#They'd be reason of my demise

[linktotheheart]

One of my personal favorite legend of zelda headcanons is that Lynels were either not always bestial monsters who would attack on sight (or can evolve to be an intelligent social race after being freed from Ganon's influence, but I like the deep lore of them having been corrupted by Ganon and being able to return to their previous state once he is gone).

They're already clearly very intelligent. They're the only enemy that can figure out you're not a Lynel when you're wearing the Lynel mask just by looking at you. They're able to fire an arrow up into the air and hit you even if you're standing behind an object that obscures you. They switch from ranged to melee weapons based on how far you are from them. It shows they have some reasoning abilities and even understanding of physics beyond a very base instinctual level.

I like to imagine that Lynels would still be largely solitary creatures in their uncorrupted state, sometimes moving about in small groups based in either family units or teams united for a common purpose. But maybe they did at one point in the very distant past have a homeland where they could congregate, perhaps outside Hyrule which is why it's unknown in the present.

I think they'd actually be very academic, and would travel a lot to study and document in their chosen field, hence the largely nomadic lifestyle. The combination of hardy hooves and dextrous hands would help them easily traverse places that would be impassible for normal hooved creatures and footed creatures alike. They are capable of feats of both great strength and delicate dexterity, and once produced great works of art.

Given the way they seek out very high, isolated places, astronomy may have been a common chosen field of study.

Their fall was concurrent with the beginning of the imprisoning war, which was the first time they were recorded appearing in Hyrule in official histories. They had previously traveled into the wilds of Hyrule, but any accounts made by people of the time were lost to the ages, and the accounts from the war only survived due to the fact that so many Lynels appeared together that they were witnessed by many people.

I like the idea of, after the events of ToTK, the Lynels regaining their full intelligence and appearing to speak to Zelda. Link immediately moves to attack but everyone is startled when the Lynel speaks. Zelda orders Link to stand down and gives him the chance to explain, and he does so and offers allyship of his people, who mean to reestablish a society outside of Hyrule. Zelda offers aid and they accept, and though all the races of Hyrule are extremely nervous about them, they start to interact and work together.

Also, in any story where a version of Ganondorf is saved, is able to return and be reformed, etc, the Lynels at first regard him as a mortal enemy for what he did to their people, and only eventually tolerate him if he proves he has changed (or, alternatively was corrupted by a being/force like Demise himself, in which case many Lynels actually turn around and accept him and mourn over what was done to all of them together).

I have so many fanfic ideas now, tbh.

#lynels #lynel #botw lynel #totk lynel #botw #totk #loz #legend of zelda #link #zelda #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #headcanon #loz headcanons

[tarjapearce]

Silly Idea:

Clandestine fight club! reader x Knight! Miguel.

WARNINGS: READER HAS A POTTY MOUTH. DIRTY FIGHTS, MILD ANGST, MIGUEL BEING MIGUEL.

Ever since you had a use of reason, life was turned into an unceasing fight. A fight for a spot in a bed. A fight for a leaking bowl of food, a fight for a bath. A fight to get the least tattered of clothings. A fight to be alive, to be free.

Free of the many injustices life threw at you, free of the many prejudices of the upper class that always gave a sneering look your way, whenever you were scouting an area.

Your fifteens were your turning age. Many friends had been lost, some ended up hanged by the royals, others ended up killed either by the guards or by the walloping diseases that constantly stalked the poorer districts of the kingdom.

The more you grew, the more you fought. The older you got, the more your knuckled bled. Freedom seemed a dream you had secretly chased, since the king came up with the brilliant idea to press gang those who had no choice, in order to reduce the 'poverty'.

"We've got to go! " Hobie's voice a whisper underneath his mask.

"Wait!"

"They'll spot us if we remain here!"

"Go on then! Meet me at the Wailing Banshee"

"If'ya get caught, I'm not helping ye out tis'time"

"Go!"

You whispered aggressively, as your ear kept glued to the wooden wall.

"One of my insiders have informed me about clandestine activity around the taverns."

"Clandestine activities? Like?"

"Fight clubs."

"Fighting clubs? In the poorest district of the kingdom?"

"Seems there is more than it meets the eye"

"Maybe we can recruit some of them."

"No. They'd lack discipline. Too much of a hassle."

The conversation died as you ran after a guard had spotted you.

---

The man's fist collided against your stomach, knocking all the air out of you.

"That's cheatin!!!" Hobie yelled at the referee that seemed unbothered by his and other threats.

"You fuckin' maggot!" You roared and stumbled, trying to gather your bearings for a moment. Somehow you delivered a kick on his groin, the man doubled in pain. It was your chance.

Taking enough space to hurl yourself towards him, legs wrapped around his waist in a vice like grip as your fist connected nonstop against his face. Cheeks, cheekbones, nose, lips and eyes.

Every of your blows angrier than the previous one. The man couldn't shake you off, so he went for your hair. A cruel smirk went to your lips as his hand grabbed nothing but thin air.

The pixie haircut had proven effective for fighting. None could really grab your hair, unless they'd have claws.

The man's fist collided to your sides, weakening your grip on his waist. He had managed with a couple of more blows to get yourself off him and with a steely grip on your throat he body slammed you against the makeshift ring's wall.

Yelping, you couldn't help but hold your left side as you spat blood on the floor. Nose bleeding, tainting plump and angry lips with crimson. Eyes widened in rage.

The man cackled as he roared with the crowd, hitting his chest with pride like an animal. Your opponent was tall, burly yet slow. Of course part of your questionable strategy was to have a good beat down before figuring out his cracks.

A little limp on his left foot, slower uppercuts with his right hand, and of course he protected little to nothing his head. His size would be his demise.

You were too enraptured in the fight to notice that little by little the whole place was getting full by elite guards that had disguised themselves as much as they could. A pair of red eyes settled on you as you panted, and snarled, like an angry and caged beast.

"SNAP HIS NECK!"

"BREAK HER IN HALF!"

To some guards the lurid show had surpassed any of the expectations they had came with. The rumors were a measly thing when it came to witness the events for themselves.

Clandestine fights that ended up in someone severely injured or killed. But little did the rules matter when the prize was something so simple as two weeks worth of food.

Of course. In one of the poorest districts that had barely any victuals to supply everyone's need, two weeks of food seemed like the fucking lotery. You were from "The Hellhole" a creative name the guards had put to the east district, a poor one full of bandits, self made warriors like yourself, and pickpocketers, but not as poorer as "The Sewers".

The Sewers were the place people came to die, The King, Tyler Stone had truly forsaken it. The king only saw for his benefits and those that actually could be useful for him and his court.

Closing your eyes, you exhaled. Eyes roamed the brute before you. It was all or nothing.

"Get him, Pixie!"

Hobie's voice was lost in the crowd as you ran towards your rival. Using your size at your advantage you went for the left, his limping more evident as he tried to catch you, but you were already on his back, crawled ontop oh him, thighs around his waist from the back. securing your body; like a spider, and slapped your palms against his ears as hard as you could.

The man remained still for a moment before screaming in pain, careening to the sides aimlessly. The man with the red eyes chuckled as the shorter man next to him watched, befuddled.

Your bandaged knuckles and palms stained in blood, to then embrace the brute's head. Your opponent was out of himself, everyone chanted but he could no longer hear. Despair rose in his chest as the pain intensified but gasped when you wrapped his head on your arms.

Eyes locked with red ones, the way that man looked at you, said one thing. Don't.

But your rage was stronger. And your rival's neck weak.

Ruby eyes drooped in boredom before signaling his men to scatter around.

The man fell with a thud, and you rose through wobbles and angry tears.

"THE MAD PIXIE HAS WON!"

There was a collective rounds of equal boos and cheers. The disguised Knight saw as a tall, lanky and black man held you and helped your way out of the ring. There was a smidge of something he knew much of in your smile. Hope.

A hope that soon would be crushed.

----

Knight Captain Miguel O'Hara and a bunch of his most trusty fellow, had followed you. After several turns and sudden hidings, Miguel had finally came to what it seemed a ransacked home.

A home that never saw its final built. The perfect ruse for unsuspected and fatheaded guards.

Sneaking in a place was a second nature to him and his agents. A man's voice and yours echoed the more he ventured in.

"You absolute beast" You giggled through breathless grunts and whimpers as Hobie patched you down.

"I told ya I could do it."

"Excuse my little faith, Pix, but... Did you see him, right?"

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall."

Miguel narrowed his eyes at your words. The place was as ransacked in the inside as it's outside, but the only difference was that you and the unknown man had made it your own little home.

Separate hay beds covered by a worn out duvet you had probably stole, a little makeshift fireplace enough to keep you both warm.  And of course, a wooden box full of things that seemed valuable.

"Just glad you're in a piece." Hobie mumbled and you sighed.

Miguel scattered his men around you. Your chest was bound with cushioned bandages, enough to protect your breasts from any serious damage. Short hair slicked with sweat. Lean and worked over the years muscles etched to your body.

Miguel's eyes roamed your form, assessing the damage you had taken. Big purple, yellow and green bruises were already forming at your sides, some black ones loitered your flesh, one nearby your lower back's dimples. You were hunched nearby the fireplace. Your back's ripples contorting as you breathed

A mean scratch settled in your upper right shoulder, probably earned it when the brute had body slammed you on the ring. Your hands however, had taken the most damage. Knuckles scrubbed raw as some bits of flesh were torn. They bled, but you seemed proud.

They had earned you a much needed prize for you and your little gang, if you wanted to leave Alchemis Kingdom. There wasn't much left for you in it anyways.

Sudden thoughts were interrupted as soon as Hobie was thrown over the table.

"Hobie!"

You tried to punch the tall and black lady that had arrested Hobie but were quickly apprehended by another man.

"We don't wanna hurt you-"

"Well, I fucking do! " Snarling you pulled the man's arm down and headbutted him in his nose. Earning your momentary freedom from his grasp

"Fuck!"

"Peter!"

A large hand took you by the neck and squeezed enough to keep you still as you yelped and thrashed your hands on an arm that was unbothered by your weak attempts to get yourself free, until you collided, a little less rough, against the wall.

The man glared at you, and you spat at his feet.

"You fucking royal lapdog! Let me go!"

He squeezed a bit rougher, and he smirked

"The Mad Pixie, huh?"

"The fuck you want?!"

"Language"

"You" You seethed the words as you grunted, trying to speak through gritted teeth, "You think I owe you and your fucking king respect?!"

"Pix" Hobie, that had put little to no resistance spoke as he was shackled by the woman, that looked at you with an amused smile.

"Reminds me of someone."

Miguel's nostrils flared angrily at Jessica's words.

"The only mad in your name is your  haircut!" Peter spoke through a bleeding nose as he pointed angrily at you.

"Suficiente." (Enough)

His eyes returned to you, and his head tilted with a bored expression.

"For all I know, I could fucking arrest you for murder."

"Oh yeah? Then, when are you lot gonna pay for your crimes?!"

His eyelid twitched softly in anger

"You say it's putting some order, but all you do is to abuse your power and kill innocent people!"

The air was restricted once more and you glared holes at him. Nostrils glared but softened upon a jeering comment came your mind

"Didn't know the King allowed kinky men into his lines"

Miguel's eyebrows deepened in frown and you sneered

"You kinky lapdog"

"Cállate" (Shut up)

"Ooh, did I piss you off, ser?"

Your voice dropped in this sweet and alluring facade, but his face remained stoic. With a rough movement he threw you on the floor and sighed.

"You both have two choices."

He spoke as he threw your bloodied shirt in your direction, not really caring where it landed. You again spat on his feet as you pulled the garment on, to then wipe the caked blood off your nose.

"Or you join us, and pay for your crimes by serving your kingdom."

"Kill me already" You grumbled, and he glared once more for interrupting.

"Or you join us."

"You think I'm scared of you and your men?"

"All I hear is nonsense mewling from you. Yes or no?"

"Fuck you."

His eyebrow quirked, unamused.

"You wished, hadita." (Pixie)

You tried to kick him, but his hand grabbed and squeezed your shinbone. You hissed in pain.

"Given your fighting nature, you do realize this bone right here is one of the hardest to break, don't you?"

"All I hear is your stupid barking" Bloodied knuckles tried to pry his hand away but he squeezed tighter and you whimpered through a pained glare

"Wanna find out?"

Angry and pained tears glossed over your eyes and he let you go with a satisfied yet small smile.

"You will, if you try to escape the camp. Take them to the barracks."

He watched as you and Hobie were dragged away, a last glance to the place before he followed to then lead his men back to the castle.

You'd certainly try to anger the top dog.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #knight au #fighter reader #Clandestine fight club #t writes✨ #enemies to lovers #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv hobie

[pinkrose05]

Ok so @b1adie's post from earlier got me thinking about element Types and Paths again.... and predictably enough, I am also here to talk about my fave old man Yingxing and how his kit would look like if he were playable.

We can probably agree that Fire type makes the most sense for many, many reasons, but in terms of Path I'd like to humbly propose....

drumroll

...Preservation!

Ok, hear me out: Preservation in this game is frequently associated with building and construction. You've got Qlipoth's walls, the Cornerstone effects, and the very act of creating a shield! Naturally, a master artisan would be right at home constructing stuff; I mean, remember that one scrap lion?

Yeah, Yingxing is very good at building things up from the ground. Just imagine the amount of detail this bitch would put in his shields! Knowing him, they'd be the most elaborate magic walls to ever wall in history.

Another thing is how Preservation pathstriders admire stubbornness and are prone to protective actions. As for the former trait, stubbornness is a part of persistence, and persistence through adversity is a key aspect of Yingxing's character: his home is destroyed, he's always struggling with the sabotage and prejudice of his seniors and peers... and still he keeps pushing on and ahead, all the way to hard-earned success.

As for the latter, Yingxing's attachment to the makeshift family he's found in the Quintet can definitely lend itself to a protective streak- doubly so considering the weapon gifts he'd given to them all. It's like he's always watching their back! It's his way of keeping them safe so he doesn't lose his loved ones again!

(It's the only part of him that will stay with them when he meets his timely demise. It's proof that, even in death, he will forever stand by their side.)

A third thing is that, if you consider the construction aspect again, Preservation is actually the most direct antithesis to the Path of Destruction. The symbolism in there really hammers in (heh) the 180° turn between Yingxing and Ren- and wouldn't it be the perfect sort of ironic for them to mirror each other in the very core of their beliefs?

(I actually think they should have the worst anti-synergy in history if/when Yingxing becomes playable. There's a kit concept somewhere in my files that has 1) several ways of pulling aggro, 2) Max HP buffs that depend on using skill points, and 3) a one-turn block on allies' HP changing whenever any of Yingxing's shields break. It's basically a dedicated sustain kit that just so happens to be a massive Fuck You to Ren in specific, because come on, the idea's just too good to pass up!)

#....oh wow my hand slipped. uh. whoops? #thanks for the inspo adriene i wrote this in a daze at like 2 a.m #thinking up kits is just really fascinating to me bc hooooo boy #this bad boy could fit in So many quirks and references! #i love when there are easter eggs in things. can you tell. #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr yingxing #hsr blade #pink's musings

[00-hawkboi-00]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Three

Pairing; König x m!reader

Word Count; ~7.66k

Warnings; kinda sorta graphic depiction of stitching up wounds near the end. So if you don't like needles.. be careful.

A/n; König is a sergeant bc I said so and it fits my narrative. There's also plans in work for why he's a part of 141 & background knowledge on him. Lore. Eventually.

(we need more clips of this man istg-)

You were a frustrating man to work with. You had hardly said much of anything during that sad excuse of an interrogation, at least nothing of much use. All they knew now was that there was someone out there who held your leash. Or, well, used to. You were a wildcard now, without someone to keep you on lock and key, and there was no way in the deepest pits of hell they could set you loose on the world with what they knew–which wasn't much. Not unless you were hanging off their every word or buried six feet under an unmarked grave.

--- "babysitting duty" ---

"You talk about him like he's some sort of lab experiment."

"Mm." Well… "maybe he is. Who knows."

"He isn't some feral dog, König."

He didn't like it. As much as your words had ignited a–often ignored–spark in him, there was something itching at the back of his mind telling him you weren't trustworthy. That you'd stab him and the rest of the task force in the back the moment you were left to your own devices.

"We should keep him."

"He's a person."

"Not a good one."

"Neither are we."

They had to keep you, if at least for society's sake, on that straining lead. As any slack would surely be the catalyst of his very own demise.

I could make the world bleed.

The words were stuck on replay in König's mind, as well as the man who had spoken them. It was a horrible thought to have–but he couldn't help but find it.. intriguing. The idea made his heart skip a beat and the corner of his scarred mouth curl.

"He said he'd make the world bleed, König. That's fuckin' creepy as shite!" Ghost spat, arms crossed over his chest, as the two made the journey back to the rest of the team.

"You have said much stranger things, Ghost."

"You can't really be considerin' this." A few beats of silence from the larger man was all the confirmation Ghost needed. "Price would never agree to it."

"He said he could help."

"Help." Ghost huffed. "Right. Help with what exactly? He has no idea what we've been working on."

"Ja, he doesn't know. But what about that bomber? Could it be relevant?" Besides Mouse, the team had been tracking a much more persistent threat. Something that left behind more than just breadcrumbs in the form of mutilated bodies.

"...are you sayin' he could be involved in this?"

"He has been showing up right after every hit."

"Right." Ghost pauses in his tracks, turning his head slightly to look up at the other man. "So you think he's with them? Or.. maybe one of their targets?"

König comes to a stop too and takes a moment to mull it over. Could you have been a part of the group they'd been hunting these past few months? It was a little.. suspicious that you'd show up and take out another high-profile figure right after every strike made. Were you cleaning up their mess? Or your own?

"That's all the more reason to keep him, no? To find out? We know he has someone he reports to." There was also the fact that the explosion had gone off practically right under your own two feet. That had to mean something.

Just following orders?

"It's a little concerning when I of all people have to remind you that he is a very real, living, breathing, capable-of complex-thought person." König brushes off Ghost's concerns with a noncommittal shrug.

If they took the route of you having been just another victim of the explosion, that left many unexplained variables. Such as why you were a target–wouldn't one terrorist organization blend well with another? Why would they be at odds? It also leaves the question that, if you had really been abandoned by your crew, why had "she"–the woman who you'd mentioned–left you for dead? Was it legitimate? Or a ploy of some kind?

Then there was the more believable scenario that would tell it as; you hadn't really been betrayed by your group, or whoever held your metaphorical leash. And the explosion was some kind of distraction, a way to get their attention. Maybe–if one applies the theory that you were in cahoots with the people they'd been hunting–you had wanted to get caught. Or, maybe not you specifically, but whoever "she" was. Maybe you were sent as bait and they'd fallen right into that mouse trap–heh.

Maybe you didn't even know this was all a farce. That would make it all the more believable, no?

Either way, they need you here. For information. And if they played their cards right, if they burrowed their way under your skin and into your heart–like a damn parasite–you would give them exactly what they wanted. Lead them right to both the core of your organization and the group behind the bombing. And if the people or persons behind the bombing were by some miracle connected to who they had been tracking…

"He can help." His words help a certain air of finality to them, a small grin making an appearance under his hood.

Another sigh, but not a no.

Price wasn't as thrilled by König's proposal as Ghost begrudgingly was.

"You want to what." König wasn't a fearful man–unless he was ordering from a drive-thru, that shit was terrifying–but when the Captain looked at him like that. Let's just say he was forever grateful for the cloth that obscured almost the entirety of his face.

"Keep him." And if his voice comes out a little smaller than normal… no one mentions it.

To his right, König hears Ghost let out another heavy sigh. For a man who used to take a blowtorch to a hostage's skin and quite literally wears a skull stitched onto his face every day- if you'd asked König, he'd tell you the Lieutenant had grown soft. Or, well, soft-ish. He would still slit a man's throat without question.

"Why'd you wanna do that?" Gaz pipes up, giving König a blank, indecipherable expression. Coupled with his tone, König couldn't tell which side of the fence he was leaning towards. He knew Gaz, out of all of them, was the one with a more strict moral compass–something König both admired and thought of as foolish–but he also already didn't like their current hostage. So, discerning whether the other man would be for or against his proposition was a complex feat. König would have to walk that fine line, choose his words carefully, to sway Gaz's opinion in his favor.

"We could use his help." Is what König finally lands on. Not leaning too far into what Ghost had described as treating you like a tool, but not dipping into friendly territory either. An even middle ground.

"From what Ghost and I managed to gather," well, König had gathered. Ghost more or less just stood in the background as a silent spectator. "He claims he's been abandoned by someone he'd only refer to as "she". That this woman brought him here from wherever he came from to follow some lead- but that lead seems to have been a dead end."

"A dead end?" If Gaz's thing was compassion and strict morals, Soap's was intrigue. Puzzles and demolitions, that's all it took to draw in their resident impulse-driven pyromaniac.

"A dead end," König repeats, now switching his attention to the Scotsman. "Turns out there was no target, not really. Or, at least, that is what it appears like at first glance."

Soap's eyes light up when König moves to reach into his pocket, fishing for the blank note. Bingo.

"At first, when we pulled this off him, we had assumed it to be blank," he unfolds the crinkled-up paper, mud, water stains and all. König reaches his hand out to pass the note to Price, keeping the others on the edge of their seats. "But if you take another look.."

Price inspects it with a deep frown, then passes it to Gaz, who looks at it with a skeptical raise of his brow, next is Soap then Ghost, and finally back around to König. Upon closer inspection, past all the grime and stains, there was a faint red scribble.

"It is like there was something here," he mutters, smoothing a gloved thumb over the worn parchment as if that will somehow make the faded words clearer.

"But someone must've purposefully scrubbed it away." Ghost adds, seeming much more interested than he had earlier.

Any other person would probably have brushed the now-pinkish, washed-out markings as blood. And König almost had; after all, you were practically swimming in your own blood right now. Clothes stained with it far past recognition.

Even so, he knew that wasn't it.

The paper had a slew of things it was coated in–some recognizable, some not–, but blood was, surprisingly, not one of them.

"Dae ya think 'e knows?" Two.

"Maybe he was the one who erased it?" Three.

"We won't know unless we ask him. But,"

They all look over to Price, waiting for the man's next words with bated breaths.

"We can't jus' do it outright." Price's steely gaze lands on König and he subconsciously stands a little taller.

"König's got the right idea. We can't jus' kill 'im. Not yet." Four. "Not until we know everything he does."

"Aye, Captain." Soap grins, pushing up from where he'd been resting against a wall. He tilts his head in the direction Ghost and König had come from. "Let's go wear 'im down then, yeah?"

"Preferably before he bleeds out." Ghost reluctantly grumbles. "Bastard already looks to be halfway through death's door."

Price looks to König, cocking his head slightly to the right.

"You said he believes he was abandoned, right?"

"That is correct, sir." The corner of Price's mouth ticks up.

"So no one's coming for 'im then?"

A sick twist of anticipation began to swell in König's chest, and suddenly he was a lot more confident than he was a few seconds ago.

"Precisely."

__

The last thing you were expecting after those two giants left was for them to return with the whole damn crew. You'd be lying if you said the leader didn't make every inch of your being tense up. There was just something in his eyes; that cool blue, warmer than König's but still so cold, gave off a deceiving "I'm not a threat" while simultaneously saying "flinch and I'll kill you".

The dark-skinned man and the baby-faced one stood a little ways behind you, and closer to the door. The leader took a seat in the chair König had been sitting in–assuming the same position the Austrian had. Skull-face stood in the same place and König took his place on your right-hand side. Standing just far enough behind you to barely graze your peripheral but close enough where you could feel his presence looming near you. Invading your personal little space bubble with his, so close if he leaned any closer he'd be brushing up right against you.

The leader tried his hand at interrogating you again. It went a little something like this;

"Do you know why she left you?'

"Probably had something to do with my bad attitude."

He gives you an unimpressed look. You simply raise your eyebrows in question. You had broken your vow of silence, but that didn't mean you were going to make it easy on them.

"König said you could help us. Mind tellin' me what exactly you could do to help?"

"I have connections. People who owe me a favor or two." Or five. Hey, in your defense, you had been in the game for a while.

"Are these connections… legal?"

"I highly doubt you care about legalities if you are conversing with me still," Then, just to be a little shit, you add a snide, "sir."

You swear you hear a small huff behind you and you brush it off as a figment of your imagination. After all, you had lost a ton of blood.. It was a miracle you hadn't passed out again from blood loss. At this rate, you should probably be dead. Or, at the very least, comatose or something. Not back-talking the man who was very literally your golden ticket to freedom.

You blamed it on the blood loss. Made you say stupid shit.

"What else can you offer us?" In other words; why should we keep you?

"One less Brit in your ranks?"

"..what?"

"You all could really use some diversity."

There's a pregnant pause before,

"Is making jokes all you're good for?" Skull-face speaks up from behind the leader.

"What can I say? It is part of my charm."

The bearded man in front of you lets out a heavy sigh. Something about that sigh told you this type of thing wasn't new to him. A small part of you perked up with curiosity. You then proceed to beat that part of you back down into a bloody pulp.

"Are you goin' to take this seriously or not, Mouse?" The leader captures your attention again and you shrug. You really should take this more seriously… but the lack of vital, life-supporting fluid in your system was making you loopy.

And stupid.

"König?"

Very stupid.

A small grunt from behind you.

"Hast du darüber nachgedacht, was ich gesagt habe?" (Have you thought about what I said?)

The man in front of you frowns, looking from you to König, to you again. But he doesn't stop you. Someone probably should.

There's a terse silence before König replies.

"Deshalb sind sie hier." (That's why they're here.)

Despite your slightly dazed state, you smile a little to yourself.

"Did you tell him?" Now the leader looks even more confused, if not a little more frustrated. Good.

"Tell me what?" His glare is now trained on König, and you know you've gotten the giant into deep shit now. Even better.

"Nein."

And just like that you, very foolishly, let out a small puff of what was obviously an attempt at laughter. Though a poor one.

At this is rate, you'd sooner get yourself killed than cut loose, but your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. It also seemed to be keen on digging you into deeper shit.

"It is a good deal.." you trail off, narrowing your eyes a little at the leader. It would be great if you knew their names. But no one seemed interested in filling you in on that, so you continue, "you all could really use the help. After all, the only reason you lot even caught me was 'cause I was having a bit of a bad day."

"A bit of a bad day?" Leader asks.

"Aye," you drawl. Your heart thudded a few times in your chest, slowed, then picked back up again. Really, you should be dead, slumped over in your chair, by now. "Got blown up. Stabbed a few times.. broke a few bones.."

You give a sloppy grin beneath your mask. Yeah, definitely shouldn't be awake right now. "Bit of a bad day."

"He's useless like this, Cap'." One of the men from somewhere by the roll-up door pipes up.

"Agreed." Skull-face huffs. "Poor guy's all hopped up on adrenaline. He's not much use to us now."

The leader–Captain?–scrutinizes you for a few more moments before exhaling heavily.

"Alright." He grumbles, standing up from the chair.

"König," the Brit calls on the man beside you but keeps his stare trained on you, as if daring you to utter another smart-assed quip. "You were so damn adamant about keeping 'im, yeah?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question and the atmosphere shifts, the tension in the air palpable.

The leader, or, you guess, Captain–these men and their pretentious titles..–adjusts the beige-colored, boonie hat on top of his head and signals something to the two men by the door. You hear the telltale clanking of the metal being rolled up.

"You're on babysitting duty, Sergeant," he says in that displeased rumble–one you had become very familiar with during the first attempt at interrogation–as he makes his way for the door. "So get his arse back in the van, we're moving to someplace more permanent."

The other three men proceed to file out after their Captain, leaving you alone with the, now fuming, Austrian.

Annnnnnd…

"Maus." He grits out from behind you. You proceed to, very smartly, not respond.

Shit.

Instead, you stay stock still even as König leans over you and unsheathes a knife from someplace on his person. One heavy hand gripping your, thankfully, non-injured shoulder and the other reaching around to rest the blade beneath your chin. He urges your head up with the tip of it until your eyes–oh, yeah, he was definitely pissed–lock with his. In the short time you'd known him you had almost forgotten how downright intimidating only being able to see those pale, glowing blues staring through your very soul was.

"Sie werden es bereuen." (literal; you will regret it. Contextual; you're going to regret this.)

He, while maintaining eye contact, removes the knife and brings it down to hover just above your waist. Your own gaze can't help but flick between his and his weapon-welding hand. Self-preservation, you call it. König, after all, has that sharp metal alarmingly close to your dick.

You choose to ignore the thrill that causes your breath to hitch, an unfamiliar feeling stirring somewhere in the deepest pits of your hindbrain.

You watch as he–in a strange show of caution–places the gloved hand that had been on your shoulder beneath the coarse rope, thumb and fourth finger keeping the binding in place, and swiftly slices through the thickly twined fibers. He then makes quick work of doing the same to the rope wrapped around your thighs and ankles. The barest hints of warmth emitting from him easily seep through the thin, ruined cloth of your pants. But before you can think too much about how long it's been since you last felt the touch of another not-currently-dying human being, König pulls back.

When you look back up to search out his gaze you find he is no longer staring you down, his own focus entirely on freeing you from the bindings. The lack of pressure on your worn body is a relief and the next breath that leaves you is shakier than the last–you choose to believe it's just your body coming down from its adrenaline high.

The last of the rope that had been keeping your lower half bound to the chair falls away to the floor with a soft thump and König retreats completely to move onto your hands. Thank fuck for your own fabric-clad hands, you aren't sure how much more of this non-threatening touch you could take before you fucking imploded or something. All you can feel is the slight graze of his deft fingers against your concealed wrists, and even that is muted. Courtesy of the current lack of decent blood circulation to your bound extremities.

After that final piece of rope is removed, you're being yanked to your feet. Off-balanced and stumbling as blood rushes back to every limb, you nearly come crashing straight back down. König's firm hold on your forearm is the only thing that keeps you from taking an embarrassing nosedive into hard concrete.

Panting heavily behind the fabric of your mask, you groan as the world swims around you. König only spares you a few seconds to steady yourself and then he's making a sudden appearance in front of you and trading out his grip on your forearm to engulf your wrist–and subsequently almost your entire hand–in one large hand. He wastes no time in tugging you forward to follow in his footsteps.

You realize quickly that the time between the rest of the group leaving and König's undoing of your bindings hadn't really been more than a few moments–half a minute at most–, as the other members of König's team were just now turning a corner and leaving your field of vision.

How embarrassing, you think, it felt like a fucking eternity.

König easily uses his tight grasp on your wrist to lift you up just enough so you don't have to make the small hop off of the elevated ledge and out of the storage unit–thank fuck it wasn't your injured arm. You aren't sure whether to be annoyed at his blatant show of strength–seriously, the movement seemed entirely effortless on his part–or grateful you didn't have to make the jump. Your depth perception wasn't exactly the best right now and you probably would've just fallen right over. You doubted you would have even had the energy to catch yourself.

The walk out of this seemingly abandoned facility and back out into the scalding heat–huh, they must not have taken you very far–was surprisingly quick. Your barely lucid brain blocked out the majority of the dizzying twists and turns it took to find the exit. And soon enough you find yourself back in the loading space of that damn van.

This time you are mostly conscious, so you're granted the wonderful opportunity of bearing witness to the burning glares of the three other men seated on the opposite bench. König takes his place beside you and actively decides to not even glance in your direction. Instead silently communicates something to the other passive-aggressive passengers. Well, skull-face was definitely more on the aggressive side of the spectrum, but you were mostly certain he couldn't do anything. Or so you hoped.

The baby-faced one was looking at you with more curiosity than anything, a minor hint of defense hidden somewhere in those–why the hell does everyone here have the same eyes??–vivid blues. That barely concealed interest was more terrifying than skull-face's obvious death stare.

The Captain turned his attention to the Austrian beside you, nonverbally communicating his displeasure with a hard glare and deep frown. Ah, the dark-skinned man must've been the one driving the damn thing.

After a few more painstaking minutes of having a half-assed staring contest with the two men across from you, you give up and let your eyelids fall half-shut. Still nauseous with blood loss and possible infection, you pant lightly within the confines of your mask. Heat continues to build in the suffocating cloth and you let out another soft groan, unable to help yourself when you slump backward against the metal wall of the vehicle.

The ground moving beneath you does nothing to aid your current lightheadedness and you find yourself focusing most of your limited attention span on not vomiting in your mask. That would be a hellscape on its own to clean, and the humiliation would probably kill you off before the budding infection had the chance.

It doesn't take much time before you can no longer fight off the exhaustion weighing down the big ball of throbbing pain that is your entire body and your eyelids finally slip shut. Before you have the chance to force your eyes open again–this is definitely not an ideal place to fall asleep–a sudden heavy thwack against your mutilated shoulder does the job for you.

Your eyes snap back open, fully alert as you search out the culprit. You find König giving you a blank, deadpan stare and the venomous words sprouting on the tip of your tongue quickly fizzle out when you notice the van has stopped moving. In fact, you two are the only ones remaining inside. The other four are piling up just out of earshot, the backdoors wide open and showing off- well, nothing. It's dark and all you can make out are vague shapes in the background.

You huff and go to stand but König beats you to it. Still holding onto your wrist, he gives a sharp tug and you stagger out of your seat. You send him a seething glare but find that his attention is no longer on you.

König pulls you out the same way he had the storage unit; efficiently lifting you by your arm and out of the vehicle. You barely manage to keep your balance when your boots touch solid ground again and just that little bit of exertion has you sucking in ragged gulps of air.

When the Captain glances over to you two, König makes a show of lifting your arm into the air as if to say got it and the Captain gives a small nod in acknowledgment. You don't have the wherewithal to give a shit about being treated more like an object than a person, brushing it off and trading it out to take in your surroundings instead. Besides, it wasn't something you were exactly.. unfamiliar with.

Surrounding you is another compound. More well-kept than the storage facility you had previously been in, but still obviously worn. The stark white walls were practically glowing in contrast to the pitch-black, starless night sky. Besides some crumbling and scuff marks here and there–most likely from environmental weathering over time–the cinder block walls were almost pristine.

Your fuzzy, mush of a brain briefly considers asking König where the hell they had brought you, but your tongue is like lead in your mouth. Not that it really mattered, you highly doubt he would've told you anyway. You were a prisoner, after all. A prisoner who they were only keeping alive on the off-chance you could help.

Help with what exactly? You had not a clue. Hopefully, they'd soon get their shit together and tell you sooner rather than later. Then again.. what would they do with you once your use to them came to an end? Would they just end up killing you anyway?

Floodlights abruptly make an unwelcome appearance, bathing the courtyard in a blindingly white light and knocking that train of thought right out of your head. You cringe away from the sudden brightness, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily before blinking a few times in rapid succession to adjust.

You only have the time to register the sheer size of the compound before you are being tugged forward again and into the said building. As usual, you silently curse König's unfairly long legs and subsequent far longer strides as you try your damnedest to keep up. The nausea, burning full body ache, and pounding against your skull have yet to lessen. If anything it's become more of an issue now that you're not running on pure adrenaline.

You find yourself fumbling over your own miscalculated steps more often than you make a successful one, König having to more or less drag the majority of your dead weight along with him. The behemoth of a man doesn't even have the decency to make it look like doing so is any struggle. Bastard.

The interior lighting of the compound is somehow far much worse than the blaring exterior. You squint against the harsh brightness and it takes a few seconds for your pulpy mess of a brain to make out the shapes and colors in front of you. Or, well, the astonishing lack of colors. Dull shades of grey coupled with a blinding light. Perfect.

Someone's talking. Multiple someone's, really. But your ears are too stuffed full of cotton to make any sense of what's being said. The most you can do is try to read their lips–which proves to be futile–and try to gauge the emotional state of the men in the room.

The plainly, uniform-dressed men standing guard seem to not at all have a problem with the crew that had brought you in. Though obviously holding a subordinate position in comparison to the team, they shared easy smiles and small laughs with the group. The Captain appears to be keeping up a polite kind of façade–was this not his base?–as he converses with the two newbies. Skull-face, mohawk guy, and the Captain's obvious favorite all stand behind the Captain in an organized order. With skull-face standing the closest–was he some kind of right-hand man?–babyface and the third man stood at a respectful distance. Not too close, but just near enough to assist if needed.

König kept you a little more ways away from the others, a firmer grip on your wrist than before. It would probably hurt if the remainder of your body wasn't currently one giant sore spot. You realize why when one of the guards spares a glance at you and, spotting your eyes on him, immediately shrinks back and averts his gaze.

Ah, this definitely wasn't their base. Made sense. They all were clearly European and unfamiliar with the normalities of wherever the fuck you all were right now. Faintly, you remember the dark-skinned man complaining about how weird it was driving on the right-hand side of the road.

You're snapped out of your own musings by a harsh pull on your arm. A small noise of surprise escapes you and, before you know it, the guards are moving out of the way and you are being escorted further into the building.

Going off the darkness you had awakened to, it is obviously late at night, maybe even well into the morning by now, and the only people you all pass are all exhausted-looking security personnel.

König follows behind the other four down corridor after corridor, dragging you along behind him. Eventually, you all make it out into what appears like a sort of gathering place or common room. For a split second you think they're going to stop there, but, no, they keep going. Down more confusing hallways and through nonsense doors.

Then finally, finally, it all comes to a stop at an unremarkable metal door. Nothing on it, not even a little window, with the exception of the room number plastered next to it.

You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes. There's a small tugging in the back of your mind and, if you were any more aware, you'd almost say it was familiar. Huh.

The Captain unlocks and pushes open the door, then, before you even have the opportunity to protest, König yanks you close and shoves you forward. You stumble–again, seriously, did they think you were made of fucking steel??–through the doorway and only barely manage to break your fall on the closet wall. You stand there for a moment, panting and bracing against hard concrete, while the others file in.

If it wasn't for the unnecessarily heavy thunk you probably wouldn't have realized that the door had been shut. Your vision blurs then blacks out for a split second while you catch your breath, and the only thing on your mind is; how the hell am I not dead yet?

You're only given a few more moments of rest then you're being pulled by the wrist again. Unable to even really feel your legs anymore, the sudden brushing of something solid against the backs of your knees is all you have to tell you you've even moved. You don't have to be told twice to sit, hell, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear them if they had given the order.

You drop your weight instantly, unable to hold yourself up any longer. You can't feel much through the fabric separating your fingertips from what's below, but from the slight give when you press down, if you had to guess, you'd say you were seated on a cot of some kind. It's not the most comfortable, but it's the best thing you've had in a long, long while.

Lifting your gaze at the sound of someone's voice, you blink rapidly in a vain attempt at refocusing your vision.

"Hm?"

All four men standing in the room give you vaguely concerned grimaces. Well, you assume König and skull-face do, judging by the crinkling of their limited expression.

"I said-" the Captain begins. Not that you hear any of what comes after that. Head full of cotton and feeling simultaneously like you're both floating and being weighed down by a ship's anchor, you're left futilely trying to read his lips. But that only makes the pounding in your head worsen and you screw your eyes shut again.

Cradling your head in your hands you lean down, elbows propped up on your knees. You suck in shallow, shaky breaths, fruitlessly trying to get the proper amount of oxygen to the lump of mass that is your brain.

When your eyes flutter open again the lights have been dimmed just enough to take the edge off, reducing the strain on your eyes, and you immediately slump in relief. You think you mutter your gratitude under your breath, but, really, you're far too out of it to be certain.

A few more muffled words and the soft thumping of footsteps later and the door opens then shuts one last time. You look up expecting to see nothing but an empty room, a little caught off guard when that behemoth of a man is still looming near the door.

"We should really get you checked out," König says, giving a brief once-over at your disheveled appearance. Giving a noncommittal hum, you take a look down at yourself.

You had not bothered to take full stock of your person since the initial confrontation–and even that was a laughable inspection at best.

Every inch of your exposed skin–which, truthfully, wasn't much–was coated in a layer of mud and your own blood. Your thin civilian outfit was in a similar state of disrepair; caked in blood, more mud, and bits of stuck-on foliage as well. Accompanied with the occasional tear and hole here and there, of course.

"I'll get a medi-" Before he even gets the word out you're launching yourself up and off the bed. Charging at him despite how unsafe that currently is and reaching up to slam your grimy, gloved hand over where you assume his mouth is.

König quickly and easily peels your hand away by the wrist, staring down at you with less anger and more of a really, what are you doing? kind of look.

"Nie." (No.) You breathe as your only explanation. You had had enough of fucking medical staff in your time before your years-long solo operation began. Unknown injections, emotionless stares, and needles. Needles, needles, needles. So many fucking needles. You didn't visit those sterile, frigid laboratories often these days–though you were still required to come in every now and again for a routine 'checkup'.

"No?" König finally breaks through your suddenly hazy headspace–this time said fuzziness wasn't the result of excessive blood loss. You'd rather it were.

"Nie." You repeat again, and there must be something in your voice–something unlike yourself, something a bit too human–because König relents without further question and drops your arm.

"I can't really let you die on us, Maus." He points out with a deadpan stare. Then, probably realizing that phrasing sounded a bit too worried, he adds, "What use would you be to us then?"

"Let me do it."

"You can barely stand up straight and you expect me to hand you a needle?"

"I would rather me than you or some pea-brained white-coat." You huff, narrowing your still very unfocused gaze up at him. You hope it lands, you can't really see clearly right now.

König holds your stare for a few seconds longer before letting out a resigned sigh and looking away. "Fine."

He gives your uninjured shoulder a nudge with a gloved finger and rumbles a low, "Sit down."

You're about to bite back with some witty retort but the words get stuck in your throat when you realize just how close you two are. In your rush to cut off the words spewing from his mouth, you had somehow ended up crowding into his space in a very.. unprofessional way. Chest puffed up in a show of defiance and, subsequently, pressed right up against the other man.

That same, unfamiliar twinge in the furthest recesses of your mind from back in that god-awful storage unit begins to stir and you jolt away sharply. Jumping back and scurrying over to the cot at a faster rate than really necessary, as if that simple touch had burnt you. And, to be frank, it had. Indirectly.

König cocks his head, analyzing you for a brief moment, then shakes it off. Thank fuck. Having quickly averted your gaze, all you hear is some faint rustling and then his legs appear in your line of sight. A small first-aid box materializes from his hand and you lift your own trembling one to take it.

"Thanks." You mumble. You were a monster, not impolite.

König makes a light huff and retreats. Grateful for the, mostly likely unintended, room to breathe, you fumble with the kit before finally managing to wrench the damn thing open. Placing the box beside you on the bed you ungracefully free your first victim from its confines; your thigh.

Stab wound number one, thankfully, has stopped bleeding. On the other, far less favorable, hand, the injury is already a burning, angry red. A light poke at the inflamed skin with your finger has you hissing against the sharp sting.

Deciding keeping up appearances was much less important than your health, you make efficient work of removing both gloves. Also soaked with mud and blood, they would do no more than worsen what was already the beginnings of a very, very serious infection.

There's a bottle of saline solution in the kit and you uncap that first. Folding the bled-through, makeshift bandage in half, you use it to catch the liquid rather than letting the filthy solution drip onto the floor. After flushing out the wound as much as you can–without running the bottle dry, you've still got another to clean–the next step is the worst of them all. Stitches.

If you had it your way, you wouldn't use them at all. You had a tendency to forgo using a needle and thread whenever you could–only stooping to that level when it was absolutely vital. Like right now.

Even then, you only knew one form of sewing; intermittent sutures.

Tearing open a sterile needle packet you, surprisingly enough, make easy work of threading the surgical cotton through the eye of it. Pinching the slice shut with your non-dominant hand, you position the end of the curved metal about a centimeter from where the damn thing starts.

The first pierce of the needle into your tender flesh forces a strained whine from your throat, eyes beginning to water. You blink away the budding tears, exhale a shaky breath, and tie the thread off.

One suture down, an ungodly amount remaining.

Your hand only gets more unsteady as time goes on. Making each stitch more lopsided than the last.

Your vision swims for a brief moment and you swallow back the growing lump in your throat. Come on now, you can do this. You've done this so, so many times before. What was so different this time around?

Just a few more to go. That's all. Then you will be done.. well, then onto the puncture in your shoulder. The shoulder that also happened to be connected to your dominant hand. Great.

"Maus."

You can do this- just stab, push through- wait no, not like that. Pull it out again. Now, do it properly this time-

"Maus." Black gloves invade your sight and you grunt, trying to look around them.

The next time the needle pierces your skin it goes in just short of perfectly–success!–but it's good enough. Will keep your blood in, at least. Then comes tying it off and- come on, don't be difficult now.

Just toss over- like tha- wait, no. Just lift and- fuck.

A low rumble is all you hear and then those gloved fingers are wrapping around your wrist once more and effectively halting your progress. You huff, looking up to glare at him only to find his own hardened gaze staring down at you.

"-keep trying, you are only going to hurt yourself." Wait, had he been talking this whole time? "Then what use would you be then, hm? You would be of no help if you died because of your own damn stubbornness."

You feebly try to tug your hand back, but he doesn't budge, simply using his other hand to pluck the needle from your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you do the only thing you can do; throwing hundreds of imaginary knives at that stupid smug look in his eyes and internally cursing him out.

After your two's little staring contest goes on long enough for your captured hand to start going numb, you relent. Letting out a heavy sigh and dropping your gaze.

König makes a small noise of approval and releases your wrist. You don't watch as he finishes up the mess of stitches sewn into your thigh, nausea returning with a vengeance and forcing you to shut your eyes again.

He finishes up relatively quickly, faster than you probably could have in this state, and rinses the wound again before pasting a bandage over it.

"I need you to look up."

"Hm?" Light pressure under your chin causes your eyelids to flutter back open and you frown.

"Wha-?"

"Up." He reasserts, using his guiding touch to urge your head up and out of the way. Forcing you to straighten out your shrimp-like posture and provide König with access to your injured shoulder.

Said shoulder that was more bruises and blood than it was untouched flesh; able to get a decent look at it now that König had removed the sloppy work that was your mess of torn fabric and duct tape.

He repeats the same steps you had to clean the wound and this time you watch. Less so keeping an eye on the weeping wound and more so on the hand sticking the–new, he had discarded the one used on your thigh–thin metal through your skin. He's surprisingly delicate with it, despite his size he is far more precise with his sutures than you had been. Carefully inserting the needle and tying off every knot with practiced ease. Unlike you, he hadn't foregone his gloves, and that's why you notice it when you do. Having been so attuned to his busy hands.

His gloves are still stained with your blood.

Coated in a thick, dried layer of it. Dark against the already black fabric, flakes of crimson chipping off and drawing your eye.

It was the only part of him that showed any hint of wear from the morning's efforts. Every other inch of his uniform was speck-free, not a single item out of place, scuff mark, or splatter of blood.

It didn't make much sense for you to be fixated on such a minor facet after the laborious events of today. There were so many other things to draw your attention. Like the repeated motions of the curved metal puncturing your skin over and over again, for example. Or maybe his close proximity–accompanied by that weird feeling again.

But, no. Every last bit of your remaining attention span was focused solely on your own blood marking his hands. You sounded insane, even to yourself and that was an entire feat of its own.

You release a small breath of relief when he pulls away, slapping on another thick bandage over your second, freshly stitched injury. Then comes a sudden sting right above your eyebrow and you jolt away with a hiss.

Refocusing back into reality, König is still standing above you. Only this time he's welding an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, also tarnished with your blood.

"Cut is deep." Is the vague explanation you get, coupled with a small gesture to your face. "No stitches will be needed. But,"

He reaches down to rifle through the first aid kit and makes a soft sound of victory when he finds whatever he's looking for. Holding your face still in one hand, he dabs at the cut a few more times before switching sides and drying it off. König throws the dirtied cotton along with wherever he'd discarded the scraps of your clothes and other miscellaneous trash.

Next comes another burning sting as he presses something over the wound. A few 'something's.

"A few pieces of tape should do the trick." He muses as he smoothes the sterile strips against your skin, the faint metallic scent of your own blood flooding your senses. Gross.

You really needed some sleep, or maybe it was finally time to check yourself into some kind of mental reform. Seriously, this was getting out of hand.

"Now," König pulls away for the final time, doing a brief scan of your exhausted form and nodding to himself. "Sleep."

You half expected König to leave it at that, to exit the room like the other four had. And probably lock the door behind him. Your hopes are crushed when he takes a seat a few feet away from your cot, settling into an uncomfortable-looking chair you hadn't noticed beforehand.

Oh, right. The Captain had assigned him as your personal babysitter. How fucking lovely.

Scooting back to slump against the wall furthest away from the other man, you send him a weak glare. Wanting nothing more than to argue that you can't sleep like this–not with him watching over you like some damn stalker–you find that when you try, you can't.

For what feels like the millionth time today, your eyelids droop until you cannot resist any longer. Falling completely shut and likely not going to open for a while, you give in. Unable to find it in yourself to give a damn right now.

Besides, you could.. moderately trust König wouldn't murder you in your slumber. He hasn't yet. And that seems to be enough for your sleep-deprived brain, as sweet unconsciousness soon drags you under.

___

One | Two | Masterlist | Next

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(finally figured out how to tag y'all properly! Sorry bout that. Thought I was doing it right this whole time 😞)

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @ravage-reposts @suhmie

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments!

#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #könig cod #könig x male reader #reader insert #gay #mlm

[anxiousnerdwritings]

def not an request but i wnt ur thoughts on this. you answered an ask once about the batboys + bruce lovin bruce's adopted sibling bcuz of how affectionate they are. and while I have alot of thoughts, my main one is just wonderin how they'd react if they died.

it could be from the rogue of the week, them dying bcuz they were held ransom and one kidnapper was trigger happy, a hitman for some reason. point is they died but i know for a FACT that jason and damian wouldnt think twice about using the pits to bring them back. they wldnt even think,, theyd just share a glance and nod.

like can you imagine bruce spiraling (they all are tbh) cuz his sibling died. alfred is trying to console him while comforting dick as dick is sobbing buckets. tim is trying to fight tears as he scours for any images of his aunt/uncle's killer and jason's in the back like "damian get the shovel" and a shovel spawns in damian's hands magically

sorry for this being long btw i waa excited

Everyone would be completely distraught at the loss of the only thing they felt kept them grounded. Their only sense of outward love, affection, and warmth being ripped away from them like that would be detrimental to everyone of them. Especially if the Reader has been killed so senselessly, like their killer didn’t even know who they were or their ties to Batman and the Batfamily or to Bruce Wayne in general. They could all blame themselves for being the reason a rogue got to them but just some random mugger having been the one to take away their beloved sibling/aunt or uncle would tear at them even more. Especially for Bruce, having the Reader taken away from him like his parents had been would mess him up all over again.

Honestly, there’s no doubt that Bruce, Tim, and Dick would heavily contemplate using the Lazarus pit to bring the Reader back. But it’s definitely Jason and Damian who don’t think twice about it and go through with bringing their precious aunt/uncle back. I feel like Alfed would be the only one to not consider it, whether he just can’t bring himself to do so or he’s come to accept the loss of the Reader.

The only reason I could see him being accepting/tolerating of the idea of the Reader being brought back by means of the Lazarus pit would mainly be for the sake of Bruce and the boys. Of course he’s affected by their death and not being able to be in their company again or to have them fret over him like they did, but it’s how hard Bruce and the boys take it that really has him willing to turn a blind eye while Jason and Damian go through with their plan. Alfred would also low key give his reassurance and acceptance to Bruce for him to go through with his own thoughts of bringing the Reader back to life. It may even be Alfred who plants the seed of using the Lazarus pit to begin with, in his own desperate way to get the family back to the way it was.

Also, in the case of a rogue having taken the Reader and was using them to get to Batman and the boys, I could totally see one of the villains’ lackeys being the one who deals out the Reader’s demise. Whether they went too far with trying to get information from them/roughing them up to add to the vigilantes rush to meet with the respective rogues demands or they just really wanted to take it into their own hands to get back at the Dark Knight/prove their worth to their boss. Either way, I could see their boss even being like “👀 You done fucked up and now we’re all going to die😬”. Trust me, Jason and Damian would go on a bloody warpath killing and maiming everyone involved in the death of the Reader or even just for being there, and I don’t even think Bruce would be in the mindset to stop them. Or maybe he doesn’t want to stop them.

In the case that the Reader was pointlessly killed by a mugger or low grade criminal for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Bruce and the boys would work tirelessly to find the person who did it. It would especially be infuriating and defeating if the Reader’s killer was just gone in the wind. No trace of the assailant, no leads off what evidence they did have, nothing. If they aren’t able to hunt the Reader’s killer down before they bring the Reader back to life then they would all be extremely paranoid about something similar happening to the Reader again, whether it’s the same assailant or someone else. Not getting that closure of permanently getting rid of the person who tore away their darling from them would weigh and all of them. They’d become even more overprotective of the Reader once they have them back and wouldn’t allow them to leave the manor for anything out of fear of losing them all over again.

Similar to Alfred, Dick would be the one consoling and trying to keep everyone together knowing that the Reader wouldn’t want them to tear apart like they already are. He pushes down his own heartache and hurt over the loss of the Reader to try and be there for Bruce and the boys, especially Damian. Alfred knows exactly what Dick’s doing, focusing on the others so he doesn’t have to deal with his own trauma regarding the ordeal. But Alfred doesn’t let that fly and he confronts Dick about it only for Dick to breakdown and unleash everything he’s been keeping under wraps.

The death of the Reader would really affect Bruce and the boys severely, they all shut down in their own ways. Sick is the only one who still comes off as his normal self but behind closed doors in another thing. Jason becomes even more aggressive and rough when dealing with any criminals, no matter how high or low on the food chain they are. Whatever sleep and healthy habits the Reader had gotten Tim to do to take care of himself went away the day they died. If anything he’s only gotten so much worse, a husk of what he used to be running solely off of caffeine and the need to find the Reader’s killer. Damian shuts himself off completely from everyone, not even Alfred or Dick can get to him. He won’t let them. All the wonderful progress he made with the Reader regarding letting others in and being able to let go of being the child of an assassin and vigilante and just allowing himself to be a kid is destroyed. He doesn’t want anything to do with anyone unless it’s his beloved aunt/uncle.

Bruce is a mess, both physically and emotionally. He’s taken a backseat from things, mainly pertaining to the Justice League and Wayne Enterprises. He stops by every so often and does want he needs to but he isn’t involved unless he really, really needs to be. Even though he has Alfred, Damian, Dick, Jason, and Tim, Bruce can’t help but feel cold and alone after losing the Reader. He feels the exact same way he did when he first lost his parents, before he adopted the Reader and brought them home to be his family. He knows he’s not truly alone, at least not physically but there’s a hole in his chest and he finds himself completely lost. He know he needs to be there for the boys, that the Reader would scold him for not being there for them when they need him most but he just can’t. He tries but he can’t do it, he can’t give them what they desperately need, not like how the Reader could. And that makes him feel even worse.

Bruce would be overcome with the feeling of being useless and vulnerable and he hates it. It would especially be hard for him if Dick and Jason were moved out of the manor leaving the family to be apart in such a trying time. Although, having Jason and Bruce in the same place together might not be good given that that may cause strife between the two. Especially if Jason blamed Bruce for the Reader’s death, or at least used Bruce as a way to let out his own grievances about not being able to save the Reader himself and projecting his own guilt and self blame about the whole ordeal.

This would only push each of them further towards bringing the Reader back by any means necessary. And they don’t care what anyone else has to say about it, they need their darling back otherwise their family isn’t going to last much longer without them.

Also, the overwhelming guilt and self hatred of Bruce or any of the boys if they had inadvertently been the cause of the Reader’s death. Like, while trying to get to the Reader maybe a stray bullet or knife/batarang/wing-ding hit the Reader and led to the their demise.

#anxious answers #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere batman #yandere batboys #yandere dc #yandere dc concept #yandere batboys concept #yandere batfamily concept #yandere concept

[fushitism]

i feel like ur opinion on who chara dreemurr was as a person is entirely hinged on how you interpret these lines

my favorite thing about undertale is how interpretative everything is. it’s why i believe the fandom’s thrived so much

there aren’t any confirmation for a lot of things, only hints.

and chara is a character (heh) that defies easy categorization because of this

one minute they're getting halos drawn over their head, the next they're public enemy number one. 

are they good? bad? gray?

we get so hung up on the morality aspect of chara that we forget the most important thing of all, they were a person. 

a person— child.

a child that hasn’t had the years to work through it or even atone for the hurt they caused. 

a child that did not know love before they fell to the underground. 

a child, raised in darkness, suddenly thrust into sunshine. it's blinding, overwhelming. 

foreign. 

after poisoning asgore, their only reaction was to laugh. now, you can depict this in any way you like, but to me, it was an honest mistake. and chara's laughter was more of a nervous reaction. they probably couldn't fully grasp the gravity of their actions. this wasn’t an instance of them maliciously reveling in asgore’s suffering. i simply cannot see it that way no matter how hard i try

the dreemurrs were unlike any of the humans they knew. they genuinely loved and cared for chara who just… didn't know how to react or cope with it in a way most would consider "appropriate"

and actually! when you’re up against snowdrake’s mom:

chara expects frisk to laugh, just like they did when their dad got poisoned. it's horrible to look at. it's terrifying. but all they can do to cope is laugh

they FULLY expected frisk to do so too, but frisk just.. Doesn’t. 

chara was a human that found a family where they least expected it. they weren’t devoid of any good. they weren't so despondent.

they had hope in their eyes.

they were determined to liberate monsters

and having alrdy been hailed as the "hope" of monsterkind by their family n being the completionist (love this trait abt them btw) that they were:

they were going to see this through. push all the limits. use all means. they will have power.

this is where things get muddy.

chara is a creature of reason. their decision to poison themselves and die, allowing asriel to absorb their soul, was, in their view, the most optimal and effective choice. there was no future left for chara on the surface anyways. there was also no straightforward method to obtain a human soul. each realization logically led to the next until everything seamlessly aligned.

their plan kicked off and started going their way. they intentionally carried their own lifeless body and headed to their village, fully anticipating the reactions they'd provoke. they had hoped to show asriel just how horrible humans are. they had hoped that by doing this, asriel would understand. the reason why humans must all be eradicated.  

but to their utter shock, asriel resisted; he never fought back.

emotion foiled their plan, resulting in their own demise and that of their beloved brother. their sacrifice was for naught, the prospect of making peace between the two races has been tossed aside, irretrievably diminished.

asriel was right. chara wasn't exactly the greatest person. however, him acknowledging they weren't does not necessarily imply them to be a fervent force of evil (and i also think he meant it as in, he LITERALLY used to believe chara was the SINGLE greatest person, but eh, technicalities)

they were a flawed person, who died as such. they've made an abundance of bad choices in how they handled their trauma but that doesn't exempt them from redemption. especially not in a game that focuses on mercy and unconditional kindness and forgiveness and and and

and you know what? pacifist is their redemption. they don't rlly do anything that explicit in this route but. the silly narrations. the encouraging words frisk hears during asriel's boss fight. how frisk was able to save asriel and call out to him. i like to believe it was all chara. they've seen you prove that humans can be good too and with that..... they became a tool to free monsters, just as they had always intended :-]

#undertale #ut #undertale frisk #frisk undertale #frisk dreemurr #chara undertale #chara dreemurr #chara ut #ut asriel #asriel dreemurr #toby fox #undertale analysis #utdr #frisk ut #dreemurr family #this is my personal stance on them #you can disagree #but please let me be #haha that rhymed #srsly though i respect all depictions of chara i just prefer this one

[russellinatussle]

Survive a Zombie Apocalypse w/ F1 Teams

Would you survive a zombie apocalypse with your favourite team? Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and just my opinion

(The team logos represent you so if it's coloured, you're alive and if it's in black and white...sorry dude)

Aston Martin

Listen, I know you're confident you'd survive. I'd be confident too. Unfortunately you(we) couldn't be more than wrong. This is a one for all, all for none situation. If they can save their own butts they will. If its at the cost of you, well, you shouldn't have chosen them to begin with. Fernando isn't that mean though so if you do manage to fall into a trap, he'd leave you a little note reading, "Enjoy getting eaten by zombies!;D" as a goodbye as he and Lance disappears off into the distance. Great!!!

AlphaTauri

I don't think you'd survive. Daniel and Yuki have watched their fair share of survival movies but when it comes to actually surviving in the middle of an apocalypse? Yea, no. Even if you managed to survive 99% of your journey, bad luck will definitely hit you during that last 1%. On the other hand, you could be extremely, EXTREMELY lucky and survive but this has a 0.82929292% chance. But hey, it's not 0.

Alfa Romeo

Yes, you'd survive. You have two of the chillest people on the grid with you. With a level head, you'd manage to escape with minimal contact with zombies. Valterri is the team leader here and has quite a lot of knowledge on survival in the wild and you and Guanyu are willing team players so you guys would definitely survive. Don't think Guanyu doesn't bring anything to the table though. With his fashion expertise, he'd manage to blend you guys in with the zombies. Instant survival. (Let's just ignore that zombies might smell your scent and just pretend that they're partially blind and have anosmia)

Alpine

You'd survive, given that the two of them are able to work together. I feel like Pierre and Esteban would be afraid to fight the zombies but if you do encounter them, they'd somehow manage to take down most of them. They're squeamish though so if any zombie guts get on them, they're gagging and trying not to throw their own guts up. They don't really have the foundation of basic survival skills tho. Fighting they can do but making a fire, cooking and foraging? Not so good at so be sure to be proficient in these areas or else you might poison yourselves accidentally.

Mercedes

You'd survive but George and Lewis will not. It's mostly because they didn't believe the apocalypse was real until it was too late. During the few days of the apocalypse they were still alive though, Lewis had endless optimism that kept your spirits high and George's dank humour kept you entertained. Wish he actually listened to your advice of wearing a damn shirt in the middle of an apocalypse but eh. But don't worry, after the Brits meet their unfortunate demise, you won't be alone. You'd have Roscoe and the password to Mercedes' TikTok account so it's not all bad. (It is)

Ferrari

No, you will not survive. With no decent strategy and non-reliable equipment, the zombies unfortunately get to you before you can even say Ferrari double podium. You won't die immediately per say. You'd manage to hold your own for the first couple of days but when almost all your equipment starts breaking apart or stops working, the end seems to be in sight. Charles has no self-preservation skills and Carlos is in his own head most of the time. If they were given the right tools, they would definitely survive the apocalypse. But you know how it is rn... You actually do quite well defending yourselves from zombies, probably all that built up Ferrari frustration. However, if you make an alliance with another team, you'd have a higher chance at survival. If the apocalypse were to be in a few years time though, maybe you'd have a higher chance at survival

Red Bull

You and Max would survive. For some reason, you lost Checo in the middle of a zombie chase. He's not dead, you just have no idea where he is now. Max would definitely know his way around surviving an apocalypse because he's literally the Google embodiment, random facts just stewing in his brain.

Williams

Might be unexpected (or expected), but you'd survive. They have decent survival skills, not the best but decent. Logan can hunt (cause yk Logan HUNTER Sargeant?? Cmon now), with his obvious love for fishing and Alex definitely has a route planned to escape the zombies. They're not skilled scouts but they have the most basic of basic knowledge of survival so yea you'd survive. One thing you didn't see coming was the number of animals you'd adopt on the journey.

Haas

Yea you'd survive. They're definitely one of the most resourceful, making weapons out of things they randomly find but you do have some close calls due to them maybe disagreeing on certain issues. They both have basic survival skills, Kevin more than Nico so if you have no choice but to camp out in the woods, you're not doomed. In conclusion, as long as you're willing to be the peacemaker most of the time, you'll be fine.

McLaren

You survive but barely. You have good strategies but your survival skills are 1 to none. Need to make a fire? Where's the lighter? Need food but only fish is available? Yea, no way. Encounter zombies? Defence is the new offence. You try your best to avoid zombies at all costs but if it's inevitable (which it will be), you'll try an alternative way that doesn't involve hand-to-hand combat with the undead. BUT, if you really have no other choice then to fight zombies, Lando and Oscar would be pretty decent in it. Lando's chosen weapon would be a gold club while Oscar's would be a cricket bat. It's kind of therapeutic actually, just smashing zombies left and right.

#f1 #formula 1 #zhou guanyu #valterri bottas #lance stroll #fernando alonso #yuki tsunoda #daniel ricciardo #logan sargeant #alex albon #oscar piastri #lando norris #george russell #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #nico hulkenberg #kevin magnussen #max verstappen #sergio perez #pierre gasly #esteban ocon #in light of Halloween #based entirely on my own opinion

[faresong]

eve of the sun.

(spoiler) musings on my design choices below <3

✦ CLAIRE ELFORD —

Oh, my girl... I love her so much. I changed up her design slightly to draw in a gold tone due to my adjustment of her neck accessory: instead, it is part of a earring she was gifted by her grandmother that then broke. Though she doesn't remember why she had it, nor why it was only one of a set, she still holds a lot of sentimental value to it and couldn't bear to throw it out or sell its pieces, instead transforming it into a necklace.

I also gave her boots which, despite their look, are customized to better track up the mountain. These are her personal hiking boots! Additionally, since she lives up there, she has gotten into a few scuffles. While she's learned to hold herself well, there have been times she gets a bit overzealous—and the scar on her face is one of those cases. A nasty rock she was trying to remove had split her lip open and completely dragged down her shoulder before she could hit the floor and regain her standing. Nothing too dramatic, she'd say, but it reminds her to be careful... sometimes :P

Of course, because she's canonically the strongest of the group, I gave her more obvious muscles and fat to pad it out. As I've stated before with her living situation, eating is important to help her keep her strength up—and is also just something she enjoys! There are so many lovely recipes to try out, and before they died, she had loved bringing down ingredients of something new for her adoptive parents to try. They were all fresh, too, from her garden.

Here, despite the timeline regarding typical real-life immigration, I've portrayed her as mixed Indian/Portuguese. Her mother and grandmother were simply Indian immigrants, with Claire as the fourth-generation (Lady Dorothy had taught her Hindi, but with years without practice... she's lost much of it). Unfortunately for them, this was an additional motivator in the main town to persecute them sooner rather than later despite their people settling on the outskirts of Levine's ruling.

✦ SIRIUS GIBSON —

Onto Mr. "Bah!" now... As I've already mentioned, his moon earring is part of a set with Claire as a gift from Lady Dorothy. It was a gift in her hopes of bringing the two closer together.

Now, whether or not that worked out fully, Sirius feels he owes nearly everything to Lady Dorothy. Not only to provide him housing after his parents' demise, but tend to his leg injury wrought from when he'd been nearly crushed in the crowd. Everyone had pushed forward to see the alleged witches' deaths and hadn't cared when he'd fallen—Dorothy was there just in time to act as a barrier of sorts before they'd broken his ankle... but she still ended up crafting a small cane for his use.

As he grew up, however... the cane became more difficult to use. He was taller, and thus he began using Lady Dorothy'd old cane for himself. Whereas she had only needed it for balance, Sirius uses it to offset the pain/pressure on his left leg. Neither cane is pictured here, but it is still a crucial part of how his past pains continue to affect his present life—in a very literal way, albeit.

Due to how cold he tends to run within the mansion, he wears many layers. I've simplified his outfit to simply be: dress shirt, vest, pelerine. The last one is cut from the same cloth as Lady Dorothy's cloak (hence the slight star motif shared in both of their cloaks) and was initially a proper 'cloak' tailored for his younger self, though he still cannot let go of it.

I've added more prominent red to his design to tie in the ruby crest, as well as represent his resentment toward most others. In a literal sense, 'seeing red'—the reasons behind him becoming a demon clear. Unlike Claire who stands for nobility, Sirius cannot allow himself or Lady Dorothy that disgrace of leniency.

One last note: Sirius is portrayed as mixed Bengali/Portuguese. His great-grandparents had been one of the first Portuguese immigrants, with his grandfather brought over as a contracted engineer to figure out the water supply line for this area. He had never been given the chance to learn Bangla, as his mother didn't speak it... but Lady Dorothy had taken time to teach both Sirius and Claire Hindi, and he still reads some of the few books the Elfords had brought over. It's made him feel closer to the family, and he takes great care in trying to refine his language... even if it's difficult without another to practice with. (...I like to imagine, post-Sirius Conclusion, he teaches Claire again. It's only right.)

#I will get to the other three of the main cast... sometime soon <3 I had to get my favorites out of the way first #I hope you enjoy... #|| #witch's heart #whnoc #sirius gibson #claire elford #my art #wall

[thickness-protection-program]

On a scale of 1 to "these baddies are plotting my demise", how chaotic are those kittens

Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere in the range of "they'd be devastated if I died but would still eat my body". Mostly Cheese and Pimento though. Piper is most of the time a sophisticated lady who only goes bonkers when it's time to eat. Pimento Cheese is the reason I had to baby proof the apt. But that being said-

It didn't work. He's high in the sky sipping tea with aliens now

[getvalentined]

The fact that Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom are confirmed by in-universe events to occur on an entirely different timeline from any other games in the series makes everything make so much more sense, and I'm much more comfortable with that.

Long-winded rambling about timeline divergence points and other implications under the cut. Spoilers abound, so be warned.

The timeline appears to have diverged all the way back with the first hero; Skyloft doesn't exist, meaning Hylia never threw proto-Link into the fray. This also explains why Fi is still clearly awake, since the Master Sword is so "talkative."

My sister's theory about the other main divergence is that the Zonai would have become the Twili if things had been different. Comparing everything that makes up Zonai culture (architecture, clothing, magic) this appears to not only be entirely possible, but almost absolutely certain. All these things can be seen in Twili culture, changed but intact after eras apart.

In the original timeline, the people that would eventually be referred to as Hylians also had the power to send land into the sky, so they'd have no reason to see the Zonai with their power as something like gods. In fact, accounting for what we know of Hylian imperialism, they'd likely see them as competition, which tracks perfectly with what happened to the Twili. But in a timeline where the first hero and Skyloft never existed, that wouldn't be the case at all.

And then, after the majority of the Zonai left for reasons currently unexplained, Rauru and Mineru stayed—because Rauru had fallen in love with Sonia. This led to a union of their people instead of a war, and that terminated any possibility of timeline where the Twili would come into being.

The Imprisoning War is literally the storyline of Ocarina of Time, but on this different timeline. Link isn't here. He doesn't exist, because Hylia never chose him. We know Hylia still exists, since Sonia was a priestess of Hylia prior to being the first queen of Hyrule, but a number of quests throughout ToTK show very clearly that the goddess statues apparently don't actually represent or interface with Hylia. The Bargainer in the Great Central Mine is able to interface through it, and they're very clearly not related to any divine light.

Likewise, the Triforce was never claimed by anyone, the Sacred Realm doesn't appear to exist—so Demise was sealed some other way, possibly through a sacrifice on Hylia's part directly, and was then eventually manifested within or was bound to Ganondorf in some other way.

According to Wortsworth, there has never been another Zelda in the entire Hyrule royal line. He says it outright. In the other timeline(s), Zelda is a family name that's been in use since the days of Skyloft. This indicates that in the Calamity timeline, pieces of Hylia aren't locked into a reincarnation cycle in order to keep meeting Link over and over.

The princess and the hero that defeated the first Calamity were not Zelda and Link, because there's never been a Zelda or a Link before. This makes the huge lapse in time between the first Calamity and the events of BoTW/AoC actually work! It also explains why the sword in the tapestry looks like Ghirahim's, not like the Master Sword. It explains why the hero has red hair.

It's not Link and it's not Zelda. It never was. They're both new.

It also explains why the Sheikah are so different; in this timeline, they were never subject to a near-genocide at the hands of Hyrule. The tear on the eye in the Sheikah symbol doesn't represent tears shed over the loss of their people and culture. It represents tears shed over the loss of Rauru, Sonia, Mineru and Zelda. Tears shed over sacrifice after sacrifice in the hopes that someday—someday—it could come to an end.

The chamberlain who wrote all the tablets up on those little lotus islands, the historical accounts that Wortsworth translates, is very clearly the woman who would become the first Sheikah.

The chamberlain was left behind after everyone else left, and was probably responsible for the upbringing of Rauru and Sonia's daughter the same way Impa raised Zelda in Ocarina of Time—because they must have had one, even if we don't hear about her, because Zelda exists, her mother existed, the magic that they all inherited from Rauru and Sonia combined into one bloodline existed.

Comparing ancient Sheikah technology with that of the Zonai, it's clear that it was repurposed, replicated to the best of their ability after the ones who could actually utilize it to is fullest capacity were all gone. The Sheikah in the Calamity timeline even wear the eye in the same place as in old Zonai imagery. The last vestige of a memorial to a whole race that was lost when Rauru sealed himself and Ganondorf away, when Mineru's body finally gave out to the gloom.

Lore gremlin that I am, I've always had so much trouble reconciling the Calamity timeline with the rest of the series in any way—and that's because it's an entirely different timeline altogether, and that's fantastic.

#totk spoilers #tears of the kingdom #totk #breath of the wild #botw #the legend of zelda #tloz #fandom ramble

[shi-daisy]

Unlikely Alliance

So I was only planing to make stuff for Day 1 and Day 7 of Eris Week but this idea popped into my head and my dear friend @praetorqueenreyna once told me she liked this ship, so I figured why not? This one for you girlie! We get the heir of Autumn with my precious Spring baby because honselt they both deserved better. Hope you all enjoy!

@erisweek2023

Eris Week 2023- Day 3: Secrets

Unlikely Alliance

The manor was nothing but a collection of vines, broken glass, rubble and wilted flowers. Eris hadn't cared much for the state of things, thinking Tamlin would eventually bounce back from this. He'd been wrong, for the High Lord was lying on the floor in beast form when Eris found him.

He didn't rise when the Autumn prince found him, rather he gazed at him with dulled emerald eyes. "Here to cut off my head?"

"No, Tamlin."

"Pity. I thought Rhysand sent you to finish me off."

"Rhysand's not one to let others do what he himself wishes to accomplish. Besides I have more reasons to keep you around than as a throphy."

"Pray tell, this should be interesting."

He noticed the blonde was slimmer than the last time he saw him when he had a meeting here with the inner circle. 'We shouldn't have frightened him like that.' He regretted.

"I have an alliance proposal. You and I joined as High Lords of the combined Spring and Autumn. "

Tamlin looked at him as if he'd grown another head."...Did you by any chance find Ciaran's secret weed stash, because if so let me know. He wanted me to burn it after he died."

"No Tamlin, I'm not high on your brother's weed. I've given this a lot of thought actually. It would be beneficial for us both.

You know that while Tarquin and his people haven't given any thought to take this land from you, my father is very adamant in getting Spring by force. I'm trying to save you from the edge of his sword."

"Let him. I have nothing left to live for."

"What about Lucien? Do you think he wants to see you dead?! Or Feyre, she'd be heartbroken to hear you passed!"

Tamlin let out a venomous sarcastic laugh that made him wince. "Feyre is the one that plunged this court to ruin for Hybern to destroy! She does not care of my demise! Oh, and your dear baby brother comes every so often to see me, and we talk. Last thing I've heard, he's happily coupled with the human queen and general. I know that in time his visits will cease. I have no one left!"

So he was right. Tamlin still loved those two even if they'd left him behind. He could understand, as there was a lady that refused him and he still sometimes pined for, even if she'd soon be wedded in the Court that he was trying to topple.

"Yet I'm still here. I am offering you a chance to rebuild, to forget, to maybe even reconnect with those you miss."

"Why?! Eris you and I were never close. For years I was only your younger brother's lov- friend!"

"Aye, and I thought that was the only connection we'd share. But as time goes on and everything we knew keeps crashing down, I've kept on thinking that perhaps we should reevaluate our bonds. And yours ws the first to come to mind.

I know how much you loved this court Tamlin. You gave your all for it even if what you truly wanted was to play music and travel. Let me help you heal it, as we bring our enemies down."

"Our enemies? Aren't you Rhysand's ally?"

"That is all talk." He showed Tamlin a Sapphire pendant that glowed in the light. "My true allies are the ones rebelling against Rhysand's rule. His court is preparing to bring him down. I'm just one of their many spies."

Tamlin looked surprised yet impressed. "If we marry, you know well...where my heart lies."

"You know where mine lies too."

Tamlin nodded. He knew that like him, Eris had fallen for one of the Acheron sisters and lost her to an Illiryan.

"Maybe in time that can be healed too. But for now all I want is for the court to be healed, with or without me. I'll accept your proposal."

Eris smiled. He took out the ring he'd brought to make things official. The bronze and ruby piece had been crafted to magically fit the wearer.

Tamlin smiled slightly, he seemed to like it.

"Now, Tamlin Vanserra, will you allow me to get you home?"

"You're still as cheeky as always, but yes."

***

As expected Beron had everything prepared in a mere afternoon, and surprisingly he had followed the instructions Eris suggested. Having all the dishes, flowers and decorations for the banquet be tailored to Tamlin's tastes.

The blonde was being gushed over by Imogen, who made sure he ate enough, and kept him from being overwhelmed.

Thankfully official speeches and matters of the sort were brief, and they could spend the rest of time dancing and enjoying the party. Surprisingly, Tamlin's mood did improve during those few hours.

Once the party ended he was about to pick up his drunken younger siblings, when Nemesis stopped him.

"I'll take care of the hungover babies. Go and rest with your fiance."

"Feeling extra nice or are you not sober?

"Fool, I have enough hallucinations as it is, I'm not making it worse with alcohol. Now scram."

He wouldn't argue with that. Tamlin was still withdrawn despite his better mood, Eris didn't blame him, being back here in Autumn might've brought back memories. So he took the chance to try and cheer up the High Lord of Spring.

Their new room was not as extravagant as the party, but it had a mix of dark greens and reds that was pleasing to the eyes. He'd made sure to furnish it with a writing desk and new instruments for Tamlin. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You remembered my violin and fiddle. Even got a guitar as well."

"Having you play during the Spring Court events was always a highlight. Those who came from Spring said they missed it and I have to agree."

Tamlin chuckled. "You keep secrets well, Eris. This plan and the fact that there's so much about me that you knew and did not show, makes me wonder how many things you have up your sleeve."

He pulled Tamlin close by the waist, relishing in his flustered expression. "You'll come to see it all soon enough, dear future husband. This may all be a part of my plan, but I do intended to get close to you for real Tamlin. Let you see what's under the mask, if you wish to. Just trust that I am not keeping any dangerous secrets from you."

Tamlin's gaze was hopeful, it took little to earn his trust nowadays, even if hardship should've had the opposite effect. "I'll trust you, if you agree to let me keep some small secrets of my own."

"Absolutely."

He pulled out a small Hyacinth flower from his pocket, handing it to Tamlin. The bloom was blue and glowing. Eris had studied flower language before picking the flower.

"A show of caring? You're being very sweet tonight." Tamlin told him.

"Have to spoil my husband to be."

"I'll be sure to return the favor soon."

It didn't take long for them to grow tired, having danced to nearly all of the songs without pause. Eris didn't think he'd feel guilty holding Tamlin's sleeping form. He was no longer the muscular imposing man he'd met years ago. Rather he felt very thin and fragile.

'How did we all leave him to waste away alone?' He pondered. Shaking the thought away he made sure the thick fluffy blankets covered them both well, before snuffing out the candles in the room with a snap of his fingers.

Tamlin was right, he had many secrets. His plans to topple Rhysand, to take down Beron, and to help properly heal Spring were some of his most ambitious and well kept secrets. But there was one he wouldn't voice to anyone, at least not until he was certain he could reveal it without consequences.

He'd kept a torch for young High Lord for centuries, and now that he had him, Eris wouldn't be letting him go anytime soon.

#eris week 2023 #eris vanserra #tamlin #tamris #implied tamcien #implied feylin #implied neris #beron vanserra #imogen vanserra #day 3: secrets

[ghostaholics]

ᴄᴀᴛᴀʟʏsᴛ ( ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ )

SUMMARY: (au only mildly inspire by the original tv/game timeline since I started writing this before ep. 2 came out; honestly not very canon-compliant) After reaching Colorado – the Fireflies' former backdrop for failed vaccine trials – you and Joel get ambushed in the science lab by people who have since then, made their new home at the abandoned university; during the scuffle, one of the attackers stabs you with a syringe containing unknown contents. PAIRING: Joel Miller x fem!Reader WARNING(S) FOR LATER: pining (mutual) sex pollen; dub-con; p-in-v unprotected sex; use of a mouth gag and a rope during sex but it's for safety assurances not because Joel's a dark guy; still angst even though I left in 50% of it; religious references and lots of metaphors that don't make sense; unbeta'd - expect mistakes; characterization is based on second half of the game and I may have accidentally made him too soft oops idc, ooc for sure WORD COUNT: 2 k A/N: PT. 1; this is already over 10k words in my drafts and I still don't even have like half of it done yet but I'll put out this small part for now I guess

IT'S A GODDAMN SICKNESS – THIS FEELING, festering, like skin stripped raw and every nerve lit on fire. There’s nothing left of you – only flesh and bone knitted together by gnawing hunger.

He should put you out of your misery.

You would welcome death over this: it would be faster, easier, not each excruciating second prolonging your suffering as time bleeds, drawn-out, stretching at an unbearably sluggish pace. This won't pass over. It's only been getting worse the longer you try to ignore it, to let it snuff out on its own. The craving is bad. It surges through your veins, leaves your blood boiling as if it’s burning you alive from the inside-out. Insatiable need devours your body like an all-consuming disease; your mind is scrambled, thoughts as good as ash at this point aside from the surviving idea that you know that this will swallow you whole.

Here's how it happened.

HE'S A KILLER; The leftover carnage is a gut-wrenching testament to that – a breadcrumb trail of carcasses deserted along the westbound, beaten track to Colorado that’s rivaled only by the number of skeletons in his closet.

Not that he's had much choice. It's this very concept that every single media outlet had kept pushing, what had plagued the top headlines, breaking news, and morning segments leading up to Outbreak Day in a concerted effort to capitalize on a little something called sensationalism. The public had wolfed it down, too – had gorged themselves on the idea of it even after all the grocery stores had been raided bare and there'd been zero food left on the shelves; TVs as their place settings with radios emerging as their proxies not long after the power had gone out – because the drama of it all had been more satisfying than the shitty scraps they'd been getting by on: survival of the fittest, who'd get wiped out by the infection first? And Joel Miller is a living legacy that continues to push the limits of natural selection with every poor bastard that he manages to sink a shiny fucking bullet into.

Adaptation. The end of the world has chewed him up, teeth gnashing – razor-sharp incisors; no leftover bones, no remains like the majority of the people who’ve met a collective demise, but a man spit out in one intact piece (physically, anyways – mentally, that’s probably another story). Now, he’s a stone-cold terror. Cutthroat – all jagged edges and mistrust leaching into his pores. Someone who’s had to acclimatize, because the way he sees it, there’s a million different choices to make that only ever lead to two outcomes. And Joel always picks whichever option affords him the best opportunity to stay alive, but it’s the reason he’s got a ledger drowning in red.

Before, that had meant late mortgage payments and loan sharks hunting him down, risky wagers with shady figures to get Sarah new clothes in time for the upcoming school because she’d been outgrowing them every damn year, and also don’t forget the shady business ventures he’d invested in until he’d learnt his lesson the hard way and had decided to throw himself headfirst into work – day in and day out to save up for his own construction company, something stable and honest; maybe then he wouldn’t have to lie about forgetting to pick up the milk or the pancake mix because the reality had been that he was struggling to put food on the table, and maybe he’d get to spend more time with his daughter and pay the soccer club fees that he couldn’t afford so she could make more friends outside of him and the Adlers, and maybe his blood pressure would level out so his pockets wouldn’t dry up with the cost of his medicine because his insurance had been shit, and maybe he wouldn’t have to go to bed every night crunching numbers behind his eyelids to figure out if he had enough to get through the next month’s round of bills, and fuck, maybe things would finally start to look up for once in his life.

Then it had all stopped mattering in an instant.

So now, it means shooting someone dead without a second thought – a past full of necessary evils: ruthlessness, cynicism, and a death toll second to none. Anybody coming up against him? Shit out of luck. He’s never had a problem with having to pull the trigger, and being caught on the wrong end of his gun always promises a grim fate.

Except Columbus, Ohio.

It would’ve been another blight, another wicked deed buried underneath the growing mountain of awfulness that he's responsible for. There are a lot of things that keep Joel up at night, but as bad as it is to say, this definitely wouldn’t have been one of them.

And then, the impossible – first person to break the cycle: a scavenger combing through the tipped over stands of North Market, kneeling under the dusty Penny's Meats cleaver sign at a basket filled with plastic bags of twenty-year-old beef jerky. And Joel would kill (quite literally) for that if it meant securing his next meal; hell, the next week's worth of them. The only thing standing in between him and food security could be taken care of with an easy shot to the back of your skull at point blank range.

A target.

An inconvenience.

— but that's another story.

Since then, it’s been a road paved with affliction. Ohio. Indiana. Illinois. Iowa. (Nebraska's a sensitive topic.) Wyoming.

Joel grasps your hand firmly in his: dried blood over split knuckles and calluses that have stayed around forever because now he wields a gun 24/7 instead of a carpentry tool from his blue-collar days; he helps you navigate the terrain so you don't misstep – a sprained ankle can slow us down in more ways than one, he always says. Cautious, trigger-sensitive, because he needs to be. The action is meant to be practical, shepherding you over the terrain. So you opt to neglect how his fingers slotted between yours shoos the bitter cold from making a home out of your body and thaws the ice from the crevices chiseled in your bones.

The feeling is nice.

The thought is dangerous.

Because, Nebraska: a hellish nightmare in the flesh.

(Let's not talk about it).

(But circling around the topic doesn’t help. You don't bring it up, and yet it still takes center stage, occupying your mind. Always. How could it not?)

Hordes of cordyceps-ridden pieces-of-shit on your heels until you'd been driven into a corner, back against the wall – odds in the negative as infected after infected had zeroed in on your position and converged like a putrid swarm, a writhing mass of rotten bodies, all of them clambering over each other for their own share of pulpy, human meat to tear into; it'd reminded you of the same way people had been after the outbreak had reached critical mass.

Ravenous.

(This is what had been a difficult pill for you to swallow in the beginning – before you'd started sleeping with a machete along the edge of your bedroll, before the sound of a person choking on their own blood had gone from something that had cursed your hands with a 'round-the-clock tremor to nothing but fucking white noise, and before you'd learned everything there is to know about how to survive amongst societal collapse where 'every man for himself' has never been a more true statement than it is now: the hunger doesn't stop when you turn into one of them.)

As the two of you weave through dense foliage overrunning anything in its path and past man-sized slabs of concrete that form a serrated pattern of the very ground you're currently forced to scale, Joel rumbles a low, "Easy, now,"; you can see how in the dead of winter a plume of air leaves his mouth whenever he talks. He's nice to look at, better than your surroundings by a long shot. Boulder is just another wasteland that offers nothing new in your trek across the country because underneath the whalebone-white quilt of snow smothering everything, it's the same old shit that you saw when you'd cut through the never-ending stretch of land that used to be the Bible Belt to get out of the Atlanta Q.Z. It'd been ghost towns dotting the map between miles and miles of infestation: the walking dead had been piloted by the impulse to tear you apart alongside their living counterparts – the survivors with rootless hearts that stalked in the shadows like vultures waiting to pick your corpse clean of supplies.

But, for as on guard as you have to be, you'd rather focus your attention on Joel, because the snowflakes burying themselves in his beard are far more interesting than the decaying buildings and jigsaw-puzzled pavement that paint Colorado with an apocalyptic finish. He's a welcome distraction. Maybe, too good. The toe of your boot catches on the uneven landscape while you're lost in thought so you brace yourself to strike the ground as it gives out from under you, hands flying out in reflex. Instead, sturdy arms secure themselves around your waist before you can fall. You’re hauled flat against the solid wall of Joel's chest, something akin to an embrace that shouldn’t feel as nice as he is to look at. Even through layers of clothes, even through the frigid temperatures during this time of the year, his heat manages to bleed into you.

"Told you to watch your step there'," he murmurs in that long Texan drawl. Whiskey on his breath. Caramel. Ethanol. Burning alcohol-sweet, it greets you alongside the usual smoky and metallic smell of gunpowder and blood; the kind he'd pilfered from a liquor store back in Omaha – makin' sure it's good enough to the Molotov cocktails with, he'll comment before taking a swig. Brings it up like clockwork, as if it gets funnier the longer he keeps trying to wear the joke out even worse than the soles of his boots. It doesn’t. Just short of being a jack of all trades. Certainly no comedian.

Not a drunk, either – isn't stupid enough to put himself in jeopardy around these parts. You'd seen it before, once: cheeks flushed red and eyes glazed over; couldn't walk a straight line for five feet, much less aim a gun (September 26th, you remember). This isn't that. The whiskey's stronger now, though. You can tell when he stands nearby, face inches away.

(He's been drinking more lately. Not a lot, but the right amount to drown out the memory of... well, ever since—)

He's the closest thing to home that you know.

(—he almost lost you.)

You find yourself latched onto the sleeves of his jacket for stability, and even though you should push Joel away – a voice in your head that warns you to put distance between you and him – your fingers curl tighter into the coarse fabric to keep yourself upright as you regain your footing. “You see that thing? Swear it came outta nowhere."

He huffs out a small laugh, not one of those full-bodied ones that you’ve only heard probably twice since you met him (both of them at your expense and God, do you miss his smile), but it’s still a rich, little sound that comes off as something pleasant to your ears all the same – breaks up the monotony of the snow crunching under your heels and teeth chattering during the occasional bouts when you shiver. "Sure," he says, because he knows you can't lie for shit.

You untangle yourself from him with some reluctance. Homesick – a feeling that you attempt to shake off with more mindless conversation to make the time slip by faster. "Out of every place we've been to, Colorado definitely makes bottom three."

There's faint amusement coloring Joel's face. It makes him look years younger. "We haven't even gotten to UEC yet." He tilts his chin in the general direction that the two of you had already been heading towards. "Over there. Just across the way."

Skepticism stains your voice. "You know, something tells me that I won't have a change of heart."

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ - ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #unfortunately i have the smut just not the action~ #this will very likely not be done until i finish the term #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou #the last of us

[hezuart]

Now that all Chapters for The Sounds of Nightmares have come out, what do you think of it, the characters, the new lore it has given the series & how has this changed some of your views on the characters & world?

It's a cute story, an alternate take on the overall series, but I don't consider it canon to the LN series. The lore from the podcast suggests that real children from the real world are teleported to this strange scary place in their dreams like an Alice in Wonderland situation, which explains their nightmares or why they seem to "wake up" because they are "teleporting" in or something. But that's not the case for the video game series. The game series is a time loop. Characters "wake up" from a "nightmare" because they are receiving premonitions of their death or a future event. (That also might explain why the Lady has a portrait of Six. Because she's dreamed of her own demise at the hands of that child.) (It's also suggested that the adults' grotesque appearances are due to the Tower's influence in the city, and any weird faces they have are actually masks built by the Doctor to cover their dignity.)

I'm also a little confused with the ending, where Noone/Ruth wants to leave, she wants to go to this place because she doesn't have her "water sickness" or "tumor" anymore, but like... the amount of suffering and horror she has been subjected to in that world in comparison to what little Otto has put her through I don't think is something that can even remotely be compared. It's implied the Ferryman manipulated her to lure her to that world, but it's a poor manipulation on his part. The fact that she went along with it is also silly to me. She is a child, but a smart one for her age. She witnessed kids being tortured and killed in the Nowhere. I think Otto being mean to you and plugging you into an annoying machine that gives you headaches is a way better deal here. (Though Otto implied to have drugged her is messed up) The Ferryman was a scrapped character from LN1 who would take children from the mainland and deliver them to the Maw, insinuating he was hired by the Lady. Instead, now he's a Ferryman to overall dimensions who transfers children there for unknown reasons. (It's maybe implied there are several different dimensions in the "nowhere" too.) It's also hinted that Otto's sister Sisi wore a yellow raincoat, which many would mistake for Six (on top of her name), but Six didn't get a raincoat until later, leaving Five/Girl in the Raincoat to be nominated for being his actual sister. But this world also implies that children only teleport there when they are sleeping, so typically they'd be wearing pajama attire when they enter the Nowhere. Long story short, I think this whole "yellow raincoat" thing with Sisi is just an easter egg they threw in there without thinking about it; because either way, a tie-in to an already-known character doesn't make sense. Noone/Ruth also claimed that the Nomes were creatures that "belonged in that world" but that's not true, as in canon, Nomes originate from presumably one source: the Lady, who turns children into Nomes to presumably steal their youth from them. In the podcast, that would mean the Nomes were children converted to be part of the world, but truly they don't originate from it like Noone implies. Little Nightmares is a series about the supernatural. A horror meta-commentary on corruption and greed. The Podcast coming in and being all "Actually it's just Alice in Wonderland" instead of it being its own natural, strange world just doesn't sit right with me. So really overall, I don't see it changing my mind on how LN works. I don't know if this will tie into LN3, but the developers are different so you can consider it a new canon if they do change things that don't match up.

#little nightmares #ask #text post #the sounds of nightmares #LN

[zandiiangelspit]

Hi! I know that you are currently focusing on other Fandoms but I have a question about you human tmnt au.

I saw on your blog that despite still being human they stil have some form of mutagen in their system. And my question is how did they come in contact with the mutagen?

You're in luck!

The TMNT bug is back~ ♡♡♡♡

I'm planning to update and post more about my human!AU and the origin and lore.

But here is the shorter version of the origin of their Mutagen contact.

‘Oroku Saki and Hamato Yoshi having a feud, driven by Saki and his jealousy for the things Yoshi had that he felt should be his own, is an old story. 

Rivals in the clan, set against each other in the adoration of Tang Shen, who reciprocates that affection with Yoshi. 

It was more scorn than the fragile ego of Oroku Saki could handle, and he set his mind to levelling the playing field. 

If he couldn’t have what he saw as rightfully his, he would take it by force or leave it to no other.’

~ 

The rivalry of Yoshi and Oruku ultimately came to a head once Yoshi had discovered a substance at a forgotten shrine that could enhance the mind and soul. 

Tang Shen studied what they had found at the shrine, finding traces of it in old folklore, and eventually created a substance not dissimilar to an enhancer or medicine. Mutagen.

Its properties are told in scripture and legends of superhuman strength and abilities, giving a person enhanced reaction and intelligence, as well as advanced healing and health. 

With so much of their lives already on tender hooks, including their adoration for Tang Shen, the opposing views on this new and possibly life changing enhancement were the final straw. 

Yoshi knew that Oroku would use it for the wrong reasons, for war and creating super soldiers to command and control, a dream he had often shared which deeply concerned him. 

Where Yoshi wanted to help those in need and never take more than was needed, Oroku wanted to complete control, take before being taken, kill before being killed. Power over all. 

Sharing his worries with Tang Shen, who had fallen and devoted herself solely to Yoshi, they both agreed to hide it and keep it away from Oroku . They both agree to run away together, taking the mutagen with them. 

But, after learning of their plan, Oroku leads a small attack on the clan village, his madness growing and leads to the demise of Tang Shen, while she stays behind and tries to distract and keep him from Yoshi. 

Her death instils his hatred for Yoshi, vowing to hunt him down and destroy him and create an army to finally claim what is rightfully his. 

~

Yoshi went into hiding, fleeing his homeland and keeping the Mutagen hidden, locked away, unable to face the reminder of his loss. That was until he found his sons. 

After a year of neglect and seeing his struggles to grow and recover, Yoshi gave a small dose of the mutagen to Raphael. 

At the time, Raphael was the smallest and weakest of the boys. Yoshi hoped that it would help heal him, and later after gaining Michelangelo, gave it to each of his sons so they would all grow and share the strength equally. 

This increased day by day with their training, Tang Shen's hope and legacy becoming living proof through the brothers, with Yoshi's determination and dedication teaching and guiding them into becoming highly skilled and honorable warriors.

Part of him also wanted them to grow strong, healthy and be able to defend themselves, should Oroku ever return and challenge them. they'd be ready.  

That and so they couldn’t be taken from him as well. 

#answered #tmnt #human!tmnt #human!au #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #yoshi hamato #oroku saki #tmnt bayverse #zan speaks

[yakool-foolio]

oooh, do you have any songs that might fit real zilch? (or both?) :3c

I may not have anything for real Zilch directly, but I do have songs involving both Zilches! In the few seconds they'd see each other off-screen, I have scraped out so much from their short-lived dynamic.

I was first introduced to Predator & Prey by Griffin Puatu and Jonah Scott by one of my buds who said it'd fit Hitman Zilch, and I realized there's even more to it! Real Zilch comes to terms with his death to the hitman, trying to reason with his untimely demise as just the natural order of things. He was caught unaware by the apex predator and the circle of life continues on without him, maybe even getting a sunlit glimpse of the animal that the hitman truly is.

Brutus by The Buttress is definitely the most unique instrumentally of the bunch, as heavy as a song literally titled 'heavy' can be. This reads as a take on Hitman Zilch and Yomi's dynamic actually, where the hitman is in constant agonizing conflict with his devotion to Yomi, reassuring he loves his director but at the same time wishing he could share in the same power he wields and hating that he'll never be loved as much as he loves Yomi. And so, the hitman takes out all this inner turmoil on the unfortunate target of the real Zilch, hoping that the Amaterasu Express Massacre will earn him the love he obsessively desires from his director.

The Actor by Everything Everything has formed yet another of my strange speculations on the Zilches dynamic. This falls into the same idea of 'real Zilch accepting his fate' that I mentioned before, but this goes deeper into that concept. The real Zilch wants the hitman to carry on with his shared identity, perhaps hoping that he could live vicariously through him in whatever afterlife awaits him. The real Zilch remains optimistic no matter the absolute horror of the situation and what the hitman will carry out using his identity. A blind trust when he has nothing left. Choosing life over death despite it all.

#i think about them a healthy amount #i have so much more about them to ramble about but i'd be swerving off the cliff of the topic so i'll hold my tongue for now #rain code #rain code spoilers #ask game #zilch alexander #hitman zilch

[redstrewn]

I feel like the reason they canceled the poly route is cause it really kinda doesn't make sense. Like even with character development that's basically par for the course in a game like this, their personalities will mostly stay the same and that won't work with a poly route cause they'd fucking kill each other

Admittedly idk anything about poly relationships so i cant really speak on it. However I do think about how the plot kind of makes me think of the hero's/heroine's journey. That is, it can kind of reflect someone's personal journey of transformation/development.

So like, I kind of see how the LIs can stand for the "monster" within yourself too. Facing that monster instead of shunning it or denying it. And being transformed by that experience. Idk I'm kind of talking out of my ass, I'm not completely knowledgeable on the hero's/heroine's journey.

Anyway I mention this because that would make sense with the answer that RSS gave regarding the question of poly routes: they said that there's a certain level of "intimate" that it's not really made to fit for (paraphrasing here, but they did use the word "intimate" or some form of it). By considering the Touchstarved plot as something that could reflect one's personal journey in facing "the other/shunned" within yourself, that one-on-one focus makes sense. I hope I'm making sense lol.

But anyway. I'll use this opportunity to kind of explore the hero's/heroine's journey and Touchstarved since it was always on my mind anyway.

The illusion of the perfect world

The ignorant bliss that MC was in before they set off on their journey. Pre-betrayal and all. Happiness in their temple/with their partner in crime/with their teacher.

2. Betrayal/disillusionment

Traveling mage reveals the true nature of the Unnamed's curse. Partner betrays the Hound. The Alchemist realizing they're being used as a test subject.

3. The awakening & preparing for the journey

MC leaves home. Knows they can no longer stay. They look outside themselves for solutions: the Senobium at Eridia becomes their goal.

4. The descent: passing the gates of judgment

Doubts/fears/shame about their identity and new lifestyle. To move on they must give up their preconceived solution (Senobium, a cure) and doubts holding them back. "This stage can be moved around the journey."

I think it's clear they will have to accept their identity as a monster.

5. The eye of the storm

"A small taste of success brings a false sense of security. They relax and take a chance they shouldn't take."

"Similar to Boon of Success, they triumph for a short period of time. However, this victory serves as a false calm. This stage can be moved around throughout the journey."

Wonder if MC will experience False Security Part 2, Electric Bogaloo. Probably will. There'll probably be a time where everything seems to be going well with their LI. It all goes to shit though. RSS wants to emotionally wreck us after all (that's so based of them).

6. All is lost/death

"Things get worse. There is no hope. They failed and accept defeat."

Yeah I'm pretty sure this tragic ass story will get here.

7. Support

"The hero(ine) accepts the help of the supporter and comes to understand that 'being alone is never enough.' This stage can be moved around throughout the journey."

The LIs could help them or cause their demise.

8. Rebirth/moment of truth

They find their strength/resolve/courage/hope from support. "They fully understand their place in the world and how they will face her doubts." They "awaken" and sees the world and their role in it differently. Faces fear with compassion.

I think whether directly or indirectly, the LIs will teach MC about accepting the monster within themselves.

9. Return to a new world

They see the world for what it really is. They understand themselves better and this changes the way they live from then on. "This change is more spiritual and internally driven than external."

They understand their curse isn't to be cured. They know to live accepting themselves for who they are. They understand their place in this world. Their identity as a monster.

---

I only have passing wikipedia/online blog surface knowledge about hero/heroine's journey, so any clarifications or additional thoughts from anyone would be appreciated.

Edit: I realize after writing this I didn't exactly elaborate on how the LIs themselves can reflect the monster within MC (not just their curse). Idk my mind scattered rn but I guess it's bc MC's curse is purely physical whereas the LIs have set themes that one can relate to. Right now, MC is a blank slate meant to fit anybody. Someone who seems to lack a fully fleshed out theme. Choosing which route to take feels like choosing which monster (and their theme) calls out to you, tbh. The monster within yourself. Idk i project a lot on these characters but I'm not entirely alone. I see a lot of people get attached to the LIs because of recognizing themselves in them.

Edit2: i think it's bc the hero's journey gets compared to like "facing the shadow" and stuff like that. The shadow being "the other." Now Jung is a can of worms when it comes to western-centric beliefs and psychology stuff about this get heavily gendered, but the narrative structure of the journey being personal development and facing what one denies/struggles to face in oneself is pretty relevant methinks.

#sorry if i write confusingly im like always half asleep #redstrewn talks #i havent exactly proofread so sorry for possible further bc of that lol