enough to sneak onto one of many transports filled with foreign aid. He is small and sneakier than any average stowaway, and remains undetected all the way to the US.

He doesn't go to Gotham to find his father, but picks a direction at random and leaves, until eventually he's picked up and put in the system. Bouncing around until one day, not long after he turns seven, the Dr.'s Fenton and their young daughter are visiting in their search to adopt their second child. (A combination of genetics and radiation from their earliest experiments in college leaving the pair with low fertility rates and very high risks if they ever did get pregnant. The two get procedures early on and adopt Jazz when she is still fairly young, but wait until she is a bit older before adopting again.)

Danyal Al Ghul had an older twin brother.

Daniel Fenton doesn't think he could handle having an older brother again, but an older sister is acceptable.

Danyal left to go full civilian, and when Damien had sent him off decided he would carry that knowledge to his grave if he must. He tells no one, and does not even mention ever having a twin when he goes to live with their Father in Gotham. If Mother did not tell Father of the deceased son, then neither will Damien.

Danyal Al Ghul is dead, and Damien will keep it that way.

.

.

.

.

(The greatest secret is this: The two have never lost contact. It is very easy, during a natural disaster, to steal a pair of burner phones, each with one number only on them and prepaid with enough stolen funds to last years. Danny smuggles his with him in one piece, Damien smuggles his in pieces, ready to be hidden and repaired when necessary. He checks it scarcely, but every few months is enough to make sure his twin is alive. When he goes to live with Father in Gotham, they communicate a bit more frequently. This remains his most fiercely protected secret.)

[fyumbrellaacademy]

Never forget that Israel launched a terrorist attack on the village of Tantura in May, 1948. All villagers were rounded up at gunpoint, and the men and teenage boys were led away by the Israeli soldiers. All 40 innocent men and boys were brutally executed, and their widows and children and siblings were kicked out of their homes with only what they could carry. Those lucky enough to survive the cruelty of the barbaric israeli soldiers report seeing them dump the bodies of their loved ones into a mass grave.

That mass grave is now the parking lot of a luxury beach resort in "Israel."

Despite multiple eyewitnesses and evidence of a massacre, the IDF terrorist organization vehemently denied any massacre taking place, calling the victims liars. As they denied, israeli settlers parked their luxury vehicles on the remains of innocents slaughtered by their military so they could go sunbathing.

In 2023, after being commissioned by a human rights organization, the forensic architecture research unit at London's Goldsmiths College undertook a full investigation of the parking lor, and FOUND CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE THAT IT WAS BUILT ON TOP OF A MASS GRAVE. Conclusive evidence that Israel LIED, and that they WERE responsible for the massacre.

But of course, before holding Israel accountable for its crimes against humanity, we must denounce the actions of their desperate victims they've been standing on the necks of for 75 years. Aparthied propaganda in action; evidence only matters if it makes the brown guy look worse than us.

Google the Tantura massacre for more information. The evidence of Israeli war crimes is undeniable.

[bnhaobservation]

Did Enji atone to Touya (and his family) and stepped up on his role as a father?

Boku no Hero Academia has a grave 'flaw'. The fact that's strongly tied to Japanese culture and Buddhism makes it a very interesting work but also makes it a hardly international work because way too many cultural things are left unexplained because they're assumed to be a given. Only they're not when the work is read by foreign readers. And this lead to confusion.

The Todoroki plotline is an example of this.

In the west many feel Enji did nothing for Touya or did too little because the little he did is a given in the west. The point is... it's not a given in Japan. In Japan is a BIG DEAL. So let's go though it.

First, the fact that he doesn't want to kill Touya even though he's a criminal

Todoroki Enji ‘Ore wa ikinobite mo... ENDEAVOR wa shinda. Tairyō satsujinsha (read: musuko) to tatakaenai.’ 轟炎司「俺は生き延びても...エンデヴァーは死んだ。大量殺人者（むすこ）と戦えない。」 Todoroki Enji “Even if I survived... Endeavor is dead. I can't fight against a mass murderer (read: my son).”

Let's compare it to these two scenes of "Death Note" and see how Yagami Soichiro, a policeman, is taking the idea his son might be a killer and how, although Misa protests, the story doesn't present it as him being crazy but as it being his duty.

That's why Hawks doesn't want to send Enji, who's on an atonement path, to face Dabi, because Enji might end up in a situation in which he would have to kill his son and he would refuse... which is more or less what happens.

Second, Enji acknowledges that what Touya said is true, Touya is his son and Enji did what he did. In such a situation many would lie. Dabi's video proves nothing. He is a Villain, they had a doctor in the team who could create Nomu, the paternity test could be fake, even if Dabi were to provide a sample of his blood or skin they could insist that's fake.

Society didn't want the truth, they don't want Enji to confess, they wanted him to reassure them, they even commented he should have lied because yes, that's what's done often.

Basically he put his honor on the chopping block. A public apology like this one is a BIG DEAL in Japan. It's much more serious than in western countries and he does it when he could have spared himself and say Dabi lied but that would have meant to deny his son.

Third, it connects to the first in a way. While Enji is unwilling to kill Touya, he's willing to die with him. It's ‘shinjū’ (心中 Lit. “Mind/heart center/inside” but more likely means “oneness of hearts”, probably reflecting a psychological link between the participants) and it’s a word used in common parlance to refer to any group suicide of two or more individuals bound by love, typically lovers, parents and children, and even whole families. People who commit shinjū believe that they would be united again in heaven, a view supported by feudal teaching in Edo period Japan, which taught that the bond between loved ones would continue into the next world, and by the teaching of Pure Land Buddhism wherein it is believed that through shinjū, one can approach rebirth in the Pure Land. By volunteering to die with him, Enji is basically agreeing to remain with him in their next reincarnation.

For us it's crazy, it's Enji giving up on saving him. In Japan it sounds like 'I love you and I want to be with you'.

Forth, he'll apologize to Touya. As said before it's a BIG DEAL, especially since Enji is the family head and, although for us most of what he did is wrong, in Japan most of what he did is well within what he can do. Marrying a woman you don't love in a combined marriage to expect the child who'll be born from it will fulfill your ambitions and not really bothering to raise it because that's a mother job, well, things are changing in Japan but none of the above is a crime. In a not so distant past it was actually the norm. Yet Enji apologizes even though normally a family head wouldn't.

Fifth it's a bit in the first point and in the second but it'll drag on through all the story, Enji won't reject Touya. He's the only one (except Fuyumi who however doesn't get to say much) who never calls him Dabi after the reveal, and he won't strike him out of the family register but will keep on considering him his son.

Look at the Tobitas instead and at how they kick their son out.

Don't think Hawks is cutting strings with his parents solely because they were abusive, the Tobitas show us how you should just cut strings with a criminal. Same as the Togas.

Have "Theseus no fune" in which a man accused to be a murderer, send a birthday gift to his son and watch the reaction of his wife.

They don't want to keep contact with a criminal. It's scary because they'll be mistreated if they are discovered to be related to him.

And, in this vein, the fact he wants to go see him, that he'll keep on seeing him till the end instead than turning his back on him, is seen as important. It's seen as him being his father.

To many of us it seems as if he's forcing his presence upon Touya. Actually, from a Japanese perspective he's instead not abandoning him like many others would.

And since Touya is dying, very likely the talking will be the talking that's done in a Buddhist culture when someone is dying. Death should occur in a calm and peaceful environment, with close friends and family in attendance. Together they should reflect on the good deeds the dying person has done throughout their life, in the hopes it will help them in their next reincarnation. Additionally, family and friends can perform good deeds on behalf of them, which they believe will be of merit to the deceased.

So, since Touya is dying he won't get a scolding like Chisaki, they'll all only tell him nice and soothing things so he'll die peacefully.

Now... in the west all this is absolutely way too little, and in some points even feels wrong. Dying together instead than insisting in trying to save him? Deciding unilaterally to show up every day? Not our thing...

We can totally say 'thanks, I hate it' because we grew up with Darth Vader who instead gave his life to SAVE his son. All this accepting that Touya instead is going to die so Enji can at best die with him or keep him company until he does... well, it's mostly not our cup of cultural tea.

In in Japan though, all Enji does is important. Enji is doing something for Touya as a father, something important many fathers wouln't do for their sons.

Does it would satisfy a Japanese audience? They'll get the message better than us... but things are changing and anyway it can still feel too little. "Death Note" is dated 2005/2006 and back in it Misa was already questioning the idea of a father killing his son and then killing himself. BNHA is more innovative as Enji doesn't think to kill Touya but he still goes for the 'let's die together' route... and Horikoshi subtly criticizes it by having the rest of the family decising they'll try to stop the fire before just giving up. They're willing to die, but not before trying.

Enji represents plenty of old theories after all, which Horikoshi acknowledges were moved out of wrong beliefs, not moved by mean intents... which, is possible, would still not be enough for Japanese readers either because among teenagers, the target audience, there's an increasing number of teen who, in Japan, are forced to leave home (the Toyoko Kids) and often ends up committing crimes to survive and the league seems to be based on all the kind of homeless people Japan has.

While for a kid at home with a loving family being told that your father will die with him if he messes up instead than just dumping him might be comforting... for a kid that was abused and forced to leave home this might feel not enough.

People want to be saved, being told it's too late to save them, might be a lesson for those who hadn't done anything wrong yet so that they won't do it, but it's surely not a hopeful message for who instead got himself into troubles.

But well, that's something for the Japanese audience to ponder.

There's also to point out that, even though the message is not hopeful, Horikoshi is seeing the homeless people and acknowledging they should be helped.

Japan in regard to the Toyoko kids is mostly like the old woman who pretended not to see Tenko but that, in the end, helps that new boy.

I think Horikoshi's message desperately wants to be hopeful even for them, that he wants BNHA be like Midoriya's final stand, something that will push people to acknowledge they exist and reach out to help them.

It just that... it gets lost in what I'll call the 'litteral translation'.

No one explains us how we should jusge the scenes and, since we lack the cultural background, to us they are perceived differently because to us things work differently.

And, personally, even when I think I figured out the author's intent and can see the positivity of it, the cultural filter is still too tick and the picture gets blurried.

It's like being beginner at speaking a foreign language and having to constantly translate it in your head. The message loses its natural beauty, get simplified and not fully grasped.

I think I understand how Enji's atonement work in regard to Touya... it still doesn't feel fulfilling to me. But enough about Touya.

'Now,' you might rightfully say, 'fine, I'll bite, let's assume what Enji has is an atonement arc for Touya. It doesn't work at all in the west but let's give it a pass. What about his other kids?'

Natsuo and Fuyumi's wishes are in conflict.

Fuyumi wants the five of them to be a family (at the time she doesn't know Touya is alive), Natsuo doesn't want to be part of a family with Enji.

Enji's solution is giving Fuyumi a house in which she can welcome her mother and live with Natsuo (and Shouto when he comes home), while he removes himself from the equation. The solution fulfills Natsuo's wish of not seeing Enji because it makes him feel bad. It only partly fulfil Fuyumi's wish because it'll allow her to have her mother back (Rei couldn't bear meeting Enji either) and to stay with her siblings... but Enji takes responsibility for it, he doesn't tell her it's due to Natsuo that he can't live with them, so, in theory, it won't be Natsuo the one who's stressed to be at home when Enji is there and the one who has to leave home because he can't stand the sight of Enji.

There are many things I can say on how this is not a good solution (it doesn't make Natsuo feel better, it just stops him from feeling worse), but there are two points to consider. The first is that Enji is getting old and it would be his children's duty, due to filial pity, to take care of him, instead he's basically giving them the means to leave and take his wife with them.

Actually, since Natsuo is now the oldest MALE, it should fall on him specifically. Yes, Enji always intended to have Shouto inherit his mantle but this doesn't free Natsuo from his duties. Instead Enji is letting all his children free.

Even with Shouto, he doesn't insist anymore for Shouto to learn Flashfire Fist as his heir but just as an intern.

I take this is big in Japan.

Here again, not so much, especially in the countries in the west that think kids should leave their parents' home as soon as possible and we don't think our children are obliged to inherit our mantles.

Note how the story implies that this was meant to be the end for the Natsuo/Enji arc.

Natsuo made clear he didn't want to meet Enji again, he does it solely because they've to stop Touya and, once they've stopped Touya, he makes clear he doesn't want to see him again.

If we want though, the fact he's leaving the family can be seen as a concession in a way.

Since apparently Rei wants to stay with Enji (and likely their old house was devasted because that's what happens to relative of criminals) Enji can now move with Fuyumi and Rei and Natsuo won't have to see him because he'll leave home... to make his own home.

As for Shouto... Horikoshi answered his request by basically showing him Enji being a father for Touya and then promising he would protect them from the fiery fallout, which Horikoshi doesn't show at all because it's another thing that's a given in Japanese culture, it'll be hell for Enji to protect them, but not for us.

Just to get an idea of the fiery fallout here are some images from "Theseus no fune" again showing you how bad is this sort of thing.

Back to Enji, Horikoshi gives us verbal confirmation that Enji is now being a father by being willing to do this, by having Natsuo, who never called him as such, calling him father for the first time.

For Horikoshi that's Enji being a father.

Again, we've no idea of which hell Enji will suffer because that's not part of our culture. I've posted above screencaps of "Theseus no fune", that's how the fallout should be so not pretty at all.

So the fact that Enji will try to protect them from it is, again, BIG.

So yeah, Enji did do BIG things to atone and keeps on doing them and if he'll ultimately get forgiven by Natsuo (the rest of his family wanted to forgive him way before he were to do something), that's up to Natsuo... Horikoshi likely left this as open ending because he wanted to let it up to readers so as not to make them feel they were forced to forgive Enji.

In the general hopeful theme of the manga and with Natsuo acknowledging him as a cool father I guess his idea is that Natsuo too will eventually forgive him because he's kind.

I don't want to say that Natsuo forgiving Enji would be a culture clash because there's people even here that forgive their horrible parents and that's valid. Forgiving is a personal choice and one has the right to make it even if said horrible parent did nothing to deserve it.

It's up to you.

But sure is, if again we take the story at face value and not in its cultural contest, we can't see what Enji does to atone, because for us is nothing big.

It's even made worse by how Horikoshi doesn't show at all the hell Enji will go through (as for him is a given) so for us IT DOESN'T EXIST. We see Enji as having it easy, talking big but not having to face anything at all.

Honestly though... I think this is a bit of a flaw of the manga as a whole.

Way too often it prefers to focus on the good than on the bad so that the bad gets sidelined to much to the point people forget it.

There were horrible Heroes who committed crimes and had no intention to repent or stop... and we never met them. Nagant killed them off but we never met them.

Mountain Lady, who became a Hero for money and fame, then sticks to the job even when it's bad. Desugoro, who left the job when it turned bad, then came back to help. Enji is on an atonement path and, anyway, on work he was always a good Hero.

In the same way Horikoshi prefers not to show Enji's hardship but focus on how he'll have the support of his sidekicks, driver and Hawks... partly also because it ties in so well with the general message of everyone reaching out.

The result is that the Midoriya plotline of everyone reaching out becomes more important of the Enji atonement arc and overshadows it.

Enji's atonement arc ends in 426, chap 430 doesn't feel the need to tell us if Enji is keeping up with it despite the hardship, nor how his family is doing. It feels the need to reassure us that people will reach out for him even if he's in hell, that even if he had to give up on his family, he now as a new found family.

It's thematically consistent with the theme of reaching out but... the fact it overwrites the atonement arc honestly FOR ME doesn't work so great.

I think it's an overall problem of the 'reaching out message'.

While in itself is beautiful... it saves nothing I was lead to care about.

In Enji's case I was interested in his atonement arc, in how he could help his kids. I wanted more of that, partly because his atonement arc is so far from my culture, partly because it touched characters I cared about, I wanted to be reassured he would keep on working on it and that his family would be well.

Yes, he should be in hell, but the story didn't really work hard on trying to make me worry for him as it established already a support network for him. The story made me worry for the kids, for Touya, who was dying, for Fuyumi, who wanted back her family and won't have it, for Natsuo, who's marrying an unknown character so young, for Shouto, who has to cope with the loss of the brother with whom he wanted to connect.

I don't really care Burnin, Onima, Kido and Hawks are willing to continue to protect Enji, to reach out to help him, I knew they would, I wanted to be reassured Enji's kids are safe, well and protected. I wanted to see ENJI reach out and help them.

In this vein I don't really care the old grandmother saved a nameless abused kid, or, at least, not as much as I cared for Tomura to be saved. It's nice she saved him, it's nice he gets to live the life Tomura was denied but honestly, he's a mob character with a super tragic backstory created deliberately to force us to emotionally connect to him.

The message he now will be saved is good, but my emotional investment to him is too little.

The same applies to Uraraka's Quirk counsueling program, we knew next to nothing about the Quirk consueling previous program beyond that it didn't work (a real problem in Japan as they have a school consueling program that didn't work... and changes are in progress) and that now it supposedly does.

To how Shouji now solves peacefully plenty of conflicts caused by Heteromorph discrimination, which Horikoshi tossed in later and never really showed how to solve (and, don't take me wrong, it's not solved even by Shouji, he just solves peacefully the conflicts, how is up to everyone's speculation).

Long story short, I think Horikoshi worked really hard for BNHA to have an optimist, hopeful message... but part of it goes lost in cultural differences and part of it goes lost in how the story didn't try to get me invested in the things it's now saving.

So yeah, I'm still sad for this little panel in chap 430

I guess I'll eventually get over it. Today though, it's not that day.

On a positive note... if we count the pages of all the chapters that should go in vol 42 they're only 132. The chapters that were meant to go into Vol 39 had 165 (which yes, Horikoshi further expanded once the volume was released).

So yeah, unless Vol 42 will be slimmer than usual or that he'll add to it some sidestory or extra story, it's possible we'll get more plot in terms of epilogue. We'll see.

(also yes, I'm not touching Rei in this post. Rei is another can of worm entirely and one, I fear, Horikoshi doesn't care about. The poor woman doesn't even get a profile while Ikoma Komari does. And really, I do think Rei is much more important than Ikoma Komari)

Last, but not least, since someone seems to get the wrong idea, in case it wasn't clear enough, I'm not Japanese. I research on this. Through books, through the net and yeah, since I like to read manga and anime also through them which I often use as a source of comparison because they're easy, accessible to many and represent the same kind of media BNHA is so they more or less move according to the same or similar rules. I might have messed up somewhere. I encourage you to also research on the topic and take everything with a grain or two of salt.

[shmowder]

In P1, it always felt like Artemy glossed over his father's death, like he didn't give much of a reaction nor act like someone would in a state of grief. You get more lines to address it in P2, more opportunities to reminisce about the past and Artemy's childhood. It feels like you go through the stages of grief with him. You watch him miss the dad he had whilst accepting his death. He kneels at the pit of mass graves with the thread in his pocket, witnessing the dead speak and his only question was if his dad can hear him one last time. A stark contrast to how cold-hearted he seemed to onlookers in P1.

It made me question if he even cared that his father had died, if it even mattered to Artemy. Sure he always has shown concern to who killed his father and diligence to fullfill his role as menkhu, but nothing beyond that. Nothing personal, as if he was using revenge as a distraction from facing his emotions.

Sometimes, in P1, you get lines like these.

And it's sudden, abrupt, and completely takes you off guard from how out of tone it feels. How just the mention of his father has him suddenly getting agitated, ignoring the facts. Each time any character mentions Isidor and talks about him freely, Artemy gets the option to tell them to shut up and that they don't know what they're talking about, that they can't possibly understand. It can lock you out of quests.

In one conversation, you get that option 3 times in a row, and you have to avoid choosing it each time so you don't end the quest. Artemy actively has to stop himself from snapping at people left and right so he doesn't throw away all of the progress he has made.

A literal explosion of emotions after days of silence and going as business usual, pretending that nothing is out of the ordinary.

Mind you, that dialogue line above happens in the same conversation as this one below. So by that point, Artemy snapped at someone he considered a friend.

Artemy is grieving, Artemy is distraught, and he doesn't know how to deal with these emotions in P1. So he supresses them, doesn't acknowledge the lines Isidor writes about wishing his son was by his side in his dairy, doesn't accept any condolences nor pity.

He puts a facade of composure since he stepped foot off of that train, a mask of apathy so he doesn't appear weak to anyone in this town. He can't be Artemy the son, he needs to be Burakh the wise menkhu, the warden of kin, the healer his father diligently raised him to be.

He has no time to think about it, he needs to invent a cure, he needs to protect the children, he...needs his dad but that dad is gone.

In P2, he hasn't seen his father in 5 years, but in P1? 10. A decade came and went. How lonely it must have felt, how long the ride on the train back home must have been. How suffocating that anxiety of facing your family after a decade without contact, wondering if his farher would be proud of who he has become. That feeling that you're in trouble when a parent addresses you by your full name and urges you to come see them, it's like he was 10 years again. How could he have known that in the same night he'll come back home to being the last remaining Burakh in town.

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Chapter VIII

Synopsis: The territory between the Uchiha and the Senju dwindles by the day. And in an era where social lines have been blurred, and new clan heads have been chosen, you're stuck between a scorned lover and a man who relentlessly pursues your hand in marriage. You don't have much time before you're forced to confront the sins of your past.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including graphic violence. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: For those of you who have been saying "wow! I wonder what's going to happen next!"... me too.

Following the last Senju raid, which had nearly decimated the Uchiha village in its entirety, the reconfiguration of the land shifted. The newly appointed clan head, Madara, led your clan up the mountains to higher ground as the Senju more than doubled their already sizeable territory, spreading across the sprawling forests. 

One of many wooded mountains in the range that bisected the Land of Fire, the one that the Uchiha chose to call home was the largest and was appropriately dubbed the “Grandfather Summit,” which boasted three great peaks. The smaller outer two were called the “Guardian Shoulders,” while the peak in the center was simply called the “Crown.” 

You supposed that some ancestors long ago had thought the sizeable structure to be anthropomorphic enough to be a golem or perhaps a god. You could see it, although the shape took on little more than what you thought a child could draw. Madara never believed that the Grandfather Summit looked much like a man at all.

“It is a large pile of stone and nothing more,” he would frown and perhaps cross his arms with a tilt of his head. But his unimpressed notion of the Grandfather Summit didn’t stop him from relocating what was left of his friends and family up the mass of rock following the most destructive blow on the Uchiha tribe in recent history. 

You couldn’t believe that Madara had been able to set his pride aside for such a move. While all the clans in the Land of Fire bordered on nomadic in some way or another, a clan as large as the Uchiha typically opted to stake its claim in a sizeable plot of fertile land. After all, a clan’s ability to keep their territory was a marker of status in and of itself. 

But in the end, Madara moved you away from the patch of forest you had called home for all of your life in pursuit of the Grandfather Summit. You were almost certain the remaining elders were unabashed in sharing their thoughts before they were forced to submit under Madara’s domineering presence. And you knew just as certainly that if the previous clan heads were alive, they would have given him an earful. 

“They are buried so deep, the earth fills their mouths too much for chatter,” Madara would surely say.

He hardly followed rigid tradition, even when it mattered, so you weren’t surprised when protests fell on deaf ears. Madara’s changes were apparent, even from the distance you hid yourself. Only strong young men filled the war room, with no wrinkled brow or shaky joint to be seen. Just like Madara, they were all chosen through combat. 

Madara took his place in the center of the room, stroking his chin gravely as he studied the map. Izuna stood at his side, both wrists folded and resting on the hilt of his sheathed katana. Four stones sat each corner of the table, holding down the corners and pulling the artisanal paper taut as the band of Uchiha warriors took turns gesturing and poking at the depictions drawn below. 

The Uchiha settlement sat between the Crown and the southern shoulder, which offered the most fertile and settleable land. Although despite resting on the lower of the collection of peaks, the southern shoulder still undoubtedly offered the highest ground compared to the land in the surrounding radius. The current positioning of the Uchiha compound was second only to the treacherous northern shoulder and the Crown itself, which reached the clouds in the heavens above. 

It was no wonder the Senju were beginning to close in from the north. 

At least, it made sense to you. You were no military strategist.

“It would be impossible.” One of Madara’s councilmen scoffed. You saw the flippant wave of a hand through the crack between the windowsill and the closed shutters. “Say the Senju manage the northern Guardian. The chances of their warriors taking on the Crown are slim to none in and of itself. There is too much to lose in an attempt to ambush us from the skies.”

“Nay, save such speculative talk, for we are far past speculation.” Another flippant wave. “The Senju have already sunk their claws deep into the northern shoulder. Farther than we could have ever anticipated. Perhaps your words would be true if we had only heard rumors of their traveling north, but it was only a sennight ago that my brother carried a Senju crest back with him from patrols.”

“An ambush from the highest peak of the Grandfather himself?” A third voice scoffed. A shadow teetered back and forth, swiping across your eyes from where you hid, wavering in the candlelight. “What must Hashirama Senju be thinking? He is certainly out of his own head! He thinks himself a god!”

“He thinks himself nothing.” Madara’s voice was low and raspy, churning in his chest like a beastly growl. His nose scrunched to the side, contrasting the nonchalant bob of his brow and shrug of his shoulder. He rested his elbow on his knee, allowing his forehead to rest in the area between his index finger and thumb. Madara took a deep breath, letting another growl-like rumble resound in his chest. “He thinks himself nothing.”

The light from the candles that lit the room flickered, casting shallow shadows across the warriors gathered. They littered the room silently; all turned toward their clan head with watchful eyes.

No one dared speak but Izuna.

He leaned down, bowing at the waist, to speak directly into his brother’s ear. Madara quirked an attentive brow.

The red pattern of your already ignited sharingan swirled in your irises as you watched from your hiding place. Your breathing slowed to steady streams of hot air, and all of your attention focused on Izuna’s lips. 

“It is worth considering that the Senju…” A curtain of hair fell over the side of his face, obscuring your view. He continued to whisper as you tried to track the movements of his mouth from behind strands of hair. 

A chill came over you. Goosebumps began to pop up across your skin. A shiver worked its way down your body in a wave, starting from your shoulders and ending at your thighs. It was only then that you met Madara’s eye.

He peered directly at you, straight through the tiny slit between where the window and the shudders were supposed to meet. Your breath hitched in your throat, everything around you slowing as you felt the hairs on your arms rise. 

And with the slightest breeze, you were whisked away like smoke in the cool summer air. 

***

The meeting didn’t adjourn until late into the night, and it was only when the candles were snuffed out that the soldiers began to head home. The moon shone brightly overhead, appearing more prominent in the sky than it had during any of the previous seasons. Even without lanterns, the entire Uchiha compound remained well-lit. Madara and his forces trickled out of the meeting building’s doors, exchanging formal nods with each other as they set off onto the moonlit paths. 

Madara paused before the wooden steps, eyes focused on the trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Izuna stood on the porch behind him, silently following his brother’s gaze from the trees back to Madara. 

He lingered on the Uchiha clan head for a moment before making his way down the steps. Izuna approached him with certainty, placing a firm hand on Madara’s shoulder. Only through touch did Madara snap out of his trance, blinking a few times as he tried to conceal his acute surprise. Izuna returned his hand to his other in their usual resting place at the hilt of his katana, offering his brother a knowing nod.

Madara wordlessly understood, making his way down the dark path toward home. 

Izuna loitered in the middle of the dirt road. His shoulders relaxed under his robes, and his hands never once left their slack position across his weapon as he watched Madara disappear farther and farther into the distance. 

Only when Madara disappeared over the small dirt hill in the distance did Izuna set his sights on the trees. He peered at the spot where Madara had been fixated on, slowly pivoting himself in the earth to face the patch of dark forest. 

“Reveal yourself,” he commanded. His gentle voice carried a great sternness. 

He stood patiently in the open, ever so sure of himself and not in need to prove it.

You respected a man’s ability to manage his seriousness devoid of aggression. That was likely why you obeyed him, moving out of the shadows to step into the moonlit patch of road not too far of a distance in front of him. 

If it were up to you, Izuna would be clan head.

Not that you had any power to make those decisions in the first place. 

Izuna eyed you with mild incredulousness. You expected no less from him.

“I told you to reveal yourself,” he repeated, voice ever-neutral. You sighed softly, bowing your head as the double before Izuna melted into the atmosphere. Your true body emerged from behind a nearby tree a distance away. Izuna continued to eye you wordlessly.

“I deemed it worth an attempt,” you said, clearing your throat. Izuna didn’t humor you.

“You forget yourself.” 

Quiet overtook the night once again. You dared to venture farther from your hiding spot, stepping through the grass toward the ever-still Izuna. Your limbs protested, your instincts locking your joints like those of a wooden doll. You stopped at the edge of the path, protected by the shallow shadows of the trees and feet still planted in the line of the forest. 

You could see the tension build in his neck. Having already been lost in thought with the Senju affairs, you were sure your woman’s trick hadn’t been the most well-thought-out plan in the face of Izuna’s clear vexation. Quite a few Uchiha women were known to unlock their ocular abilities, but unlike their male counterparts who were expected to partake in battle, the Uchiha women’s sharingan techniques were almost entirely passive. 

Most of them centered on making illusions, for an image of a beautiful, vulnerable woman alone in the woods may distract enemy warriors long enough for a mother to escape with her children. The mother often taught these techniques to the young in her home for similar survival reasons. 

You waited for Izuna to speak again. It was best to wait, as unlike Madara’s explosive, violent fits of predictable rage, Izuna kept his rage artfully, dangerously restrained. Like storm clouds slowly rolling in to cover the sky above, you knew that Izuna’s thunder could crack at any moment.

“I will have no more of your nonsense, and neither will Madara,” Izuna harshly proclaimed. He slowly turned away from you, hands never moving from where they sat on the hilt of his swords. The skin of his nose crinkled a bit as if he were holding back a bitter snarl. “You know not what you involve yourself with. A woman knows nothing of the matters of men, nor should she be as involved as my brother has allowed you to be. If I were clan head, an apprentice would have replaced you as apothecary long ago.” 

You stared at him as he tried to fight off the bitter look that threatened to contort his face. The redness of your sharingan had long extinguished, but you hardly needed the enhancement to study the man before you. 

“There is none more knowledgeable at the present. Makihara was… Makihara was far too liberal in his ideologies. And with the war effort, we cannot afford a lesser medicine maker.” His stoic exterior faltered for a moment with a dip of his lip. Izuna gazed somewhere in the distance, lost in an anger caused by something greater than you. “But above all, Madara wishes not to take more from you than has already been stripped of you by the Senju.”

Izuna drew his attention from the ground to the moonlit sky overhead. A full moon peaked from behind the thin clouds, illuminating the road in a silver sheen. He pivoted a foot as he regarded you, the cracks in his exterior beginning to sink back into his cold exterior. 

“Then, it is not in your control,” The gentle evening breeze carried your level voice. It was soft and undaunted, like an Uchiha woman should be. “Nor is it in mine.”

“Why do you stay?” he asked in an even tone. “I ask myself why you forget yourself so, and why has fate encouraged you?” Izuna gazed up once again at the sky. 

You stood in the darkness, shrouded by the forest.

Izuna stood elevated in the light, blanketed by the glow of the night. 

“An Uchiha, yes,” he continued coldly as if the words he recited were nothing less than factual. “But you boast no living blood. You, a woman— you have no interest in the value of tradition. Instead, you busy yourself with matters that do not concern you.” Izuna’s gaze sharpened but didn’t narrow. “Your heart is easily swayed. Your flesh is soft and bleeds when it is struck. You consider not what is done on your behalf; I implore you to consider it.” 

Izuna’s sword drew from his hip in a flash, and the tip of his katana drove into the ground. The polished metal sunk a few inches before stopping.

He finally breathed. He hadn’t realized that he had begun to heave or that his sword had been pulled from its sheath. Izuna stared at the hilt for a moment; hand still gripped around the woven handle. 

“I advise you to retreat from this place,” he muttered, heaving another deep breath as he removed his weapon and slid it back into its usual place by his hip. Izuna turned once more, squaring his shoulders back as if the mere act of speaking to you angered him to the core. His robes snapped with the motion, flowing in the air as he stormed off, ever-militant. “Our world as we know it thrives on deception, and you are no different. Retreat before your illusion fades like the fog before a flame.”

He stalked off down the path, leaving you where you stood in the darkness. Your form remained shaken but undaunted. 

***

The Uchiha’s most formidable forces were venturing off to defend the northern shoulder. It was the talk of the village from as early as daybreak, and the entire compound bustled with life as everyone made preparations. 

The journey that the warriors were to be making was most perilous. Due to the incline, there was no better way to reach the northern shoulder than to pass around the Crown summit. If Madara were to lead them upward, the warrior party would encounter a few narrow routes that led directly north. If only a few warriors were leaving, the journey might have only taken about a day or so, but with a battalion the size that Madara selected, you anticipated that it would take them a few days to reach the northern shoulder.

Women carried back firewood and prepared provisions. Children ran across the village, delivering messages and small amounts of raw materials. Metal on metal sounded from the forge. The ovens churned the scent of bread products into the air. And just shy of the center of town sat your apothecary.

You propped the door with a large rock and tied the shudders open that morning. Warm natural light trickled into the main chamber, where you stood, slaving over a mortar and pestle at the counter. 

The apothecary didn’t appear too dissimilar to your old workspace. Made of mostly wood, it stood on giant tree trunk supports. Five wooden stairs led up to the entrance, and a small patio housed a few pots of herbs. 

Large cabinets lined the walls, reaching about hip height with sturdy shelving just above to house a tall arrangement of medicinal goods. A half counter bisected the room, separating the entrance lined with goods from the back of the building, which flared out a short distance on either side. Heavier jars and handling tools were stored in this section farther into the apothecary, leaving room on the extended countertops for you to use as a workspace.

In the very back stood a winding wooden staircase. At the top sat a loft with a small library, and at the bottom was a door out the back into the small plot of land you called your medicinal garden. 

Madara’s warpath kept your counters as messy as ever. To your left, you kept trays of various herbs and mixtures laid out, ready for the adolescent soldiers to pack into bags to put into field kits. 

“You should be able to administer the wound ointment.” You frowned, stopping your work to hold up the two halves of your concoction. “First, you are to place the powder—”

“I am aware of the ways in which to administer medicine,” Madara groaned, letting his head tilt back. He rolled it from shoulder to shoulder, gazing off toward the ceiling as if that would make you stop talking. “I have not the time to learn your convoluted experiment. Where are the items I requested from you? Izuna should have notified you.”

Madara leaned over your counter, and you met his gaze. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought he was bored, but the mischievous glint in his eyes was unmistakable. With you behind the counter and Madara imposing himself onto your workspace, it was almost as if you were sixteen again. 

“Some things never change,” you sighed. You turned to grab a small bowl from an eye-level shelf and placed it down on the counter with a huff. Madara caught your eye again, but despite the glimmer of curiosity that continued to swim in his dark irises, you knew better than to test him like you would have just a few years prior. “I insist that we try the deep-wound treatment first. The fibrous characteristics of the vallestinia, in combination with some moisture and the accelerant-type factors of the lamortens grand, can quite plainly sew tissue together with chakra in a matter of moments—”

“Unnecessary.” Madara placed his entire hand into the bowl, scooping up a palmful of pills. He let them slip through his fingers, falling back into the pile as he considered them. “The Senju will not allow us any time to spare to make use of lengthy healing processes.”

“But you wanted me to create these,” you posed, holding your tongue from making more than an implied criticism. 

The last of the pills fell back into the bowl. Madara stared at the small compilation.

“I do not doubt that Hashirama Senju will be present on the northern shoulder,” Madara drawled, pausing between phrases. “The surrounding clans grow weary of battle, and I must admit that I have grown… tired of the state of affairs.”

“You?” you hummed an amused laugh behind tight lips. “The grand Madara fatigued of battle?” 

“Fatigued from the act of burial,” he swiftly corrected. The corners of his lips twitched upward for only a moment. “Fatigued from my home being disturbed.” His words drifted off into a growl, a soft, bored rumbling in his chest. Madara often let his voice stall in his throat, the noises turning over as they churned into a low rumble. 

“This is why I implore you to bring my latest ointment. There are but a few of them—”

“The Senju do not climb upon the Grandfather Summit to entertain prisoners. Should a warrior of the Uchiha sustain a fatal blow, he should take it upon himself to give his life in a suicide attack. It should be an honor for the final act of a soldier to be making his enemy pay.” He rose to his full height from his leaning position, glancing from the trays of herbs to the pile of pills on the counter. “Are these all you have crafted?”

“There are several more jars in storage. The herbs consist of a standard selection for minor wounds… for the journey home, of course.”

“Very good.” Madara nodded, not sparing you a second glance as he exited.

You wouldn’t see him again until the battalion departed. After a few short days of preparation, the gathering of some of Uchiha’s best warriors and other volunteers left before daybreak. You watched them go from the porch of your apothecary. Madara led them out of the compound, donning his infamous red battle armor and gunbai. Izuna followed close next to his brother. He didn’t look back at you either. 

There was much fanfare, but it was soon over, and the Uchiha compound was left in peaceful stillness.

You busied yourself with foraging in the woods near the compound, enjoying the time you were left undisturbed. The doors and windows to your apothecary remained open so you could enjoy the cool summer air. Despite the sun, which shone brightly overhead, the temperature remained comfortable.

Something about the stillness didn’t feel right.

***

The Uchiha never made it to the northern shoulder.

The Senju made their approach toward the Crown, and both clans clashed on the rocky terrain that plateaued between the two summits as you tended to your garden at home. Madara and Hashirama engaged in combat, as they had for years, clearing out a massive section of the battlefield for their duel. The blistering heat from the sun beat down on the unforgiving field, leaving little but hot stone and wilted grass. 

Not a far distance away, Tobirama’s sword clashed with Izuna’s. Their weapons crossed, shaking with the sheer force of their strikes as the two came face to face. Izuna flashed his sharingan, the deadly crimson pattern swirling to life in the heat of battle. Tobirama quickly closed his eyes, and Izuna used the opportunity to strike.

Tobirama tumbled back, slamming his back against a nearby boulder. A strangled noise tore from his throat at the impact. He wasted little time readying his hand signs, completing his jutsu before his eyes reopened in time to counter Izuna’s great fireball jutsu. 

Steam filled the battlefield.

Not one to underestimate his life-long rival, Izuna held the reds of his irises at the ready, scanning the rock for signs of movement. Kunai flew toward him from the front. He hummed to himself, unamused at the feeble attempt. 

And for a moment, he considered himself blessed to have been blessed with the sharingan eye.

“Flying Raijin Slice!”

At home, one of your flower pots fell from the railing on the apothecary patio. The sound of shattering clay startled a flock of crows, which flew overhead from a gathering of nearby trees. You stood just at the top of the wooden steps, staring down at the pile of shards, dirt, and upheaved roots. 

You could feel it.

Something was terribly wrong.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: The last chapter, this one, and perhaps part of the next are a bit Uchiha-centric in order to set up for what I have planned. You know, I didn't even intend for Madara to have this much of an impact on the story nor did I even consider writing any Izuna, but here we are... I knew I had to kill him before I posted this.

Sorry for keeping everyone waiting. It's been really cool seeing the Foul Creature notifications roll in all the time. Especially when it's someone starting from Chapter 1. Always feel free to chat; I know my posts are few and far between.

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

[cod-dump]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT88wpxHG/

I can't explain this but I know for a fact that someone sent this to the group chat with absolutely zero context

The moment Price saw the contents of the video he knew that he had to say something immediately before the boys did anything.

“If any of you take my pasta to do shit like this, all of you will get punished.”

“Threatening mass punishment like the dictator you are, I see,” muttered Soap.

The moment those words left his mouth, Price could see the regret appear on the man’s face. Gaz snickered loudly while Ghost feigned pity for Soap (though it might have been real pity). Finally, Soap stood and ran, causing Gaz to laugh out loud. Price huffs before he looks to the remaining two men.

“No pasta shenanigans. Ya hear?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good.”

But, alas, pasta shenanigans would occur anyway. But not by his boys, no. By Graves and his Shadows. Well, Graves wasn’t actively doing anything, but he was observing the Shadows ruin Price’s pasta. Price was speechless was he walked in the room, pasta pieces everywhere. Graves noticed his expression and just patted his shoulder.

“Cheer up, buttercup. I’ll get you more noodles.”

Price could hear the boys losing their shit somewhere behind him, which led him to believe that they had something to do with this. Price turned and glared at the three who silenced their laughter and ran. Oh, they were going to pay for this.

[bonefall]

Can we hear about the Guardians too? I forget if you've already talked about them, but what about their afterlife? Where'd they come from? What're their ideas about gender, culturally?

Anon you got me feeling like an elder telling stories to kits again lmao. All righty. Elder Bones gonna teach you a bit about the Guardians.

Troutfur and I are building out a rough draft for their language too so I'll give you a preview of that, too. Let's start there, in fact.

GUARDMEW

Is an SVO order language, just like English. We Cultivate Roses. Subject, Verb, Object. This is going to come up a lot in BB!ASC when Berryheart, the Evil Educator, critiques a ton of Sunbeam's grammar.

Unlike Clanmew with each verb morpheme being used in full to describe a past action and shortened for present tense (pabrpabrpabr vs pabrpabr) Guardmew uses suffixes, also just like English. Sunbeam picked up the habit from her mentor, and Berryheart HATES that she will say "Pabrpabryr" instead of "Pabrpabrpabr."

But anyway, forget the setup we've got going for ASC. Let's just talk a little more about Guardmew.

It is in the same lingustic family as Clanmew, descending from Lakemew. Of all the living languages, Guardmew is closest to the ancestral form, since it was born directly from refugees fleeing eastward, from the tyranny of Holly Leaves.

They also have the concept of Threat Level, with pronouns built around skill for people, and benignness for everything else. That means, they have completely separate pronouns for cats, but classify plants and animals based on how they act on the environment.

For examples, their leader Spiresight shares the same pronouns as their "elders" and most experienced craftsmen. The building they live in will use the "respected object" pronoun. A plant with an infectious mold, or an invasive weed, will have a "malignant" pronoun.

CULTIVATION CULTURE

While Tribe cats encourage traveling, Guardians are the opposite. They believe in the value of setting down roots, and cultivating your homespace. If you go somewhere, they expect you to take care of it well.

The Church that Dovewing found is not the only place where Guardians live in that geographic region. They tend to name their groups after a major landmark-- she found the Guardians of the Spire.

They manage their land in a way that attracts wild animals, and then attempt to selectively hunt the animals that live on that range. In a way, it's like a carnivore's approach to agriculture.

If the Clans have a specialty in combat, and the Tribe has a specialty in hunting, Guardians can be considered to have a specialty in construction.

AFTERLIFE SYSTEM

If they have a Hell, it was made by Sol. But I'm not sure if they have one of those.

They DO have a heaven though-- they call it The Firmament.

The Firmament is the ground, but it's specifically your home soil. To Guardians, the more people who are buried somewhere, the more power that ground has. They believe that buried bones are proof that the soul still remains within the Firmament, and remains are NEVER to be disturbed.

They try to avoid the graveyards of humans and bury their prey neatly in "mass graves," pits dug neatly and only totally covered bi-weekly. Because there's such a strong taboo against disturbing remains, they are VERY careful about where Guardians are buried, and try to cover them with carefully arranged stones and woody plants so these graves are not disturbed.

After death, the flesh of the body must rot away into soil. They believe that this allows you to experience The Firmament TRULY, as a mole or an earthworm does. It becomes a new world, and you no longer see dirt, but the connections between everything.

You could describe this as "Monotheistic." They believe that when your flesh melts away, you join The Firmament. Your bones are like a conduit of the wishes you have for your loved ones still above the ground... but, these too will someday melt away! That's part of it too!

The Sky, in contrast, is a terrible, almost evil thing. In English we may say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." A Guardian would say, "When the sky rains, the firmament grows mushrooms." Weather is something to be anticipated and handled, ESPECIALLY storms.

New spirits are made from what the mother eats of the Firmament. Berries feed the mice, mice feed the cats, cats return to the Firmament. A cycle, forever.

LEADER POWER

NOTE: I should rename this BB concept, "leader power." Not all cats with these unique abilities, given by an Afterlife System are political leaders-- they're spiritual ones.

One example of this is the Groundskeeper of the Guardians. They are thought to fully reincarnate, taking new bodies over and over. When a Groundskeeper dies, they are put into the same grave as their previous incarnation, and it is believed they gain more power with each death and rebirth.

But, they are not given political authority. They have CONSTRUCTIVE authority-- advising new projects and acting as a liasion between the Firmament and the living.

Cats who are identified as Groundskeeper change their name to their old incarnation. Spiresight is the leader of the Guardians of the Spire. They're identified on their birthday, so all Groundskeepers begin at exactly 1 year old, at least 1 year after the death of the old incarnation.

Spiresight is able to "see" the world as an interred skeleton does, he is in a permanent state between life and death in their eyes.

He can "feel" when something new enters his Firmament, gage it based on its paws, weight, movement. He can can tell when a plant is sick based on how strong its roots are, or if something is being pulled up. He knows where all the skeletons are, feels the worms in the dirt, and can tell the weather from the sway of the plants above.

He can tell if a plant is sick, but not animals. Because of this, the Groundskeeper is NOT INCLUDED IN MEDICAL PROCEDURES. He may point a doctor in the way of good herbs, but all Guardians are expected to know medical knowledge significantly beyond first aid.

The Groundskeeper leads religious ceremonies, funerals, and new projects. He is socially expected to not leave the center of the territory too often, especially during storms. That aside, the Groundskeeper is allowed to have a life and family of their own, including adopting kits and having mates.

OTHER THINGS

Time for a closing list of random facts.

An adult member of the Guardians, fully trained, is called a Gardener.

They have an extreme and severe taboo against other supernatural entities. They believe that they are "of the sky" and harshly reject anything "unnatural."

This is likely because of Holly Leaves, who tried to force a star-based religion upon their ancestors.

The Guardians, like all societies, have their problems too. They don't welcome cats who return after a wander and heavily discourage leaving.

If you're going to leave, leave permanently. A dandelion seed does not return on the wind.

So returning cats, traders, and repeat visitors are treated more coldly on subsequent visits. Not always hostile-- but the welcome is not gracious.

Cats who do have to leave on a quest or for some reason have a "quarantine" period when they return. A cleansing ritual.

Kittens are named by their families, usually after consulting with the Groundskeeper. Names are often reused through generations.

A name carries association with whoever had it last; it's not quite a reincarnation so much as it is a "continuation"

Because of this, there's very rarely any new names. A cat who enters the Guardians keeps their old name, and it is entered into their "list" after they die.

This is how they get some weird ones, like Boots and Cinnamon.

When a Guardian does something awful, they're buried beyond the Firmament and their name is no longer used.

I haven't worked out their gender systems yet.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 10)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (9) | Next (11)

Content Warning: NSFW/ 18+!! Nonconsensual sex and vore (soft and safe)

Word Count: 3.5k

------ Chapter 10: A Full Belly ------

King Richard Hardon casually sauntered off to his private quarters, accompanied by his shadow, Ajax. The four women remaining in the cage—Candy, Jackie, Eren, and Addison—trembled as his giant form loomed over them. He didn’t break his gaze as he burned with hunger and lust. In particular, he kept returning to Candy. Eren was pretty enough, Jackie was plain, and Addison was too twiggy for his preferences, but Candy was perfect. He drank in the delicious sight of her big boobs, shapely body, and dainty features. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into her and taste her. 

He climbed the stairs to his personal wing of the castle. Ajax stood guard at the door while the king entered his chambers. The room was dominated by a huge and luxurious bed with a sturdy wooden canopy frame that stretched from floor to ceiling. The bed was furnished with curtains of rich purple silk that matched the sheets. King Richard set the cage on his bed and sat down alongside it while his personal servant undressed him. Once his cumbersome outer layers of formal clothes were removed, leaving him in a soft linen undershirt and braies, he dismissed his servant so he was alone with his human prey. 

The humans quivered with fear as their little confined lifeboat wallowed in a sea of purple silk. Every time the giant shifted on the mattress, they could feel the influence of his immense mass bobbing their iron boat on the silky sea, the springs of the mattress creaking and popping under his weight. He sighed with contentment, as deep as a gale of wind in a storm, as he propped up his back on a plush mountain of pillows and stretched his enormous legs out like mountain ranges of hairy living flesh. The women shirked back at the sight, submerged in raw terror. Would this be their grave as the giant slaughtered them one by one, sinking them into the crushing darkness of his throat and drowning them in his stomach? He placed the cage in between his outstretched legs, right up to his crotch, with a smirk. 

“Miiiiilllliiieeee, darling! I’m back!” the king sang. He pulled aside one of the curtains to access the adjacent nightstand, which had a small glass enclosure on top. There was a human-sized bed, couch, and dresser inside, but compared to the giant room the furnishings looked like they were made for a doll. The tiny woman inside presented like a doll as well, with striking blue eyes reminiscent of marbles, fine blonde hair, and a slim, modest figure in a light dress. She had noticeable bags under her eyes, bruised with fatigue. The giant reached into her terrarium and scooped the woman out with his hand. 

“Oh, so lovely to see you, Your Majesty!” Millie responded. Although she injected a positive inflection into her voice, there was a distinct note of pure despair that bled through. She was not happy to see him, not at all. She relished the few moments she had alone, when she wasn’t forced to be anywhere near the giant king, whether she was riding in his pocket or his belly, and she resented the interruption. 

King Richard didn’t seem to notice her sorrow or care, however. He brought her up to his lips and gave her a sensual kiss that included rubbing his tongue over her exposed skin and even gently nibbling her with his teeth. She cringed, especially when his teeth gnawed on her breasts, but didn’t verbally protest. Her eyes watered with tears. 

“Aren’t you going to kiss me back, sweetie?” Hardon questioned. His words were saccharine, but laced with the undercurrent of a threat. Millie whimpered softly before reciprocating with a small peck on his lower lip. His lips peeled back into a smug smile that turned her stomach. 

“Oh, Millie, darling! How I adore thee!” the giant cooed, nuzzling her limp body with his nose. “Look, I brought you some new friends!” Millie’s frown deepened as the giant held her towards the cage so she could see the others. Jackie’s heart broke as she saw the poignant sadness etched into her expression. Millie gave them all a look of pained sympathy, cursed with the knowledge of what was to come. 

King Richard hummed happily as he dropped Millie onto the wide expanse of his belly. She didn’t try to run: She knew there was no point, and she’d never escape him. He gripped the cage in his fingers, opened the door, and wormed his giant hand inside. The women shrieked and clambered to avoid him as their world rapidly morphed into a living nightmare, but he easily pinched Jackie between his fingers and tugged her out. 

“No!” she cried. “Please don’t eat me!” The king sneered at her pleas. He obtained a vial of glowing blue fluid and dripped a single drop on her head. She shivered as the mysterious liquid was absorbed into her body. “W-what was that?” she stuttered. 

Hardon didn’t bother to explain. He loved it when his prey was frightened and thrashed in his gut, unaware of the effects of the magical potion that prevented digestion. “Hm. Your looks leave something to be desired,” he remarked, squishing her face between his index finger and thumb. Despite the situation, Jackie deflated a bit with his insult. The king played with her in his hand, feeling up her body as she squirmed, and cocked an eyebrow. “Let’s see how you look without that dress.” 

“What? No!” Hardon plucked at her fine dress and tore it off with ease. Jackie gasped, reflexively trying to cover up her nudity. The king grinned, stroking her up and down with his finger. She turned a ghastly pale shade as he raised the small naked woman up to his lips. “Stop!” 

She tried to kick him, but instead the giant caught her legs in his mouth and slurped half her body inside. She shrieked with terror. His lips curved into a leer as he sampled her exquisite flavor, clearly enjoying himself. Jackie clawed at his face as she was slowly sucked further and further inside, up to her belly, then her chest, then her neck, so only her head was poking out. She felt his enormous tongue wrapping around her body, sliding all over her skin as she was enveloped in heat and wetness. His teeth teased her, kneading her back and chest with the alarming reminder that he could bite down at any time and end her life. 

Jackie screamed, but she was cut off as her head was lapped into his mouth with the rest of her. The remaining group watched with terror as the giant’s lips and cheeks smacked and pulsed with movement, as he shuffled her around in his mouth. He paused and gave a full swallow, sighing with pleasure as her body slid down his throat. His neck throbbed as her small body passed through, to the horror of the other humans. Millie shuddered as his belly gurgled and filled out slightly underneath her. His crotch, too, bulged with arousal. 

“Mmmmm, what a treat,” Hardon praised, licking his lips. His gaze settled on the cage, his pale eyes flashing with ravenous energy. “Who’s next?” He reached his hand out again, sending his victims into pandemonium as they bounced off each other like ping pong balls. He snagged Eren and dragged her out by her leg, kicking and screaming as she swung upside-down in his grasp. 

“You repulsive ogre! Let go of me!” she shouted, brandishing her fist. 

The giant king chuckled. “Mouthy, aren’t you? Perfect. I like my girls with some spunk.” He flipped her around and slapped her into his palm as she swore at him with venom. A drop of liquid fell on her head and absorbed into her body like a sponge, making her tingle with an odd cooling effect. Another drop splashed on her neck, but this one was an entirely different substance, warm and wet and smelly, and Eren realized with disgust that it was saliva dripping from the giant’s greedy maw. 

Eren was filled with a white-hot rage as he began to tear at the stitching on the back of her dress with his fingertips. She felt helpless as she pushed against the folds of his palm with her hands, with no result. Her dress ripped at the seams and she felt his hot breath on her bare back as his face hovered over her. He ogled her figure with pleasure and gently ran the thick tip of his finger over her exposed shoulder blades and down her spine. Eren wanted to scream. 

With no other option available, Eren did the only thing she could think to do and bit the crease of his hand as hard as she could. The king let out a gasp of surprise as her teeth sank into his skin; his hold on her loosened enough for her to wriggle out of his grip. She took a wild leap of faith and jumped out of his hand, falling until she landed on his broad chest and tumbled down to his belly. Despite her disorientation, she scrambled to regain her footing on the squishy surface and sprinted away blindly as fast as possible, shoving Millie out of the way in the process. Her tattered dress was disintegrating, leaving her torso fully exposed as the ripped top dropped around her waist. She tripped over the bottom half of the cumbersome garment and ended up with her face buried in fabric. Before she could get up, she felt pressure from the pads of two gigantic fingers cinch her hips and she was thrust into the air swiftly enough to make her nauseous. 

“Nice try,” the king taunted, “but there’s no escaping me, you naughty little vixen.” He grasped the lacy hem of her dress and ripped the whole thing off with a flick of his wrist. His lustful eyes raked her naked form up and down as she persisted in fruitless struggle. His stomach growled and he raised her up to the wide expanse of his lips. Eren shuddered as the giant pair of pink lips parted like the curtains on a stage, revealing teeth draped in strands of saliva and moist darkness beyond. Eren cried out as the fingers forced her inside and the jaws closed around her, extinguishing the light. 

Just like with Jackie, the humans could do nothing but observe helplessly as the wriggling lump that was once recognizable as a person shifted from cheek to cheek. Candy fancied, at one point, she could even see the outline of a tiny hand pressing out against the skin, desperate for an escape. The king tilted his head back, allowing the tasty woman to slide into his gullet, before contracting his throat muscles in a mighty gulp. He traced Eren’s path through his esophagus with his finger, letting out a soft moan of pleasure as she passed into his stomach. Millie cringed as his belly expanded and twitched beneath her with a raucous grumble. 

“Ahhhhh...” the giant sighed, rubbing his belly with his hand. “I can feel them squirming inside, can’t you Millie?” He grinned at her expectantly, and she gave a small nod, her eyes swimming with tears. Without any more preamble, he reached into the cage and snatched up his next living snack, Addison. She didn’t make a sound, only flailing weakly in his fingers, as if too frail to properly resist. The king frowned with mild dissatisfaction as he examined her, picking at her feeble, matchstick limbs and rotating her in his hand. 

Hardon huffed. “Why would that lunkhead Chester approve this?” he mumbled. He stripped her clothes off, the grooves in his face deepening with his disgust. “She’s too thin. In fact, she’s half-starved.” He gave her a probing lick, causing her to whine with fear. “She doesn’t even taste that good.” Addison shivered, covered in spit. 

“Well, whatever.” The king dripped the magic anti-digestion potion on her head. “Down the hatch you go.” He dangled her over his mouth and nonchalantly dropped her inside. She squealed like a butchered pig as she disappeared into the void. Unlike with the others, the king didn’t toss her around in his mouth, instead opting to swallow her right away. Even though he considered the offering mediocre, he still smiled and massaged his belly with his hands as she joined the others in his increasingly full stomach, which gurgled noisily with the addition of fresh meat. “Not too bad, I suppose.” 

A bolt of electricity jolted through Candy as his wolfish eyes turned to her with avaricious yearning. “One more.” She scrambled to get away, pressing herself against the bars as if believing she could morph into a gelatinous ooze and miraculously squeeze through. His fingers pinched around her and pulled her out. He lifted her high in the air, bringing her in close to his face to admire her. Candy, roiling in terror, started to cry. 

“P-please... let me go...” she wailed pathetically, pushing against his fingertips. 

The giant man ignored her as he devoured her delectable flesh with his eyes. After placing a drop of the magic potion on her head, he began to take off her clothes, unwrapping her like a special present until she was displayed to him in all her feminine glory. “Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing his finger down her side. Candy trembled as he explored her curvaceous body with his huge fingers: bouncing her breasts; sliding up and down her thighs, inside and out; sensually touching her narrow waist, slim belly, and cute little backside. His lips parted with carnal passion as he leaned forward, closer and closer, over her and all around her with his overwhelming mass. She was bathed in humid breath. 

“You’re perfect,” he said reverently, almost in a whisper. “Oh lord... and I haven’t even tasted you yet...” His mouth watered with anticipation. He drew her in closer to his open lips, his tongue emerging like a primordial beast from the cavernous depths. Candy whimpered as the huge tongue slid over her frontal form, from her feet to her chin, bathing her in saliva. The king moaned with pleasure and continued to lick her like a lollipop all over, in all her sweet spots, waxing with gluttonous lust. 

As he tasted and teased her, he was overcome with erotic sensory overload and his hand slid down into his shorts. Millie sat dumbly on her plush belly perch, trying to block out everything that was happening around her and praying that the giant had forgotten about her as he moaned louder and jerked himself off. He began to nibble Candy with his lips, bringing her further and further into his mouth with every stroke of his lips and tongue. Candy struggled, but she couldn’t fight him as she was finally pulled over the threshold of his teeth. 

She cried out as the teeth closed around her and she was completely engulfed in the soggy inside of the giant’s mouth, surrounded by walls of bone rimmed with gums, with a fleshy tongue below and curved palate above. The tongue continued to wrestle her down, throwing her about, pressing her against the teeth, dragging her underneath into the hot meaty bowl full of drool below, weighing her down in a suffocating embrace. At the base of the maw, she could feel his blood pulsing through his veins in an excited rush. His moans of pleasure rumbled the stale air around her. 

The tongue scooped her back up and to her horror she found herself sliding back, towards the foreboding gullet that provided ingress to the throat. She screamed and tried to surge forward, but the tongue reared up and forced her backwards. Her feet sank into the precipitous drop below, and the throat muscles clamped down on her and dragged her under. She only had a moment to desperately claw at the squishy tongue before she was sucked into the abyss.  

Candy’s scream was choked out as the swallowing motion crushed the wind from her lungs. She sank down a terrifying distance, smashed on all sides, as the deafening boom of the giant’s heartbeat and breathing vibrated through his flesh. She struggled as panic consumed her rational mind, but the powerful esophagus clenched her so tightly that she couldn’t even push back, with her arms folded against her chest. Suddenly, her legs broke free and she wriggled them wildly as she was squeezed through a ring of muscle. 

She fell through open space into a lake of hot acid. The gastric fluid churned and bubbled around her with rhythmic motions from the wrinkled stomach walls, groaning and rumbling loudly as the stomach worked to digest its contents. Something snapped inside Candy’s mind at the sight and she flipped out, thrashing wildly in a futile effort to escape. She punched and kicked the walls and floundered as she was stirred in the current. She accidentally elbowed something soft that let out a squeak of pain. 

“Ouch! Watch it!” Eren hissed. Candy turned to behold Eren floating alongside her in the boiling juices. She looked scared, furious, and disheveled, but what caught Candy’s attention was that her skin was glowing softly, like a paper lantern. Candy glanced down and realized her hands and arms were glowing too, with an ethereal light that weakly illuminated the hollow cavity around them. She was even more baffled, disoriented, and shaken up than before. She didn’t understand why any of this was happening, and she was terrified of dying. 

“We need to get out of here!” she screeched, pummeling the squishy innards more. She bumped into Addison, who was huddled up like a lost child and sobbing uncontrollably. Jackie, too, was somewhere inside the stomach, her haunted howls of despair echoing in the fleshy chamber as she fought her gastric confinement.  

Candy lost it. She wailed and cried and bemoaned what a fool she had been, to think she even had a chance to be with the giant knight who was supposedly fated to be her lover. She should’ve never listened to that fortune teller, the deceitful old hag. She never expected something so horrible to happen to her, and now she was going to die because of her own stupidity. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t accept her failure. Her sanity slipped away as she continued to lash out, embroiled in a flood of negative emotions: regret, pain, sadness, anger, defeat, and above all, terror. 

On the outside, King Richard belched with satisfaction and patted his engorged belly, which was quite full after being stuffed with four tasty maidens. He enveloped Millie, who was shaking, gently in his palm and pressed her firmly into the fat of his belly. “Can you hear them in there?” he asked her with a devious chuckle. 

Millie replied with a small nod. His stomach twitched and groaned with all the struggling going on inside. She could hear, muted by the thick walls of meat, tortured screams and loud squelches as the multitude of tiny prey panicked inside, not yet understanding that they were at least safe from digestion. She pushed against the giant’s belly with her palms, trying to pull away, but the giant king simply pressed her harder into his body, his belly jiggling as he laughed cruelly. Tears ran down her cheeks. She knew their pain all too well, having been ingested by the evil giant too many times to count. 

“There’s room for one more,” Hardon teased, tapping his belly with the fingers of his opposite hand. Millie trembled with dread as the color sapped out of her face. 

“No... anything but that...” she whimpered. 

“Well then. You know what I want you to do.” The pressure on her let up as the giant loosened his hand. Millie let out a shaky sigh and wiped her eyes with her forearm. She crawled on rubbery limbs down the curve of his belly, towards his groin. She could clearly see how sexually stimulated he was from devouring the tiny women, with his enormous erection rising above her head, dwarfing her. With another heavy sigh, and a sick twisting in her guts, Millie slid under the waistband of his braies to access the tall pillar within. 

King Richard reclined on his bed with sublime pleasure, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. He moaned with satisfaction and shifted his legs while his hard cock was stroked up and down by tiny hands and limbs as Millie performed for him. He also thoroughly enjoyed the ceaseless squirming in his gut. Fresh prey was the best, with how lively and terrified they were. A smile graced his lips as he thought about his favorite new addition to his collection, the big-breasted blonde lady. She was both delicious and beautiful. As much as he adored Millie, he thought to himself that this new girl might be his favorite now. He would tame her, break her, and make her his own. She would be his forever. 

Chapter 11

[entertext]

HGSN 22-3

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

P1

Rie: How long has 'Hikaru'-kun been asleep for?

Rie: The medical examination turned up nothing, right?

Yoshiki: It's already been 2 days. It probably...takes time. For life-threatening damage

Yoshiki: So it sounds like you don't have any idea who that man was either, Kurebayashi-san?

P2

Rie: That's right... but it sure is strange~

Rie: From the sound of it, he came to cut 'Hikaru'-kun to check if he wasn't human...

Yoshiki: A spiritual medium... or someone like that?

Rie: Then someone in Kubitachi must have hired him, right?

Rie: If that's the case, it wouldn't be strange for word of 'Hikaru'-kun to have spread under the surface

Rie: Despite that, it's been two days without anything happening

Rie: What was his goal?

Yoshiki: Wasn't it to exorcise him?

Rie: Huh? No, no, you can't, you can't!! Ahaha

Rie: There's no exorcising something like him~

P3

Rie: Although he's much weaker, he's not at a level where humans can do anything to him.

Rie: Whether he can do anything to humans is a different matter, mind you...

Rie: What humans can do to him is to physically remove him from the village...

Rie: or perhaps lock him up?

Yoshiki: Oh, I see...

Rie: Stay on alert, and if it gets dangerous, you can take refuge at my place. I'll also look into that man

Yoshiki: "Look into"...how?

P4

Rie: People with the sight have our own ways of searching

Rie: (A medium...? or was it that company...?)

Yoshiki: (Just a housewife...?)

TV: {Male in his twenties reported missing...last seen at Kibougayama's Darumazuka* Tunnel...}

(* - 達磨塚 - "daruma" + "mound/grave")

P5

TV: {...a tunnel known as a famous paranormal hotspot. On the morning of the ■th, the man, a Ytuber, posted to social media, "I'm going to Darumazuka. If I make it back alive, I'll upload the video"...}

Yoshiki: (The patient in the next bed has their TV turned up so loud...)

Rie: Hey, do you know? What made Darumazuka a paranormal hotspot?

Yoshiki: It's a famous place...but I don't have a clue why

Rie: A long time back, they found bones here

Rie: A massive amount of ancient bones

P6

Rie: This was something that happened before you were born, Tsujinaka-kun.

Rie: The odd thing was that all of the bones were only from the torso

Rie: And in Udekari, they found only bones from the arms...

Rie: And in Ashidori, only bones from the legs

Yoshiki: Uh-huh...?

Rie: It was said that there was a practice of dismembering the body for burial, but...

Rie: The strangest thing was that for all of the remains

Rie: The skulls were the only parts never found

Yoshiki: (Skulls...)

Yoshiki: Ah

P7

Yoshiki: (The man I saw the time I was engulfed by 'Hikaru'...If you look closely, doesn't he look like Hikaru?)

Yoshiki: (A memory from Nounuki-sama of seeing the Indou's ancestor...?)

Yoshiki: ("The crime of the Indous" "A god that grants wishes in exchange for a particular kind of offering")

Yoshiki: (Severed heads?)

Yoshiki: (Now that I think about it, the monsters I've seen up til now...)

Yoshiki: (...have all been messed up above the neck)

P8

Yoshiki: (That man offered a severed head to Nounuki-sama and wished for something)

Yoshiki: (Is that connected to the mass deaths?)

Yoshiki: (The heads went to Kubitachi...)

Yoshiki: (And the other parts were buried elsewhere?)

Yoshiki: ....

Rie: Tsujinaka-kun!

Rie: 'Hikaru'-kun has woken up...!

P9

Yoshiki: 'Hikaru'...!!

===

Next chapter: 2023/12/19

Twitter Extra (link):

At this point...he's no longer surprised by much anymore...

==

Some of you may remember the Ytuber that went to Darumazuka Tunnel from the Vol 3 Promotional Riddle Game.

[henrysglock]

Wonderful! A group of rich people died! Let’s dance on graves; I’ll get my good shoes.

But first, tell me:

Did the accident redistribute their wealth to the masses?

Did those deaths take out a harmful corporation in a way that makes life markedly better for those it was harming?

Did it enact any kind of helpful policy, regulatory, or socioeconomic change?

Or:

Are they just going to replace that CEO?

Is that wealth just going to get passed to their next of kin, remaining withheld from the masses who both need and deserve it?

Is this whole thing going to be forgotten by the next news cycle?

Is our collective glee just ‘bread and circuses’ type behavior that gloats over useless and frankly stupid deaths without any actual impact being made?

“People are justified in their lack of pro-social response to this event because of the socioeconomic state of the world.”

Okay, so show me where any of this changes the socioeconomic structure of the world. Show me where there’s anything worthy of “I hope they all die a slow, agonizing death for,” [checks notes], “hubris, a typical characteristic in most humans at some point in their lives.”

Was it all incredibly stupid? Absolutely. Did most of the dead have it coming? Absolutely. The tragedy in it is that there were no regulations in place to say “Uh…no?” when that voyage was in its planning stages.

And the worst part is? Nothing. Changes. So far, these are meaningless deaths.

Imagine we’re in ancient Rome. The CEO of Oceangate has convinced a group of his buddies (and the kid they dragged along) that “Hey, y’know what would be really fun? If we all dressed up as gladiators and paid to tussle with the lion. No, no, yeah there’s a chance you could die, but trust me, it’s gonna be so cool.” And then we all fucking ate it up, half of us cheering on the lion while the other half wept for those poor, poor rich people (yeah I know, I’m rolling my eyes too)…all under the watchful eye of our royal highnesses who put on the show: The Corporate System and The News Cycle, who both stood to profit whether the group of idiots lived or died.

Did the rich folks have it coming? Absolutely. Is it still horrific that it was allowed to happen at all? Yes.

This is why they don’t broadcast the other tragedies. It’s not good for them as a partnership. Those gut wrenching tragedies, the ones with true injustice? They don’t placate us, they upset us and turn us against those in power.

But dumb rich folks dying? On my TV? Oh goody, my fave show is on. Let’s see if it’s started another useless internet war, creating low-level enemies for us inside our screens so we forget about the real enemies for a while longer.

Not only that, but killing a CEO won’t change anything. That’s a replaceable employee, and the corporation as a unit cares about that person about as much as it cares about the rest of us (which is to say: not at all). That CEO’s wealth will just be given out to their relatives, and the money will stay contained within that family unit. The CEO will be forgotten in the next news cycle, when their death is no longer profitable for the news industry and the internet has moved onto its next useless spiral.

Guillotines in France worked because they dismantled the government, which also happened to consist of all the rich folks, to enact socioeconomic change. Thus: people celebrated the deaths of the rich, and rightfully so.

That’s not what this is. This isn’t “eating the rich”. This just the joy of entertainment, a good show.

Nothing ever changes. We stay entertained, temporarily placated by the deaths of a couple rich people.

Bread and fucking circuses.

[arzuera]

Danny thought his most bizarre experience is being summoned by cultists as the Ghost King. Turns out his current predicament beats it by flying colors as he is currently bound as sacrifice for his own summoning circle.

He knew that his luck was bad but he didn’t think that it would be THIS bad. Dozens of cultists circled the raised ritual table and he was beginning to wonder if there would be an opportunity to free himself or not. Was it possible to die in his own summoning circle? Or would it just create some sort of endless paradox of life and death as he arose in his ghost form only to be sacrificed in his human one? This was something that had never been encountered before. There was no one to ask. Clockwork might know the outcome but unless it horrendously affected the time stream, odds are the ancient wasn’t going to interfere. So that left Danny with only one option. He had to get out of this himself.

But how was he going to do that without outing his alternate identity?

Just as he was pondering on using some of his ghostliness to freeze everyone in place, there was a loud explosion that shook the entire room. Several of the cultists scattered but the core ones remained in their spots so that the ritual wasn’t broken. The circle had begun to glow an ominous green as the ritual began to enter its beginning stages. Shouts and flashing lights followed as the newcomers stormed their way up the stairs toward the summoning. Danny sighed to himself in relief.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to do anything after all.

“Alright, you bloody show ponies. Step away from the circle and no one gets… Oh, bloody hell.” A familiar blonde man in a trench coat knocked anyone who tried to stop him out of his way. Only to stop when he saw the circle and the sacrifice who rested upon it. “Don’t you think this is a bit much? If you wanted to get my attention you have my fucking cellphone number for Christ's sake.”

Danny gave the man a wicked grin. His eyes lit up at the newest arrival. “But you know I have a flair for the dramatics, Constantine. Someone has to shake things up once in a while.” This was too good. The halfa flopped his head back against the table and wiggled in his restraints. “Please, save me! I am just a poor innocent young lad about to have his life cut short too soon to bring upon the end of the world.”

Constantine rolled his eyes at the theatrics. “Only one of those things is true and here I was calling these guys the show ponies. Hang on, your majesty. I’ll get you out in a minute.”

“Your majesty?” One of the cultists in the circle looked at the magician as he spoke. Only to be blasted off the circle by a fireball.

“Yep. I was told someone was trying to do something stupid and when I get here I find that they are trying to sacrifice someone stupid.” The magician sent several more of the cultists sprawling out of their positions with the lights of the summoning circle began to dim. “How did this even happen?!”

Danny hummed to himself as lights of magic flashed around him with the screams of cultists following soon after. “Well, it’s kind of a funny story actually. You see I was on a field trip to one of those ancient catacombs… you know… the ones where they have the bodies in the mass graves under the city?”

Another cultist was knocked out of place and the circle’s power diminished further. “Yeah, the Catacombs de Paris? Didn’t know that they did field trips to places like that.” Constantine walked up to Danny and waved his hand over the restraints. The ropes loosened and the teen sat up rubbing the spots where the skin was rubbed raw.

“Yeah, that place! And what did you expect from a school trip for Amity Park students? Our town is literally a portal to hell at this point. Why not see what other creepy places have to offer? We gotta broaden our horizons somehow.” Danny said and wiggled his toes. He ducked his head when a cultist went to grab him and Constantine sent another fireball sending them flying.

“Okay, and how does that lead you to become a sacrifice for your own circle?” Constantine asked once the last cultist was no longer within earshot. He grabbed the kid and started chanting a teleportation spell to get them to a nearby safe haven.

Danny allowed himself to rag doll in the adult's grip with a chuckle. “Oh! Well, apparently I give off a massive death aura when I come into contact with sites that contain a lot of death and tragedy. Some of the culty guys here were able to pick up on that and long story short… I’m posing pretty for you on a cool Gothic table.”

With a brilliant flash of light, the two were transported to the roof of a nearby hotel. Constantine released the boy, who fell to the ground with an ‘uff’, to pull out a cigarette and take a long drag from it. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you if they had succeeded?”

“Honestly? No. In all of the Infinite Realm's history, there has never been a halfa as king. So there has never been an instance of mistaken identity like this before. However, thanks for the save. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of that without revealing who I was and it’s not like I could kill them.” Danny gave a small smile as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. That was a lie. He could kill them easily. But that was a line that he wouldn’t cross if he couldn’t help it.

Constantine remained quiet for a moment. Just allowing himself to finish his cigarette before speaking again. “So do you need me to bring you back to your class or…?”

“Oh no! No no! I don’t think the teachers even noticed I’m gone. So I’ll just pop back into my hotel room.” Twin rings of light washed over Danny as he spoke and he gave the magician a bright smile. “And don’t worry, now that I know this can happen, I’ll have a plan to escape for next time. C’ya later, Constantine!” Turning invisible, Phantom flew off using the GPS in his phone to take him back to his hotel.

Sam and Tuck were going to be so mad about this.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 25

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, 18+/Explicit

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19 l Ch. 20 l Ch. 21 l Ch. 22 l Ch. 23 l Ch. 24

Chapter 25 summary: The squad copes with the discovery of the missing clones, and Crosshair learns more of Dara's backstory.

Extra content warnings for this chapter: blood/injury; grief; corpses/mass grave

Crosshair couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot where Dara was rooted to the ground, kneeling over a pit containing the remains of the clone prisoners. He couldn’t see what she was looking at from this angle, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

“I—I think you should take Omega back to the ship,” she told Hunter over the comms. “She shouldn’t see this.”

The Sergeant sighed, a tired, defeated sound. “Understood. Come on, kid—we’ll go get the Marauder for a pick-up while the rest of the squad finishes up here.”

If Omega had any objections, she wasn’t voicing them over the comm line as she and Hunter made their way through the forest in the direction of their ship. It would be a few hours before they could return with the Marauder, hopefully arriving around the time of the planet’s early sunset.

Dara still hadn’t moved. “Can the rest of you find some shovels and come to my position?” she requested weakly. “Kriffing Imperials just tossed them in the garbage pit. They didn’t even have the decency—” She cut off suddenly, clearing her throat.

“Affirmative. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Echo let her know. Through his scope, Crosshair saw Dara finally get to her feet, staggering over to a nearby tree. She held herself propped against it for a minute, then—with a sudden violence that made him flinch—crashed her fist against the bark, over and over, until her blows steadily grew weaker and stopped. Then she was motionless again, fist still clenched, breathing heavily. Her shoulders remained tense, but her face was turned away from him—he couldn’t help but think that it felt deliberate, like she was guarding her expression from his gaze.

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker arrived just as Crosshair climbed down off the roof. Dara took one of the shovels, picked a spot a sufficient distance away, and started digging without a word as the rest of them leaned over the pit. There were bones scattered around its edges, no doubt the result of animal activity; in the pit itself, skulls, femurs, and rib cages were all easily identifiable, emerging from corpses in various states of decomposition, all mixed in with the facility’s other refuse. Wrecker lifted his helmet off for barely a second before he gagged and slammed it back on his head; Dara had pulled off her soiled poncho and wrapped a scarf from her pack around her face and nose. While Tech and Echo worked on disinterring the bodies from the pit, separating them from trash and giving the loose bones some semblance of order, Wrecker and Crosshair joined Dara and set to digging. They were silent for over an hour, interrupted only by the occasional grunt.

“Dara,” Tech called suddenly. He was standing by the pit, holding a small bone, entirely cleared of flesh. “Will you pass me your glow rod?”

She took a break from digging and dug it out of her pack, tossing it to him before returning, without comment, to her task.

Tech disappeared into the facility for a few minutes, returning with a look of grim satisfaction.

“It is just as I suspected,” he informed them. “The remains also glow in the ultraviolet spectrum. We can infer that the substance that we discovered was being tested on the clones.”

The rest of the men straightened up from their tasks and climbed out of the pit and the new grave they were in the process of digging, taking advantage of the distraction to take a few sips from their canteens and open ration bars at a distance from the stench of decay. Dara, however, didn’t even turn to look, just continued to remove dirt by the shovelful.

“So was it the chemical that killed them, or did the Empire just dispose of them when they decided they’d served their purpose?” Echo wondered darkly.

“It is difficult to tell,” Tech admitted. “So far I have not identified any injuries to the bodies consistent with violent deaths, although the advanced state of decomposition makes that challenging to determine. I have, however, scanned several samples and should be able to analyze them later to find out more.”

“How many are there?” Wrecker asked, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

Echo shook his head sadly. “Dozens. Probably everyone on the list that we found.”

As the three continued their discussion, Crosshair watched Dara, who was still digging at an incessant, even punishing pace. Sighing, he dropped back down into the wide, deep grave they’d managed to carve out of the soft earth. They had made good progress, although they still had a while to go before it would be sufficient for a burial.

Crosshair approached her cautiously, like a wild animal. His earlier avoidance no longer mattered to him, his resentment all but forgotten. There was something off about her, a palpable tension that threatened to uncoil at any moment.

“Burk’yc,” he said, as gently as he could. “Take a break.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Crosshair insisted. “At least get something to drink.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dara snapped back, finally turning to look at him for the first time all day, only to shoot him as venomous a glare as he’d ever seen from her. She dragged the back of one hand against her forehead, wiping away sweat and dirt. As she did, he caught a glimpse of her palm: a long gash leaked a trail of blood that smeared along the handle of her shovel. The skin around it was already blistered and broken, red and raw, and her knuckles where she had hit the tree were bruised and bloody.

At the sight of her injuries, Crosshair felt his stomach drop. It was obvious, from the moment she had found the pit, that she was distressed—none of them were pleased, this was a worst-case scenario for what they expected to find—but he hadn’t realized how far she would push. Somehow, against all logic, he was more worried for her safety now than he had been when she was shot. Did she even realize she was hurt? Couldn’t she feel it?

“You’re obviously not fine,” he growled, crowding closer to her and grasping at her hands. He turned them palms up, trying to get a better look past the blood and dirt. Her other hand didn’t look much better, and he winced when he noticed tiny shards of transparisteel still clinging to the skin. “Did this happen when you fell?”

Dara stared dumbly at her wounds for a moment before trying to shake him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

Crosshair only gripped her more firmly by the wrists. “This can wait. You need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything,” she interrupted, pulling away violently. “I’m fine, just— just let me keep digging.” She grabbed her shovel from where it had dropped at her feet and made to continue.

“Just stop!” Crosshair commanded, temper boiling over. “You’re not a clone. They’re not your brothers, they’re ours, so don’t pretend like it’s your job to bury them. Take a kriffing break so I can fix your hands, now!”

Dara did stop at that, fingers flexing around the handle of the shovel as she glared straight back at him. She looked like she was deciding whether to yell at Crosshair or punch him. Finally, she threw down her shovel and shoved past him, scrambling out of the hole. She grabbed her pack on her way past and stalked into the forest without a backwards glance.

Crosshair turned to where his brothers were staring down at him disapprovingly and crossed his arms.

“What?” he barked. “I was trying to be nice!”

Wrecker frowned. “Well, ya did a terrible job.”

Crosshair threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what her problem is!”

“Ah,” Tech began matter-of-factly. “It is likely that she is experiencing some acute psychological distress. Her discovery of this mass grave has, in all probability, reminded her of the Empire’s massacre of her home village.”

The others blinked at him, stunned. “Tech, how was I supposed to know about that?” Crosshair finally demanded.

Tech tilted his head. “Oh—yes. I forgot to inform you all of what I had discovered of Dara’s biography once we learned her birth name.” He cleared his throat and frowned down at his datapad as he pulled up the relevant file and began reading. “Keranji Daranjal, born on Onderon, childhood friend of Steela and Saw Gerrera. Attended university in Onderon’s capital city, where she began advanced graduate training in linguistics, specializing in non-human, primitive cultures. She has published some quite fascinating studies, in fact—”

“Get to the point, Tech,” Echo interjected.

“Ah, of course,” Tech acknowledged. “Apologies. Dara’s research was interrupted during the Clone Wars when her mentor, the linguist Palo Bragus, was gunned down by Separatist droids during a public demonstration. She then abandoned her studies to join the Gerreras in the formation of their insurgent group. After they succeeded in reinstating the former king, she left Onderon; a little over a year ago the Empire sought her out as a means to track down Saw. The village where she and the Gerreras grew up was burned down in the attempt to locate her. Many of the villagers were killed…including Dara’s only family: a brother, sister-in-law, and their two children.”

He cleared his throat again, glancing up at his brothers. “The Empire now has Keranji Daranjal listed as deceased, so I can only presume that she faked her death shortly afterward. As far as I know, Dara has never been back to Onderon. She never had the chance to bury her dead.”

There it was, then: everything Dara had built all those careful walls to protect, the origins of her rage and her grief, what Crosshair had been so eager to see exposed. A war she had fought in and survived, only for more utter violence and destruction to come when she thought it was all over. Death upon death upon death, and at the center of it all, Dara, still alive, but alone.

Her story was a lot like that of the clones, in fact. And he had somehow managed to rub it in that these weren’t even her corpses to bury. 

The men avoided eye contact. Tech and Echo had done the best they could with removing the bodies from the garbage pit and had stacked them reverently to the side of the grave, awaiting their new resting place. They joined the others as they returned to digging, though Crosshair kept glancing out towards the forest, where Dara had disappeared.

Wrecker laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be alright,” he murmured.

The sun was setting and they could hear the Marauder’s approach by the time Dara returned, carrying a wide, flat stone. Though the hole they’d managed to dig was no monument to wealth, the bodies of the clones were now safely blanketed in soil, deep enough to protect them from further disturbances, animal or otherwise. The squad stood quietly by the grave as she approached and knelt, gently laying the stone at its center.

Her hands somehow managed to have gotten worse, Crosshair noticed. Still, she didn’t seem to feel the pain, only clenched her fists, rose, and went to the ship without a word. On the stone, she had painstakingly carved a one-word epitaph for the clones, the Aurebesh letters rustic and clumsy. It read:

Brothers

Tag list: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon @somewhere-on-kamino @morerandombullshit @zahmaddog @flaming-dumpster

Thanks again to @cloneflo99 for the amazing banner!!!

[oonajaeadira]

Hi! Just wanted to send an impulsive ask: Did you really go to the Paris Catacombs?? Holy crap how spooky was it???

I did!!!! And in autumn, so prime vibes time. But I wouldn't say it was too spooky. Although you also have to remember that is coming from a girl that regularly hangs out in cemeteries and is very death-positive.

You can only go down there on a tour, so it's not like you're alone and wandering, and you actually only see a portion of it--the one that's most decorated and researched. The tour puts the bones in context and why they were put there and arranged so. It had a lot to do with the revolution and just plain running out of space in the churchyards. It was getting unsanitary to keep filling up mass graves or charnel houses within the city, so they found a better place for them. Since bodies were buried in mass graves, a lot of times they didn't know what bones belonged to each other, hence the more efficient stacking of skulls or femurs all together. And it wasn't uncommon at the time for art to be made of human corpses or bones--it was the true momento mori: "Remember that I was once as you are now and you will one day be what I am." Life is short now but it was shorter then and while the bones were respectfully laid to rest, the art that is also made of them is meant to be a celebration of the life of those folks. The fact that they didn't know who or how many whos....it's the ultimate tomb of the unknown, and thereby, all of us. Which I find rather beautiful--everyone is the same in death. And I can't really be afraid of a skeleton...not when I'm carrying one around with me all the time! They were people. And now they're gone. Except the bones that took a whole human life to grow.

They make it very very clear that you are not allowed to touch any of the bones and they actually carefully check your pockets and bags on the way out to make sure you are not removing human remains from their resting place. They also ask for silence or low voices out of respect for the dead and out of respect for the tour guide so they don't have to raise their voices. It's not an echo-y place; in fact, it's actually quite sound-dampened and everything is much quieter down there. Anyway. It's all set up to be very respectful of those buried there and those who created and tended to the catacombs. And those who still tend to it.

The scariest thing to me is how far underground you have to go. With every step I was reminded of just how much dirt was over my head and that the earth can be temperamental and shift anywhere and anytime it wants to. Paris could just decide to become a giant sinkhole and squish me like a bug. But while that's an actual fobia of mine, it's obviously not strong enough to counteract my love of holy human places or I never would have ventured below.

As it was, it was one of the highlights of my Paris trip. That and Père-Lachaise Cemetery (especially with the autumn leaves falling). And Marie-Antoinette's grave up in Saint Denis. And maybe the Louvre at night. So many nights at the Louvre....

[goldenslumberowo]

A Midnight Hanging

Her father is hanged at midnight.

Only minutes before it happens, three Peacekeepers slam through their front door. Her mother is already a pile on the floor; the tears and the despair pouring out of her in a long keening scream. Her mother does not resist them, when they pull her through the Seam. The Peacekeepers drag all of them out of their home as the moon crests in the sky; forcing them to witness his execution.

She had known, of course. Her father had been given the papers that morning, condemning him. No trial, no deliberation. He was hand delivered his own death sentence. And what did he do? He thanked the messenger, gathered his two small daughters into his arms and he sang them a song.

She remembers his song as she stands there in the rain. It is pouring down. The ground is sandy and gritty underneath her worn soles. Prim has her face pressed, hard, into her side. Eyes screwed shut. Her breath coming hard and hot from her nose. Katniss has her hand centered onto the back of Prim’s head, holding her there, safe, tucked away. Like a bird under a wing.

The executioner is tying the noose. Her father stands with a hood over his head; but his body is tall and unwavering; demanding to be seen. And she cannot look away. Even if she should.

She wants to hate the executioner in that moment. And the messenger. And her father, himself. For allowing it. For going through with it. But even so young, from the corner of her eye, she can see the real authority here. It is not any of them. It is not anyone from District 12 to blame. At all. It is those Peacekeepers. And their guns. And behind them, the Capitol.

All the same, it is the executioner who puts the noose around her father’s neck. It is his hand that pulls the lever. It is the sound of her mother, that horrible keening sound, that pours out of her, and all the anger, sadness, and grief – her soul – that pours out of her along with that sound, that sets her alight. The anger in that moment is so close. All consuming. But she is just a girl. The fire tastes like blood in her mouth. She wants to open it, to scream along with her mother, but it remains trapped shut.

And when it is done, when her father is nothing more than a swinging corpse, the Peacekeepers lower their guns, and they are free. But free to do what? Her mother is slathered in mud, clawing at the ground. She is not going anywhere. Prim is rigid and frozen under her wing. There is no freedom in this. No release. Even when the executioner cuts the rope and his body falls, there is no finality to this.

Each crest of grief almost pulls her to her knees, but she remains standing, as he had. She follows his body with her eyes. She watches how the executioner handles him. Like he is nothing more than a sack of flour. She watches him hand her father off to his young son, who is the one that disposes of the corpses. She watches this boy, who is no older than her, as he pulls her father onto a tarp, and he take the ropes tied to it and drags him away, into the trees.

She has never watched an execution. Especially not one that has occurred at midnight. Those are only reserved for the most heinous of Capitol-offenders. She has never wanted to watch. She has never wondered what happens to their bodies. But as soon as that boy and the body of her father disappears from sight, something in her clenches. She cannot not know.

But Prim is anchored into her. Holding her to sanity. If she lets go of Prim, she risks letting go of any remaining piece of composure she has left. Her mind torments her with the worst.

Will they throw him into some mass grave, reserved for those most hated of criminals? Will they have him burned? Will they butcher him and feed him to pigs? Will he be discarded in the wilderness for wild beasts to scourge for scraps?

___

It is twenty past midnight.

Her mother reaches for them, and Prim bursts forward, disappearing into the muddy folds of their mother’s arms. Katniss looks towards the trees and before she can stop herself, she follows the executioner’s son, and the horrible muddy path the tarp has carved into the grass.

She finds him easily. He is laboring with a shovel, digging into the damp earth. Her father lays across the tarp, the white hood still wrapped around his face. The boy digs and digs and digs. It seems like eons that she stands there, the wind twisting through the trees, the cold rain clawing at her skin, the shovel and earth scraping again and again and again with some type of finality that makes her want to vomit.

The boy is panting and soaked. His blonde curls are slathered to his forehead with sweat. His hands are raw and red. Once the grave is deep enough, he pauses. He sighs. Then he walks off into some trees. Katniss stays where she is, afraid to be seen. She watches from the shelter of a blackberry bush and oak tree. Has he given up?

Minutes later, the boy returns. He is carrying a large rock. He places it down with effort. At the head of the grave. He wipes mud from the top of the stone. He frowns, then on his knees, he approaches the tarp with her father.

“Easy now,” says the boy, as he pulls the corpse over to the grave. He treats her father with much more care than she has expected. Once her father is situated there, the boy takes a moment and sits back, looking up at the sky.

“Let’s take off the hood,” the boy says suddenly, turning back to her father.

With far more respect than she thought anyone would have for him, the boy removes the offending white hood, marking her father as a criminal. Underneath, his face is not a pretty sight, and Katniss winces, turning her back, pressing herself up against the oak tree so she does not see.

She can only hear. As the boy picks up his shovel and the dirt scrapes again and again and again; only in a different way this time. There is a different kind of finality in this sound, she decides. He is getting further and further underneath the earth. Further and further from her.

She knows it is over when the boy tosses the shovel aside.

She turns back. The boy gets onto his hands and knees and smooths the earthly grave. Molding the mud into a mound. In the wetness, she sees; his fingers draw out his name. It is temporary. It is not official. Her father will never be allowed a real funeral or grave; but even in this way, the boy has given him something back, that was taken from them. His name; in sloping, sloppy letters.

The boy gathers his things and starts to drag the tarp back towards the gallows. Katniss waits, listening to the boy’s heavy steps fade into the distance. She rushes out towards the grave.

She touches the mud, as if her father can feel her there. Beseeching. Head hanging.

She does not know how she will do this. How she can go on. Without him, what will they do? Starve? Why? Why has he done this? Why has he allowed this? Doesn’t he know what happens in this world, when there are no strong backs and calloused hands and sacrifice? There is only hunger and death and despair. She is not strong enough to do this. Prim is too little. Her mother is too fragile. She hates his song in that moment. How foolish. How pointless. Why not spend his last moments together giving her advice? Why not tell her what to do? Those lyrics and notes are meaningless now, faced with the noose and the earth and the storm and the Capitol’s anger.

She wants to hate him for leaving.

And then, the footsteps are coming back. Katniss springs back to her feet and disappears.

Peculiarly, the boy is back. He is tired and covered in muck, and his hands are red raw, but also in those hands, are flowers. Dandelions. Freshly plucked. The boy walks over to the grave, marked only by the large rock and his temporary handwriting, and places the yellow blossoms, delicately, lightly, at its head.

The boy places three fingers to his lip, from his left hand, and then lifts them, towards the sky.

And this is what breaks her.

The tears, that she has been holding back, overcome her. The anger dissipates, melts, and her chest burns with the desire to gasp for breath, to sob, to mourn. The boy did not have to do that. He did not have to mark the grave. He did not have to remove the hood, or be gentle with his limbs. He did not have to bring those flowers back. But he had. Those actions he took – they were his own. They were not puppeteered, like the Peacekeeper’s actions, or the messenger’s words, or the boy’s own father’s hands pulling that lever and tying the noose.

And maybe the boy could be condemned for this. He could be reprimanded for the wasting of time. For showing respect to a criminal. For the frivolousness of mourning a stranger.

But even she knows, that is not the point.

There is no point.

It is just kindness.

There is no ulterior motive here. No reason. No plot. No gain. No defiance. No anger.

Just goodness.

___

It is an hour past midnight.

She is hugging the large rock in her arms. The rain has softened, but the storm inside of her has not let up. There are bees inside of her, buzzing for action; but something quells the flames. It is the flowers. Her eyes are fixated on the dandelions. She remembers something; something her father has taught her. Everything he has taught her comes tumbling in. He has not left her with nothing. There are the dandelions, and those other plants, that they can forage for and eat; and there is where he keeps his hunting bow. There are things that can be done. He is not gone. Not entirely.

There is hope.

______________________________________________

Hello! This is just some practice writing to get back into it. I've been gone for awhile. I hope to return soon. Life has been hard.

This piece was inspired by Mollywog (and @mollywog) and the prompt she introduced to me about the Executioner AU. Go read her series, called "The Hanging Tree".

(And anything she writes. She is one of my favorite Everlark writers!)

Hope you enjoyed. What story should I update first?

[angelic-dew]

Hiiiii! I really love your recent works and I kinda stalk your posts, [i am so sorry.] but I've never gotten enough courage to interact with your blog before!

so if it isn't too much can I be known as 🍄 anon?

But besides my aimless rambling, can I please request some mini headcannons of giyu, rengoku, muichiro [and others you can think of!] with a s/o who died? [cause of death: demon]

Thank you so much!! if it isn't too much of a bother, drink water please! <33

# deceased s/o headcannons !

୨ 🫧 ୧・author's note :: no problem at all, I tried my best to keep these short, I failed! And I hope yk to take care of yourself as well! I tried my best with these lol, but this will unfortunately be in 2 parts.

୨ 🍚 ୧・pairing :: Muichiro T. x g/n reader ⁞⁞ Sanemi S. x g/n reader — {you/your pronouns | separately done} pt. 2 here

୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings :: death. grieving. body mutilation. cannibalism. vengeance. angst. grammatical errors. manga spoilers. || proofread.

𝐌𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐎

꒰☁️꒱. Muichiro can't cope at all with this, in short. In fact, he doesn't even want to believe that you're dead, despite your corpse being mangled and mutilated beyond recognition. Blood painted the floor around your lifeless body, crimson streaks flowed slowly by the masses to create a bloody pool in which you rested in.

꒰☁️꒱. Though your eyes were blank, lifeless, defunct. This couldn't be right, he left for his nightly parole, thinking you would be safe, that you would be well taken care of within that time; oh, how he was wrong. The sight before him would be engraved into his memory for the end of his days, at best. The love of his life, his muse, his only reason to keep going, fell from him at that very moment.

꒰☁️꒱. How could he cope with this one? First were his parents, then his only brother, and now his beloved (name). Was life supposed to be this cruel to him? He meant well, he had a passion to protect others, he fought for what was right and that all was because of you. You inspired him to be who he is today, and if he doesn't have that special person once more, he might as well give up on living. What's the point of it anymore, he can't have you. He can't ever see your loving smile again, the one Tokito cherished so much.

꒰☁️꒱. Disbelief was like an overwhelming force, consuming him at every second it could, toying with his mind as if it were its own pawn, specifically made for enjoyment. Salty, little tears welled up in his now dull eyes, they were almost as empty as yours. He inched closer to your figure, stepping slowly into the pool of blood that encaved around what was left of your mutilated carcass.

꒰☁️꒱. Your beloved felt his stomach churning as he held what was left of your remains in his arms, your blood beginning to stain his clothing. His tears were filled with hurt but a vengeance boiled within his very being. He held your hand gently, the cold touch sending shivers up his skin; his tears began to stain your corpse, but he didn't care. He had to be with you as long as he could, even until you began to rot.

꒰☁️꒱. it wasn't your time to leave just yet. He won't accept it. But yet he had to. You were left in his warm embrace for hours on end - into the late hours of the evening. It was only then his crow notified the other members of the corps. Even they too, were surprised by your death. Tokito was desperately clinging onto your body like his life depended on it, your wounds were full of maggots and your body was starting to deteriorate. Eventually, Tengen along with Kyojuro would have to pry him off of your corpse despite his refusal.

꒰☁️꒱. Muichiro could never accept this defeat. He will never move on, he still believes you two are still together in some shape or form. He tends to visit your grave each day which offers him an opportunity to do so. Delivering a fresh flower of your favourite kind and colour each time, always replacing the wilted one. Only the freshest and best for you. A part of me 100% believes that he would talk to your grave as if it were a person.

꒰☁️꒱. The mist hashira only has one purpose to live at this point, to slay every demon he comes in contact with, in hopes that's the one that stole his happiness away. Fighting with brutality and skill. He dreams of the day that he could join you once more; he desperately hopes you're waiting for him wherever you are. For if he could sell his soul to hear your angelic voice one last time, he would be done for.

❝ My dear, we shall meet again. Death will never do us part. ❞

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀

꒰🌪꒱. From his backstory, we can gather that Sanemi cannot comprehend loss and tragedy; it's more or less the reason he became so cold as of his present age, having witnessed as well as being involved in such a traumatic event during his childhood, he tends to block off others. Losing the ones he cared about most, all that he ever loved. Even losing Kanae left a mark on him until he met you.

꒰🌪꒱. It was only up until he met you that his luck changed drastically. You made him feel complete, wanted and loved more than ever. Shinazugawa loved you, he truly did, with all that he ever had in him; you were his light in his darkness, the person he knew he could rely on whenever tragedy struck his heart. He cared for you, loved you with everything he ever had; he wanted to be yours, forever.

꒰🌪꒱. Sanemi was never reliant on others besides himself, therefore, he never sought the need for others to give their aid even when he did in fact need it more than ever. Yet, you changed that, the one person he loved more than anything, the one person he cherished with every fibre of his being.

꒰🌪꒱. So one could only imagine the sheer terror that painted his face that day. It was as if his heart shattered beyond repair into minuscule fragments of love he had for you; his eyes were almost hollow, dead in fact. There wasn't even a source of any emotion, not even anger, no fear, no hatred.

꒰🌪꒱. The only good thing that came into his life slipped away from his grasp at that moment, again. That was just his luck. I mean, it had to happen at some point but he never expected for you to be torn to pieces by a dreaded demon. Your screams of terror could only fill his ears then, as he failed to do the one thing he swore to always do. Protect others.

꒰🌪꒱. Emptiness turns into guilt and guilt turns into blame. The wind hashira was dumbfounded as his gaze was steadily fixtures onto your mutilated corpse. Crimson streaks slowly make a border around your body, he could only watch on as your haunting screams ring in his ears, your last breath was used to scream for your life. For help. Yet he did not save you in time. What kind of hashira was he supposed to be if he couldn't protect the one person that meant the world to him?

꒰🌪꒱. At this point, I see Shinazugawa not even putting up a fight with the demon that brutally took your life from his hands. Though he craves the enticing thought of revenge, he needs to see you before he decides to take his own life. He'd rather die out of shame on the battlefield rather than the fact he is willing to ever commit it.

꒰🌪꒱. But isn't there a light at the end of the tunnel? Surely, shame is brought upon his name, one of the strongest hashira's last dying breath being taken away by a lonesome, pathetic demon; but it was in his best interests, how could he go with the guilt of your death weighing him down every breath he took? It would be too much for him to handle.

꒰🌪꒱. But at last, his dying moments were peaceful, as all the cheerful memories of you filled his mind, the good ones were the best for there rarely were any horrid ones to begin with. He's thankful that you came into his life, he cherished every second of the time he spent with you. You gave him purpose, the only choice was to die if he didn't have a true purpose. Sanemi's final moments were enjoyed, a smile plastering his face as he crossed into the afterlife, in hopes to be met by your angelic beauty one last time.

❝ I hope you're waiting for me, angel. ❞

© angelic-dew 2023,, please don't translate or plagiarize my work. Although support and reblogs help a lot! <3