#and angels just aren’t children like that. they don’t grow the same way humans do. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 11 months

Text

Helluva Boss Fan Headcanon: Mister Butler Is Stolas's True Father...

[Note: Reading This Is Optional, and it does get off topic to point out some other worse dads, and even some dads who are in the gray....

also don’t reblog this without permission.]

Mister Butler from the episode "The Circus" is Stolas's true father... Paimon might be Stolas's Bio-Dad, but doesn't make him Stolas's True Father....

we might not know who Loona's bio-parents are, but Blitzo is her True-Dad... the same can be said for Mister Butler being Stolas's True-Dad, but we do know who Stolas's Bio-Dad is but not his Mom.

it be interesting if Stolas called Mister Butler "Dad" in a way that it shows he loves him like family, but over time when calling Paimon "Father" he does it in a cold way, unlike how he speaks to Mister Butler....it would also mean that Stolas has given up on trying to get his Bio-Dad aka "Father" to show him any form of love.

Mister Butler might be the closes thing to a real father to Stolas, than Paimon ever was....he likely was the one taking care of him throughout all of Stolas's life, from when he was a egg to when he hatch from the egg and to when he was growing-up....but Paimon was NEVER there, he was only there when he needed to be, but not in the way that is just being there for his son because he loves him. I wouldn't be surprised if Mister Butler and Stolas had formed a Father-Son Bond and are close to each other like family, Paimon might think he is "good at daddying" but he doesn't have that close bond.

Mister Butler is perhaps more of a man and father than Paimon will ever hope to be, even Millie's Dad Joe is a better father than Paimon.

Blitz's Dad has no excuse, since he isn't really the best dad either...and if some info is right about Charlie's Dad....well it would seem that Lucifer Morningstar, is like the Greg Universe of Hazbin Hotel, in other words he is in the gray... he loves his daughter very much, but doesn't believe in her dream can come true...

I believe Charlie's dream can come true, but I know that she can't help everyone, and there just some sinners that CAN'T be saved and should be taken out by Exterminators....

I mean the really bad Toxic-Sinners who make other Sinners seem more safe to be around...Charlie needs to know while trying to help those who can be helped and can change, that there will be those who are way too far gone and are even more evil than any sinner or even a Overlord, but there could be a good reason those types of Toxic-Sinners aren't made into Overlords.

also the problem with the whole overpopulation thing, would have to do with the idiot men that run Hell itself......

they don't make sure to send some of the Sinners to other rings, I can't help but think it is possible that the reason for the bad overpopulation in the Pride Ring, is because Charlie's Dad not understanding that he is partly at fault for it being the way it is, and he needs to let the Sinners freely move to other rings. ya know if Charlie's Dad was real, even if he is a cartoon version of Lucifer.....I want to slap him in the back of his head...

well, I do have thoughts of wanting to flip the double bird at Archangel Samael now, and that has to do with the whole Cain thing...

cause besides being Seth's Descendant, I'm also Cain's Descendant, and I'm also a Defective Earth Angel...

and I don't like Toxic-Religious People, also my family might be religious, but they aren't toxic-religious....and like I had pointed out before, Toxic-Satanists are on that list....because they are the types I don't think Charlie can change, because of the lines they crossed....

oh and let's not forget some Toxic-Priests and Nuns, who have also crossed lines as well when it comes to children.....not just some Toxic-Satanists. Charlie shouldn't even bother trying to change such inhuman filth that stop being human the moment they crossed those disgusting lines...

there can be different levels of a Toxic-Religious People, some only do emotional damage, while others who are REALLY bad, do both emotional and physical damage.

and it's the ones who do both emotional and physical damage that you really need to be careful around and never be alone with.

and jokes on some Toxic-Satanists if they think the ones they harmed, wont be reborn and remember a little bit of what they done.....

like remembering about a attic and a man named George, which once again when I tried looking up about some info about a attic and George,

I guess it was surprising to find something, but I still don't think it could be the same attic and George.....though if it was, then he should of stayed in the attic.... at least until he gave his full truthful story as to why his ghost was there in the first place before sending him to heck...but the likely possibility being the same George and the same attic, is perhaps very low, so might not be the same George....

and finding both that George and there being a attic involved, might be a coincidence and not the same ones I was asking about when I used my pendulum, which once again I’m making sure not to use too much and I don’t even use it all that much, like only once in a while, but I��m making sure not to use it everyday, maybe like only once in a while...

anyway back to the whole talking about some Toxic-Sinners...

(and going back to talking about how Mister Butler is Stolas’s real father.)

it's good that Charlie wants to help all those people, but I know while she can redeem some of them, some of them can't EVER be redeemed because they are at Toxic-Sinner levels and should be taken out by the Exterminators.

it's like a tough love type of lesson, while she can be happy she got someone redeemed and send to Heaven, she might end up finding out someone else can't truly be redeemed and even find out about their really dark past that is more darker than any other sinner she has learned about. it's possible her parents never wanted her to learn about the toxic-sinners, ones they knew were a hopeless cause and wouldn't be redeemed no matter if it worked or not.

I believe Charlie can redeem some of the people, who wouldn't have to overpopulate if Charlie's Dad and the rest of the Kings of those Rings put "two and two together" that they are what is causing the overpopulation, NOT the sinners.

they need to have some of the sinners move to the other rings, and it's likely the population in each ring is not as high as it seems, and it might make sense that if at some point, the sinners ended up moving to the other rings. also if the rings were a part of Earthly Mother's Kingdom, before those fallen angel boys took it over and changed the rings from what they once were to what they are now....

of course this has nothing to do with the shows, but I think it could make sense that the rings of hell, weren't always the rings of hell and use to be a part of the Earthly Mother's Kingdom until those guys took it over and made a mess of things.

anyway, Charlie's Dad might not be a perfect Dad, but he isn't the worse Dad ever like Stolas's Bio-Dad, and once more I'm viewing Mister Butler as Stolas's True-Dad because he seems more of a Father to Stolas than Paimon ever was. Lucifer is more in the gray, not really being the best dad, but like being in between of being a good and bad dad, which is why he is in the gray....

much like Greg Universe, who surprisingly took me and maybe a few other fans to figure out he is not 100% a good dad.

I mean, he should be slap over the back of the head each time he tells his son "your a gem." and "your not like other kids." I mean that is freaking bull slag, and it wouldn't of hurt him to call him "your half-gem" because that is what he is, but he is also human.

Steven needed care for both of his human and gem side, and Greg didn't even bother to have Steven go see a doctor or to school once Greg had the money for it.....and he calls his own parents the "worse".....?

Greg's parents aren't 100% the worse, and it's possible they are in the gray just like Greg is, and it is possible that while they could of did a bit better with how they brought up Greg, but he just ends up making the same mistakes as them, but in a slightly different way.

and even before Steven Universe Future, we don't notice at first on how selfish Greg could be, like when he was misusing the warp whistle and even faked his leg not being healed.

but the whole him wanting to spend time with his son, isn't going to cut it as a excuse anymore....it's good that he loves Steven and even finally saw how much pain he was in when Steven had ended up corrupting himself, but he needs to come to terms that he wasn't a perfect dad and he is a gray-parent just like his parents.

I believe Greg's parents wanted to keep Greg safe, which is why they had the curfews for him, and made him take up wrestling for defense and at some point notice that he was falling behind in math, and likely made him take up some form of lessons in order to help him, but Greg never saw it that way,

and he didn't even try to understand and his parents never tried to explain to him....

which makes all three of them at fault, even the whole not explain to Greg that one of them might have sensitive hearing and don't explain why he can't have his music up to a very high volume.

even Lucifer should at least try to make Charlie understand somethings, that he really does love her, but he doesn't want her to get her heart broken if her plans don't work.

though I don't think Samael would win "Father of the year", since he didn't freaking bother to be there for Cain when he was going through a very bad depression....

oh yeah, let's leave it to his adoptive dad who wont even tried to fully notice the problem, and not even try harder to stop his other son aka Abel, from having a ego that makes him think he can do no wrong.

and oh let's not forget that Adam could of at least tried better to stop Abel from those disgusting offerings, even if some info is true that he did try to, but just gently telling Abel to stop it wouldn't be enough.

ya know, even if spanking isn't really everyone's thing, but sometimes it might be needed, but only as a last resort....

and it shouldn't be misused either, the problem to why some parents don't spank is because they don't want to misuse it or put full power into the spank, and placing all your power into a spank is something you should NEVER do.

plus you shouldn't do it all the time either, even some teachers shouldn't just put a child in time out and at least try to talk to them gently and explain in a calm way what they did was wrong.

cause if they don't, they might cause some form of emotional damage that the child isn't fully aware of and it might end up causing the child to play by themself a lot and stop playing with other children while at school, like they could go from playing with other kids, to stop doing it all together and just play by themself and like being alone....

not sure if this has happen to a lot of people, but I am saying that it could be possible.

and what I'm also saying, that if Abel was becoming the embodiment of ego, and was only adding to Cain's depression and making it much worse to the point it was going to end up in a VERY dangerous breaking point...

then Adam should of taken Abel over his knee, and spanked him.....and even spanked Cain if he did something really bad, but not when he was in his depression.

I believe both Cain and Abel were in the wrong, but Abel's whole being 100% innocent in all that mess, might not be 100% true... I mean if you think about his offerings, and what he does to them before giving them to seemingly the Heavenly Father, it is possible what he was doing was still wrong.

it's one thing to use livestock for food and clothes, but what Abel was doing was still wrong....even if some people might not agree with me, and that's okay... it's not just Cain who was in the wrong, because Abel was in the wrong as well, and yet he was perhaps spoiled by both Adam and Eve and never given some form of proper discipline, which caused him to have a bad ego, even if it might of not seem that way, but I believe that he may have had a ego that caused him not to see or care about what Cain was going through.

and that Cain was falling into both a emotional and spiritual depression, and over time it would end up becoming much worse.

figuring this out, it makes me think Cain needs both a hug and therapy... there can be different types of parents, some are 100% good, some are 100% bad and some are like in between, like not fully being a bad parent, but not really being a fully good parent either...

but at least in the gray parent line, they can still love their kids and their kids can love them back.

and if Samael is Cain's true bio-dad, then I can't help but think he pretty much "sucks at being a dad.".........and that is coming from his "technically granddaughter" who is also a enbirl.......

at least Stolas is lucky to have a father figure who takes care of him and possibly gives him love like a parent should, and the one I'm talking about is Mister Butler.

if anyone should win father of the year, it should be Mister Butler, who I hope is still alive and we get to see again in a future episode of Helluva Boss.

even if he isn't Stolas's Bio-Dad, he is still in my eyes, Stolas's True Father.....and Stolas is lucky to have him as a true father figure, even if it took him some time to realize that.

also Enbirl is suppose to do with Nonbinary-Girl, same goes for Enboy is has to do with Nonbinary-Boy, and Enby is for Nonbinary.

well the word Enby could be used for all of them, but only Enbirl can be used for Nonbinary-Girl, while Enboy is used for Nonbinary-Boy...

it might be possible that Stolas, in the canon of the show, might not know that his father was always there for him, and by father I mean Mister Butler.

even though they aren’t the same type of demons, and well I wouldn’t be surprised if Stolas has no clue about his angelic heritage, in theory he could have a angelic heritage, but his deadbeat dad Paimon keeps him in the dark about it....but he can still get hurt by holy weapons.

Paimon wasn’t there for Stolas when he was growing up, only being there for his own selfish reasons, and none of it being just to spend time with Stolas because he loved him, but because he wanted him to stop crying...

one of the things parents shouldn’t tell their kid when they are feeling really bad, is to “stop crying” in a certain tone of voice, it might make them think they can’t cry in front of them and have to do so in private to let some really bad feelings out....

I mean “bravo” you not only prove your the best parent by scapegoating mature content that was NEVER meant for your child in the first place if they are not the proper age for it, but you also proved you can make your child stop crying by telling them in that rude tone of voice that makes them think they should never cry in front of you....*sarcastic clapping of hands*

at least I know it isn’t fully the mature content at fault, and it’s the parents or whoever is suppose to be watching the little kids and make sure they don’t view mature content, either it be a movie, show or video game, until they are the proper age for it....

there are some entertainment that will be for everyone, but there will be some mature content that wont be for little kids, and parents can’t just scapegoat every time their child accidentally views it....

cause once more, my saying the “son of a b****” word when I was just a baby,

isn’t the person on Tv own full fault, it is those who were suppose to make sure I don’t hear that kind of word until I was the proper age.

oh and let’s not forget letting me watch a movie, I shouldn’t of watched until I was the proper age for it, even if I don’t remember much during that time, and I can’t remember maybe only a little bit, like we had rented the movie from some old video store place, I can’t remember the name of though....

and the age I saw the said movie, was when I was 8 or possibly 9 years old...

but it does seem that my Mom does regret letting me see that movie a bit too early, I mean I do like the movie and have it on DVD now, so no need to rent it and keep it temporally.

even if I might not remember much from it, but it seems that it wasn’t my Mom who let me rent the movie in question and it may have been one of my much older cousins, who should of known better than to do that...

I know that this could be seen as irresponsibly of not making sure a child stays away from mature content that isn’t meant for them, and only let them view it once they reach the proper age for it.

it’s possible that Stolas might not know everything about the outside world,

because Mister Butler wanted to protect him from a harsh reality he might not of been ready to face, and while that would be good to do when he was really little, he should of told him a bit about the full truth when he reached the proper age and even before he married the b**** Stella...

is it weird to think if there was a parody of the song that Cartman sings about Kyle’s Mom from South Park....

it would be about Octavia’s Mom Stella, and the one who would be singing about Stella being the “b-word” would be someone who really can’t stand her more than Stolas can’t stand her....

maybe it should be Phenex who sings it, I already like the idea of them being Stolas’s Older Sibling who is more close to him than any other sibling Stolas has, even if it is more of a Fanon idea....but still, it be interesting if Phenex was the one to sing that song about Stella, even if it would be more in the fanon.

some of Stella’s Fanon Alternate Timeline Counterparts aren’t so bad, and some of them are more likeable, well to me they seem that way.

but Stella both hating Stolas, and being unhappy about the whole him cheating on her, it’s not like she is fully the victim, and she is just being the b-word, because it means she will go back to her original rank and no longer be called “Princess Stella” so she should stop acting like she is the victim and stop being a two-face egotistical and the world revolves around me b****.

and in some cases, some besides her ice-himbo of a brother, would of sided with her, if Stolas was truly a dirtbag......and some people have had some two-faced sister-in-laws who had cheated on their big brother, and the said big brother never once treated that two-faced sl*t badly and had loved her with all her heart, but no sooner do they move to where her family is, the two-faced b**** ends up cheating, despite not being in any form of abusive relationship with her husband who she cheated on....

so Stella, has no room to talk about being “loyal” since the one good thing that came out of her and Stolas’s marriage, is Octavia, who is the best treasure and gift that she and Stolas were given, and only Stoals seems to realize this.

also yeah, I’m going to view Stella’s brother as a “Ice-Himbo”....

if I can view Doctor Deep from Sonic Prime and even Eggman from Sonic Boom, as being Egg-Himbos....I’m gonna call Stella’s brother a Ice-Himbo...

Millie and Moxxie’s Ex-Boyfriend Chaz, he is a Tuna-Himbo....

yeah he is a perv, but he has this, type of funny side to him that makes him seem like a cute idiot, while Stella’s brother seems like a mix of a jerk and a cute ice cold idiot who doesn’t realize karma is going to burn him and his sister one day, and they believe they can get away with anything.

Paimon was perhaps made to be a terrible father on purpose, and if Mister Butler was the one who fully took care of Stolas when he was growing up, and made sure he went to bed on his bedtime, and gave him food and proper schooling, and made sure to let him have time to play and not overwork himself.

and even be there for Stolas when he was little when he would have nightmares.....and maybe even read him bedtime stories.

then yeah, that might make Mister Butler the true father figure for Stolas.

even if it might never be said inside the canon of the show, but more in the fanon.....but I just realized that Stolas has always had a good father figure in his life, it’s just wasn’t his biological father who is Paimon...

his true father was a Imp butler who has been there for him ever since he was a egg and even when growing up, and it be funny if it turn out if Mister Butler gave Paimon a cold glare whenever Paimon told Stolas to stop his b*tch crying....

it’s okay that not every fan agrees about this Fan Headcanon, but I think that while Paimon may be Stolas’s biological father, but that doesn’t make him his true father, not unless he does truly love and care for his son....

that is why my view on Mister Butler, is that he is the true father of Stolas, even if he isn’t his biological father, but he may have been more of a father figure to Stolas than Paimon was, and that is why I’m going to view him as Stolas’s True Father, because he has always been there for Stoals when he needed him, and acted like a parent to Stolas, even if both Mister Butler and Stolas don’t fully realize this and might end up realizing this truth some years later when Stolas is going through some trouble with Stella in trying to finally get that way overdue divorce.....

once again, the one good thing that came out of that union was Octavia...

it be funny if Mister Butler told Stella off after she falls from grace and finally get the karma she deserves, that she was never good enough for his son...

and by Mister Butler’s son, he means Stolas...

and not because of her title that she had before she became “Princess Stella” but who she was as a person, that made her not good enough for Stolas.

also if Stella’s brother, Andrealphus is a Marquis, and if Stella does get the divorce, she might go down the rank and be called the feminine counterpart of a Marquis....and she can no longer be called Princess.

as much of a Ice-Himbo or Frost-Himbo Andrea is, even he is smart enough to realize this, and that Stella wont have the same power anymore once she is no longer a Princess...

it be interesting if Mister Butler had became not just Stolas’s legal guardian, because I don’t think Paimon even lives with Stolas and might live in a different mansion....

but it be interesting if Mister Butler had adopted Stolas as his son, but made sure to ask Stolas first, even if this idea would be more in a Fanon Timeline...

but Mister Butler & Stolas being like father & son, is something I love now.

I don’t care, “I fam it.” XD

and if Stolas had to give anyone a Father’s Day Gift, on the same day Octavia gives Stolas a gift for Father’s Day....

it wouldn’t be Paimon, who gets a lot of father’s day gifts from all of his children, but Stolas, who stop at some point once he had turned 13 years old, which in theory, this could be at the age where Stolas’s realized his biological father, Paimon....didn’t truly love him and would never view him as something more than how he viewed him currently.

so Stolas could give a Father’s Day Gift to Mister Butler instead, and might of always gave him one, even when sending a gift to Paimon, but at some point had stop giving Paimon’s gifts on Father’s Day, but continued to give gifts to Mister Butler on Father’s Day.

who knows when Stolas had finally figured out the truth about Paimon, but no matter when or if he had finally realized the truth about his Biological Father...

Stolas still had a Dad, who I think in theory, had loved him and cared for him even more than Paimon ever did, and it’s okay that not everyone views Mister Butler as Stolas’s true father, but this is fan headcanon...

and even if it might not be shown in a future episode or even mention being true in the canon....it can always be shown in the fanon.

and the whole meme could be used, that can show Mister Butler telling Paimon to not come anywhere near his son again....

and Paimon replying with, that Stolas is his son.

and then Mister Butler then telling Paimon to stay away from your son...

Paimon might think he is a good dad, but he isn’t in the gray like Steven and Charlie’s Dads are, so he doesn’t really get any true good dad points...

even if him taking Stolas to the circus, wouldn’t really count, and would of gave him good dad points, but he doesn’t get the good dad points because of his selfish reasons as to why he took Stolas to the circus in the first place.

at least Stolas’s Other Dad (Mister Butler) was there with them, and it might be possible it was Mister Butler, who taught Stolas about the dangers if a horse eats too much sugar, which might make sense if he gave Stolas a book about it and explained the content and explanation in the book about horses.

The Best Dads In Helluva Boss, would be Blitzo, Stolas, Joe and Mister Butler.

and the worse Dads would be Crimson, Buckzo and Paimon.

#helluva boss theory #headcanon #stolas ars goetia #stolas helluva boss #paimon helluva boss #deadbeat dad #adoptive father #terrible parents #mature audiences only #not for kids #may 2023 #b*tch #do not reblog without permission #don't reblog

1 note · View note

themrsackerman · 3 years

Text

Angel of Paradis

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers from Season 4. Mentions of gun violence, blood, death

A/N: Now I know EP8 is only the beginning of the end but goddamn it hurts!! I love potato girl and losing her just tore me to bits. So here, take this. Its my way of coping I guess..

Levi is pissed off. From the start, he disliked the plan but it wasn't like Eren gave you all much of a choice. So the moment the kid got on the airship, he was welcomed with one of the captain's infamous kicks. The cockpit wall quakes with the impact and Hange sighs, shooting you a look. "I think you need to get out there and make sure Levi doesn't kill Eren, Y/n." She says exasperatedly and you nod, rising from your seat next to Onyankopon.

"I'll be right back." You say and she flashes you a knowing grin, shaking her head slightly. Even the commander knows you're the only one who could reign in the Levi Ackerman.

You see Levi on the corner glaring at Eren as he was being tied up. You sigh heavily, seeing Eren steaming as he heals. Jaw probably unhinged from the captain's kick. You sat beside him on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean from dirt and blood.

"Y/n-san." He greets you monotonously and you gave him a kind smile. "Hey, kid." You greet back, tucking loose strands of his now long hair behind his ear.

Your heart aches at the sight. He used to have so much fire, had the same will to fight for humanity that you only ever saw in your mentor, Erwin. Now all you see is ember of pure hatred and cold blooded need for revenge. "I'm glad you're okay." You murmur. Eren's blank stare softens for a second and a small smile hints the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you too, Lieutenant." He says quietly and out of the corner of your eyes, you see Levi roll his eyes and make a disgruntled sound as he turns around.

You walk up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Levi meets your gaze with his dull gray ones for a second and sighs, his expression softening too. At this you smile a little and say, "We still have a long battle to fight ahead of us, Captain. Things might not have gone smoothly, but we won today." You remind him and as if proving your point, right on the other side of the ship you hear the soldiers celebrate as they reunite.

"You're right." He agrees. Levi then takes a deep breath and grabs the hand you placed on his shoulder so he can bring it to his face. He turns his head and placed a chaste kiss on your palm. Your heart flutters at the gesture. It isn't grand but was still something you couldn't quite get used to. You two never declared your love for one another, never really had the luxury of time or chance to do so, but small acts like this was enough to let you know that your presence provided him the calm he sorely needs. And that was all you want. Be his peace in this war.

"I'm going to check if the rest of the squad made it back up." You tell him, grazing your thumb on his lower lip and he reluctantly lets you go. "Be back as soon as you can. Meeting will start as soon as this fucking monkey heals enough." He says, cold glare flashing at the other Jaeger who is a pile of steam still laying on the ground. "Okay, I'll just check on Lima's squad. They're the last ones to be picked up supposedly." Levi nods again and watches you leave before turning to talk to Yelena.

You smile past Floch and the other soldiers who are weeping, hugging and making their tributes for those whom had fallen in battle. You then saw three of the soldiers you've grown close with through the years. They were huddled in the corner, sharing a hug.

You hear Jean say in protest, "Dont hug people with that lump ass iron gear on.", while shrugging off Connie's arm. You chuckle at this and tackled him back to the embrace. "Shut the hell up, Jean. I would take Connie's armored hugs any day!" To which the trio whines out, " Lieutenant Y/l/n!!" when you squished them tight.

Although the new gear designed by Hange was in deed not made for hugging, you four relaxed in the uncomfortable embrace. Grounded by the fact that you all made it safe despite the battle you had just gone through. Connie and Sasha smile up at you while Jean tries to still look annoyed, although the softness in his eyes says otherwise.

The soldiers left below start coming in and the cheering just grows even louder. You didn't have the heart to stop them because you yourself are quite happy that today was a success despite some casualties. Now, you have the War Hammer titan as well and were able to destroy the fleet. Now, the Eldians' chance stands higher against this damn war.

"Did you hear that just now?"

Sasha asks out of the blue and you turn to her in wonder. Honestly you couldn't hear anything but the soldiers celebrating. But out of the lot of you, you know Sasha's sense of hearing is far superior than all of you combined. So you take a step back from the crowd and actually looked around.

"Hey, quiet down!!"Jean yells over the chanting but Floch shouts, "Make some noise! Victory!!!" And was echoed by the rest as they embraced and pumped their fists in the air.

"Hey!" Jean tries again only to be pulled by Connie to the side to ask, "Isn't Lobov-san still out there?"

"No, I think he came aboard." Jean says thoughtfully and this was when something didn't sit quite right with you. Commander Lobov is a man that is hard to miss. And with his dedication to this mission to make up for his years being a useless garrison, he would be amongst the soldiers cheering the loudest for the said victory.

Your instincts has never failed you before and its the very reason why you are so good at your job and able to survive this long. But sometimes, you wish that your instincts aren't always right because you always perceive danger. And right now, every fiber of your being is telling you something is fucking wrong.

That if you were to look out the airship right now, you'll probably see the commander lifeless.

Or worse, an enemy may have made its way up to the ship.

Your blood runs cold for a split second before you acted purely out of instinct. You shove Sasha to the side, dreading as you head for the airship's side door and at the exact moment.. someone aboards.

Your gaze met the kid's muddy brown ones. It was determined, filled with fury and you saw that there isn't any trace of hesitation as her finger pulls the trigger. You knew you didn't stand a chance judging by look on her face and her sure aim on your torso. The word of warning you want to let out was caught in your throat as she fires.

You remember seeing those crazed brown eyes and then the ceiling of the airship the next. The sensation of what can only be compared to fire piercing your skin spreads through your chest and insides like molten metal. You hear the indistinct noise of the soldiers' voices grow louder yet muffled at the same time around you.

From happy cheers to manic, hysterical screaming.

You couldn't catch your breath at first and you aren't sure from which. Was it from falling flat on your back? Or was it the searing pain that made tears leak from your eyes?

And then above the chaos, you hear your three closest comrades call your name in unison.

"Lieutenant Y/n, hey!!!" Connie's frantic voice shrill through the limited space of the ship. "Hang in there, hey!" You feel him rattle you, placing his rough calloused hand against your cheek. Jean's panic stricken face comes to your field of vision and you whimper, "A kid." You gasp. "In the airship."

"Bandages! Now! We need to stop the bleeding!" Jean commands shakily and the rest of the soldiers that aren't capturing the two intruders scramble to get the med kit and the captain.

"Y/n-san, please hold on until we make it to the island!!" Connie pleads but hopelessness crawls his veins as he sees your blood flood the wooden floors.

"Keep him safe." You whisper out to nobody. The captain in mind. Your eye lids grow heavy but you didn't want to close them. No. You can't die. You promised him.

"Don't you dare die on me, Y/l/n." His voice echoes in your mind, compelling you to keep breathing despite how excruciating it feels.

Sasha who was frozen at first, snapped out of her shock as she hears Connie's voice call your name out of sheer panic when your eyes fall close. She then runs to meet the soldier carrying the bandages and was at your side in an instant. With trembling hands, Sasha tries with all her might to wrap you up and stop the bleeding.

"No, no, no, no!!" She starts sobbing while watching the bandage turn red, your gushing blood seeping through no matter how tight she puts the wrap around you. "Y/n-san, no, you can't leave us like this." Sasha hiccups, wiping her tears hastily before grabbing your now cold clammy hand and pressing it to her face. "Please!" She cries, eyes falling close.

If you hadn't pushed her, if you didn't step in her place, it would have been her that got shot. Guilt rakes through her as she watches you desperately fight for your life.

You can feel yourself drifting and you felt helpless. You then meet Sasha's, Jean's and then Connie's gaze, muttering with your remaining strength, "Protect him." And it was no request but an order.

Jean stumbles away, his hands going over his ears, unable to stand your labored breaths and Connie and Sasha's whimpering. Jean felt like hurling when Floch turned the kids to him. The other responsible for you being on the brink of death.

But to those two kids, they are the enemies who wreck havoc to their hometown. Floch wanted to kill them and throw them out but what good would that do? Would taking their lives save yours? And knowing you, who practically treat soldiers like them like your kids even though you were just a few years older than them, you would be disappointed in him at the mere thought of hurting these kids.

Jean can almost hear your angelic voice, "They're just children." You would say. So with a vexed expression and heavy turmoil growing within him, he ties them up and led them to where the captain and commander are.

Jean swallows hard when the captain's cold gaze met his and asks, "Who are these kids?"

By the looks of it, he still does not know.

"They killed Lobov-san and used his gear to come aboard." A lump forms in his throat, suddenly can no longer meet the captain's gaze. "A-and this one here, she.. shot Lieutenant Y/l/n."

Levi's eyes widen. Did he just hear Jean correctly? You? Shot? You were with him just minutes ago. No, how is that possible?-

"Captain, I-I don't think she'll make it." He continues, voice faltering. The grievance in Jean's face make Levi's blood run cold. He stumbles forward a bit as Armin and Mikasa run past him but he seemed frozen in his tracks.

No.

You got hurt but you'll pull through this. You always have. You promised him. And you are one of the toughest people he knows.

Levi tries to convince himself as he glared back at Zeke. He tries to distract himself from the cold fear of losing you with the blinding rage he feels for the Beast Titan wielder. But then, the door swings open again and Levi felt something terribly wrong right away.

And when Connie appears with tears sliding down his face and says,

"Y/n-san.. is dead."

Levi's entire world shifts.

Everyone was shellshocked for a moment. Because how could you be gone just like that? When you were just with them just minutes ago providing comfort to all of them? Passing by and giving them a wave of peace and calmness like the angel that you are.

Hange wobbles, her knees growing weak and its as if someone had punched her in the chest. The pain reminiscent as the day she watched Moblit vanish before her eyes. You were her right hand woman. Her confidant.

Eren's head hung in disbelief. His mind clouded by your kind smile just earlier and telling him you're actually glad to see him. Him. The monster who had just devastated a whole town and killed probably thousands of people. He thought that by now, he'd have gotten used to losing the people around him but losing you is gutting him. Its was like losing family. A sister.

"Connie.. did Y/n-san have any last words?" He asks mindlessly, wanting to know what your last thoughts were. Connie blinks through his tears and his eyes drifts to the captain, whose face was undreadable and knuckles threatening to split open at how tightly his balled fists are clenched.

"She said.. 'Protect him.'" Connie mutters and Levi's facade breaks.

The mob of weeping soldiers parted as the captain staggers to the back of the ship where you lay. Armin and Mikasa were still curled up beside you, their faces red and puffy from wailing. Both of them reluctantly stood up and stepped away as he walks closer. His gaze was still trained on the ground as he puts one foot in front of the other.

He shudders and stop midstep as his foot steps on the crimson stained wood. Before he knows it, he falls on his knees with a thud. Your pale hand comes into his field of vision and he takes a deep shakey breath as he reaches for it. His eyes darts everywhere but your face. The bandage on your middle, the boots on your feet that he had his fair share of shinning as his token of appreciation for you making his morning teas, the emblem of the Wings of Freedom embedded on your breast plate.

Your hand felt cold and stiff against his. A stark contast of the warmth it exuded on his cheek just moments ago.

"Y/n?" He croaks.

Suddenly his breathing shallows as the deafening silence stretches on. He can still smell you but can no longer feel you although you're right fucking there. Levi wanted this to some fucked up nightmare. But then, as he steels his nerves and finally looked at your face, his heart shatters.

Your hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled, e/c eyes lifeless, pupils middilated and your mouth parted ever so slightly.

Levi pulls you in his arms frantically, plethora of would have been and should have been anchoring his heart into a sea of regret.

He should have never let you out the damn door.

He should have held you tighter.

He should have you talked to you longer.

He should have told you.. he loves you.

He never even got to tell you.

Levi's face crumples, face reddening before a resentful yell erupts from him. The soldiers wince at the sound. It was pure agony and it pierces through each and everyone of them, bringing the lot of them back to tears if they ever stopped in the first place.

The entire flight back to Paradis, Levi held you the way he wished he did while you were still with him.

3K notes · View notes

makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 302: As the Todoroki Turns

Previously on BnHA:

Today on BnHA: We have a very fun chapter in which (1) Shouto grows up lonely on account of his parents being worried that his siblings will literally try to kill him, (2) Natsu and Fuyu grow up neglected on account of not being special and/or self-destructive enough to attract attention, (3) we get to revisit all of that exciting spousal abuse from chapter 39, and (4) Touya burns to death right on cue, pretty much exactly like we expected it to happen. Thankfully since this is a shounen manga, Horikoshi finds some hope in all this misery as the Todoroki family rallies together, with Shouto getting his long-overdue credit for being a perfect sweet angel who put up with all of this shit for sixteen years and somehow came out of it strong and kind and empathetic and determined. Anyway, so that flashback was a barrel of laughs. But now that it’s over, we can put all of that angst behind us, and move on to... well I guess, probably, more angst. Look, we’re short on variety at the moment. Bear with it.

ouch. we knew this was coming, but still

A+ parenting move there. “ho boy, our eldest just tried to murder our youngest, now what? hmm how about we isolate our youngest from all human contact”

though in their defense, we probably shouldn’t have expected this rabidly strength-obsessed fire man and his wife who was groomed since childhood to obey her family’s whims to have any idea of how to raise stable, well-adjusted offspring

SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS

this is a perfect example of Enji’s tragically self-revolving viewpoint right here. just because being a hero is your entire world doesn’t mean you can just excuse yourself from anything outside of that and act like it’s out of your control. “alas, all I care about is hero stuff and my son can’t be a hero, we are doomed to inhabit two different worlds” no you jackass, it’s called having more than one hobby?? figuring out how to spend some time with your son that doesn’t involve training?? the same exact thing you were telling him to do last week, while ignoring that you’ve never done that yourself in your life??

that said, yet again we have that complexity though because it’s obvious that Enji at least on some level is aware of his own flaws, even though he seems unwilling or unable to confront them. honestly, from what we’ve seen so far, Enji’s obsession with surpassing All Might might be more accurately called an addiction. he literally can’t let go of it even though he’s fully aware of how it’s slowly destroying his life. and so in the same way that a lifelong smoker or alcoholic might tell their child to stay away from cigarettes and booze, Enji tells Touya not to follow down the same path as him, even though he himself doesn’t know how to leave that path. so yes, it’s hypocritical as fuck, but there’s also an element of helplessness there as well because Enji literally doesn’t know how not to be like this

though all the same he sure could stand to put in more than just a token effort. but it is what it is, and we already know how much he’ll come to regret it

and meanwhile Baby Shouto has frozen his sleep bubble with his quirk lmao. so I guess his quirk did come in early. that’s a recipe for chaos right there

once again Shouto is ruining every single dramatic panel in this flashback

this was so dark and intense... and then I spotted the lil bubs in the corner. Horikoshi please control yourself

“some hero you are, running away” and then all of a sudden, “FIVE YEARS LATER” lol what. OKAY THEN

(ETA: love the confirmation that eight-year-old Natsu comes from the Iida school of puberty and is basically a fully grown man, and meanwhile Touya comes from the hobbit school of puberty and has been perpetually eight for the past five years.)

“HEY BIG BRO WANNA COME RECREATE AN ICONIC FLASHBACK SCENE WITH US. WE’VE GOT THE SOCCER BALL RIGHT HERE, BUT HURRY UP OR WE’LL BE TOO LATE FOR SHOUTO TO WALK ON BY AND STOP TO LOOK”

lol and that’s literally the next three panels. but Horikoshi did add this extra bit after Endeavor starts to drag Shouto away

seriously Enji what the hell did you expect was going to happen here. “Touya went nuts and tried to kill his little brother out of jealousy, so let’s make it clearer than ever that Shouto is the important child and all the other children are just rejects. this will definitely not make the problem 100x worse, and will surely lead to Touya giving up and living a happy life, having been emotionally abandoned by the person he admired more than anyone.” good for you pal you figured it all out. no need for that plan b, “we all just go to therapy”

anyway so he’s telling Shouto he can’t play because he needs more endurance training. and meanwhile Touya’s patented Todoroki Drama Genes are going through puberty as well

definitely the face of a happy, emotionally stable child who’s not still plotting to murder his younger brother in his sleep

“WELL ACTUALLY MAKESTE” lol I stand corrected??

apparently during the five year interim Touya actually stopped blaming Shouto and realized Enji was the one at fault. good for him! a bit inconsistent, given what we know happens later, but I assume we’ll get to that in good time

anyway. “yeah man I agree that dad sucks, but it’s the middle of the night and I’m only eight and you’ve been monologuing for the past two hours bro”

LMAO

the manga is making my jokes for me, only better. fine then

looks like someone’s still miffed about that disagreement he had with his baby sister back when she was like four

“Fuyu doesn’t get properly riled up like I want her to so ranting to her is annoying.” okay but having been in Fuyu’s shoes, it really is just a different way of coping, and I can guarantee she’s not as fine with the whole situation as Touya might think. but making your peace with something is often a decision that’s made for emotional self-preservation reasons. and I sure as hell don’t fault her for trying to shut out a situation that she had no control over, and trying to make the best of it, and scrape together as normal a childhood as she could manage

and now in Touya’s defense as well, that is of course easier said than done, and I’m sure if there was a “push this button and instantly get over all of the trauma in your life” switch readily available for Touya then he would have pushed it too. unfortunately it’s not always that simple

so now Rei is pleading with Touya not to go train up on his little emo hill again, but it doesn’t seem like much has changed since he was eight

I don’t think he gives two figs about being a hero; he just wants his father to look at him again with pride. fucking hell, stop doing this to me you damn Todorokis

guh, they keep telling him the same thing over and over again

even if we hadn’t already known he was gonna go melt his jawbone off soon, I wouldn’t have expected a line like that to go over well

yep. fuck

that Todoroki puberty angst, though. nothing else quite like it

“you have a part in this too, Mom” ooooooh man

okay but look, he’s not entirely wrong. like, I’m not saying any of this is Rei’s fault at all! she’s in an impossible situation where she’s afraid to stand up to Enji (who by this point has shown that he’s willing to physically attack her if things get too heated, which is terrifying), and doesn’t really have anywhere to turn for support. her parents aren’t helping much if at all, and Japan in general is just a terrible country to be in when you’re in a domestic abuse situation. everyone’s expected to put on a brave face and deal with their problems all on their own in private. Rei is basically completely isolated at this point, and she doesn’t know what else to do, and so she’s just trying to keep the situation as stable as possible for the kids

but on the other hand, “for the kids” is also where that argument starts to break down a bit, because at this point Shouto is also being physically abused by his father, and the other kids are continuing to be neglected (emotionally if not physically), as they have been for years. so the situation really isn’t stable at all for them. and as a kid, what you end up learning in that type of situation is that you can’t rely on either parent. not the abusive one, certainly, but also not the other one who can’t protect you from any of it. even if they love you and they’re trying, they’re just as helpless as you. Rei is struggling to deal with all of this with one hand tied behind her back, and I get it, and I’m not blaming her at all. but all the same, particularly given that she’s (understandably) putting almost all her focus on Shouto, the end result is that the other kids have basically been left to fend for themselves

so yeah! a shitty situation all around. and one of those cases where it’s not really anyone’s fault (aside from Enji’s), but I can understand the resentment Touya is feeling all the same. and I’m so glad Horikoshi is acknowledging this, because it’s something I probably would have been too uncomfortable to bring up otherwise. as it is it’s still an incredibly heavy subject, and one that I probably have too many personal feelings about

anyway, so once again the whole “we’ll try talking to him and then just shrug our shoulders when it doesn’t work” parenting strategy doesn’t really pan out for the Todoroki fam

sob this boy is Anakin Skywalkering before our very eyes. all that’s missing is AFO to come and start whispering in his ear. any minute now...

“anyway so then he got taller and his fire changed from red to blue”

guess we’re getting pretty close then huh. this is the part of the flashback that I really don’t want to see, but also unfortunately the part that I’m most curious about :/

oh for fuck’s --

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IGNORING HIM FOR FIVE YEARS DIDN’T ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM” sob. back to the drawing board I guess

I thought he got taller, why is he still only like a third of Enji’s height here

oh fuck me these are armor-piercing feels. this is the heavy artillery right here

ENJI I’M BEGGING YOU PLEASE STOP AND THINK FOR ONE MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE BEFORE DOING SOMETHING YOU’LL REGRET FOR THE REST OF ALL TIME. your child just told you that he still thinks beating All Might is the only thing you care about, and that he believes his existence is a mistake unless he finds some way of doing that for you. please stop for a moment to contemplate that and choose your next words with care and grace and oh who the hell am I kidding

-- OR WE COULD JUST BLAME REI

go on and blame everyone but yourself then!! that’s a great solution!! jesus christ man I know this is Endeavor at his literal worst but still this is fucking hard to watch

POOR BABY SHOUTO IS YELLING AT HIS DAD NOT TO HIT HIS MOMMY THIS LITTLE BRAVE BOY NEEDS SO MANY HUGS OH MY GOD

AND MEANWHILE THE OTHERS ARE HUDDLED IN THE NEXT ROOM TRYING NOT TO CRY AH FUCK

(ETA: Fuyu covering Natsu’s ears cuts RIGHT TO THE CORE OF ME. Horikoshi if you’re really not gonna get these kids some therapy then at least consider giving your readers some. what is this.)

you know it’s bad when you’re starting to think the part where the kid burns to death might actually be a less traumatic thing to cut to right now

holy shit, actual Rei thoughts

“I was the one who ultimately made that choice” well there we go, wonder if that’ll put that whole argument to bed at last. I doubt it, but you never know. actually who am I kidding it’s not gonna settle jack shit lol

oh thank god, they decided it was getting too intense and cut away back to the present to narrate this next (final?) part

get ready to cue up that Alicia Keys. THIS BOY IS ON FIREEEEEEE

yeah I think that’s one thing we can mostly all agree on. neither of them had any clue what the fuck they were doing pretty much at any point. though I will say that the hypocrisy of him being all “WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HIM” followed by him IMMEDIATELY DOING THE EXACT SAME THING is a bit rich

(ETA: and he still has this problem, doesn’t he? he froze up when Ending snatched Natsuo, and again when Dabi was attacking Shouto. he’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing that he ends up not doing anything, which of course is exactly what led to Touya’s death. damn Enji I guess you’ve still got some additional character development to unlock.)

and of course neither of them could possibly have known how badly it was going to turn out. like, the consequences here were WAY disproportionate even for the shittiest of parenting. no one expects “I didn’t know how to talk to my son” to snowball into “my son burned to death and then somehow came back as a villain and murdered thirty people”

ohhhhhhhh fuck me

LITERALLY INCINERATED THE ENTIRE HILLSIDE. fuck. and I am so not ready for the scene of Enji finding the remains of his jawbone afterwards. at least we were spared anything super-graphic (for now at least)

I feel like the timeline here is off, btw?? wasn’t Touya’s death supposed to happen after Rei got hospitalized? this might be the first actual retcon of the entire flashback. although I think it makes more sense this way tbh

I do appreciate that ten years later Enji is finally reflecting on the fact that if he’d just given up his stupid obsession he could have stopped his family from crumbling apart. that probably sounds sarcastic as fuck, but it’s not. there are countless jerks out there who would have still managed to find a way to blame literally everyone and everything under the sun except for themselves. at least he finally figured out how to take responsibility, even if it came too late to stop his son from dying and being radicalized into a villain terrorist organization

and speaking of, it seems to me we’re missing a third and final part to this little tale of woe, and one which only Touya himself will be able to shed any light on. so we’ll see how that goes

oh man seeing the other kids blaming themselves even though none of it was their fault hits hard af. Rei wasn’t kidding when she said they’d been bearing that burden of guilt far longer than Enji

SHOUTO I SWEAR TO GOD IF THE NEXT PANEL IS YOU APOLOGIZING FOR BEING BORN, I WILL... WELL I’LL BE VERY SAD, I GUESS. SO DON’T DO IT

oh good he’s just being quiet. good. it absolutely is not your fault lil bean. it’s not theirs either, but feeling guilty about things that aren’t your fault is a time-honored shounen tradition

goddammit I braced myself for the angsty Shouto panel a page too early. gotta do it all over again now lol. okay here goes

;_;

well well well would you look at that

imagine that. talking things out with your child before they make a rash decision. looks like the Todorokis’ parenting skills are finally leveling up

OH MY GOD

holy shit. this is the most quintessential moment of father/son Todoroki bonding in the entire series. for me it even tops the “nice scar” scene lol. Enji sobbing at the fact that he still has a chance to set things right. and Shouto offering his hand in what is actually the most mature and selfless gesture I’ve ever seen, and being all “we’ll stop him together” to his dad who he hates, but also doesn’t really entirely hate anymore. and all of that is incredibly moving... BUT ALSO HE STILL REFUSES TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HIM AND HE WOULD LIKE HIM TO STOP BEING SO FUCKING DRAMATIC ALREADY IF YOU DON’T MIND. “WHEN YOU’RE DONE CRYING...” fkjldsk

OH MY FUCKING LORD

(ETA: wouldn’t be a Todoroki drama fest if there wasn’t somebody listening in on the whole thing in secret just around the corner lmao.)

“you think we should have waited somewhere else?” “yeah, probably.” “are you feeling a lot of secondhand embarrassment too?” “god, you have no idea.” STFU HAWKS IT’S NOT EMBARASSING TO BE MOVED TO TEARS BY YOUR FAMILY ALL COMING TOGETHER IN YOUR DARKEST HOUR TO GIVE YOU HOPE THAT YOU PROBABLY DON’T DESERVE BUT ARE NONETHELESS INDESCRIBABLY GRATEFUL FOR

and anyway you chose these guys as your found family, bucko. too late to back out now. next time go get yourself adopted by the Iidas then

AND MEANWHILE NO WORD ON THE WHOLE “HOW DID A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD SURVIVE A FIRE THAT COVERED HIS BODY WITH HORRIFIC SCARS AND MELTED HIS JAW OFF, AND HOW DID HE SOMEHOW THEN MANAGE TO GO INTO HIDING FOR TEN WHOLE YEARS, AND WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT INTERIM TO CHANGE HIS GOAL FROM ‘SURPASS ALL MIGHT TO IMPRESS MY DAD’ TO ‘KILL ALL HEROES TO MAKE MY DAD SUFFER’.” as if we don’t know the answer to that. but still, would it kill Horikoshi to just confirm AFO’s involvement in all of this already. at this point it’s basically just a formality

so here’s hoping next week we’ll either get that, or more Hawks action, or (DARE I EVEN SUGGEST, I’M AFRAID TO JINX IT) finally cut back to Bakugou and Deku and All Might omg. either way I’m hyped

#bnha 302 #todoroki touya #dabi #todoroki enji #endeavor #todoroki rei #todoroki shouto #todoroki natsuo #todoroki fuyumi #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #my sincerest apologies for this absurdly long recap which is barely funny at all!#THERE WAS VERY LITTLE HUMOROUS CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER #congratulations horikoshi you win this round

469 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

De Amore

My fic for @aceomenszine is finally available on AO3!

Aziraphale has come to Paris to find the answer to an important question: What's it like to be in love? Crowley's not sure why he wants to know, but he's willing to discuss it to make his angel happy. Full text below!

“What’s it like to be in love?”

Crowley stumbled to a stop on the Paris street, glaring at the angel beside him. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, walking with his usual expression: calm, poised, slightly arrogant. As if he were talking about the weather.

“Dunno. S’a human thing, isn’t it?” He scowled at a few gawking peasants, hurrying to catch up. “Romance. Lust. Sex. Nothing to do with us.”

“You could say the same of hunger, or exhaustion, or boredom.”

“Yeah, and I’d be right.” Crowley held out an arm to stop Aziraphale from walking directly into a produce cart. “Neither of us gets exhausted. You’re never tired, and I just like a good nap sometimes.”

“Really?” A flicker of that mocking bastard smirk. “How many nights did you sleep this past week?”

“Nrrg. Five or six, but that’s not the point.” They started walking again, Crowley tossing an apple he’d snuck from the cart. “I could stop if I wanted to — I’d miss it, but s’not the same as being tired. Same with you and eating.”

“But if I desire a food, so strongly I can already taste it, surely that’s…if not exactly hunger, a close approximation?”

“Don’t think so.” Crowley offered the apple, but Aziraphale shook his head. “Spend a couple days in the city, you’ll see what hunger looks like. S’not about pleasure or wanting a particular food. It’s need, desperation. And we just don’t experience that.” He tossed the apple towards a group of children, and a girl in a ragged dress caught it. “Boredom I’ll grant you. I’ve definitely been bored.”

“So, we might enjoy things as humans do, but never desire them the same way,” Aziraphale mused, smoothing his hands down the front of his stolen jacket. “But is love the longing for a connection with another, or the pleasure of that connection?”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to us, does it?”

He waited for Aziraphale to respond, but the angel simply continued walking, hands folded behind his back, eyes more distant than usual.

“So?” Crowley prodded after nearly a block in silence. “What brought this on?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let me guess. Reading novels again? Sappy poetry? Getting…ideas?” He stepped ahead of Aziraphale and walked backwards, to ensure the angel saw his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. No response. Crowley shrugged, falling back into step. “Look, f’you want to try falling in love with a human, s’your business. Let me know how it goes. Just do it back in London, I don’t need that…drama getting back to my bosses.”

“That’s not it,” Aziraphale snapped, wringing his hands. “It’s not — it doesn’t even work that way, Crowley. Humans don’t just decide to fall in love!”

“They don’t cross an ocean and charge through a revolution for a snack, either.”

“Oh, never mind. Clearly you’re the expert here.” Aziraphale froze, glaring at a shop just ahead, and threw his hands up in disgust. “And now they’ve closed my favorite creperie! Why do I even bother? Might as well return to England and feast upon whatever lumpy brown bread the first tavern I pass serves.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Crowley hissed, turning down a side street and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. “If you get locked up again, I’m not rescuing you a second time.” The angel’s lips twisted sourly. “Look, gourmet crepes aren’t really in demand right now, but I know a place. Might still be open.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the sky, thin grey clouds veiling the sun. He should probably just let Aziraphale stew in his own sullen displeasure. Might even give him an advantage — a distracted angel was easier to outsmart.

But Crowley hadn’t been in the business of thwarting Aziraphale for over a thousand years. Why oppose each other, when they could work…not together, but in tandem? Ensuring all their duties were fulfilled, their paperwork properly filed.

It was better this way. Less fuss all around, less inconvenience. Pleasanter conversation. More time for trips to the theater or quiet meals, either of which was a far better way to spend an evening than any sort of elaborate espionage.

He’d been looking forward to griping about his job over a mug of cider while Aziraphale worked his way through a plate of crepes, smiling and wiggling in his seat. Watching Aziraphale get excited over something was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the best ways to pass the time.

Only the conversation had left Aziraphale annoyed, pouting and…Crowley studied him carefully, dark glasses imperfectly hiding his eyes. More than anything, Aziraphale looked hurt. A sight that always made Crowley’s stomach twist painfully.

He sighed, tossing back his head. “‘Love is an inborn suffering, proceeding from the sight and immoderate thought upon the beauty of another, for which cause above all other things one wishes to embrace the other and, by common assent, in this embrace to fulfil the commandments of love.’”[1]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I don’t know. You asked me—!” Crowley walked faster, face growing hot. “It’s from some old treatise, right? Love, he says, is seeing someone beautiful and wanting sex. Then, when you have your fill…” he waved his hand vaguely.

“I see.” Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves. “I suppose that…makes sense.” But he still looked grim.

Up ahead, not quite along their path, stood one of Paris’s parks, gates now open to the public. Apart from some rubbish cluttering the entrance, it seemed well-maintained. Crowley tipped his head, inviting.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he nodded, the first hint of a smile on his face. It always made Crowley feel light, that smile, however briefly it appeared.

They wandered in silence up the path, lined by trees here, flowerbeds there. Leaves had turned yellow and the grass was edged with brown, but the roses were still in bloom. Crowley paused to pluck a particularly well-formed bud.

As they crossed a bridge over a small watercourse, Aziraphale suddenly said, “Do you think it’s true, though? That — that treatise? Because it rather sounds like he didn’t see any difference between lust and love.”

“Mmh.” Crowley paused, gazing downstream, where a group of ducks swam contentedly. “As a demon? Yeah. Fits the party line. Humans don’t think of anything but their own pleasure, always wanting what they don’t have. Jealous, possessive, until something better comes along. Then it starts all over. If love and lust aren’t the same, well, they’re pretty close, right?”

“I see.” Aziraphale stepped beside him, holding out his red cap, now filled with grains of barley and cracked corn. They each took a handful and tossed it down. The ducks swam over eagerly, bobbing to catch the seeds before they drifted away.

“But as a being who’s been in the world nearly six thousand years?” Crowley threw another handful, then leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “Not so sure. Humans do too much that can’t be explained by simple pleasure. Besides, I’ve seen what they do when overwhelmed by lust, and what they do when overwhelmed by love and…dunno. S’not the same.”

More handfuls of grains as a second group of ducks approached.

“What d’you think, Angel?” Crowley prodded. “Must be something in all those books you read.”

“Oh, quite a lot,” Aziraphale assured him. “Much of it contradictory. Many poets will only talk about their beloved’s face, or eyes, but if it were simply a matter of beauty, surely everyone would fall in love with the same beauties.”

“Sometimes they do.” Crowley rolled some seeds between his palms. “S’where the jealousy comes in. But yeah. Gotta be more to it than that.”

“I hope you’re not planning to make those poor ducks sink.”

“What? Nk — no. Course not.” He threw the grains down and the ducks quickly swarmed, turning bright shades of pink and blue and violet as they ate.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s not hurting anyone.” He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale pressing his lips together, struggling not to smile. Grinning, Crowley tossed down more enchanted grains. “Go on then.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. Well, the overall impression is that love is…transformative. Changes the way one thinks and feels at all times. They speak of, oh, the sun shining brighter, foods tasting sweeter, winter blossoming into summer. Metaphors. Others speak of — of attraction, quickened pulse, sudden heat and so on, but that’s a passing thing, part of a — a particular moment of closeness. Surely, no human could maintain such a state for an hour, never mind weeks or years!” Aziraphale offered Crowley the last handful of grain in his cap. “And once that moment passes…”

“Back to the metaphors.” The ducks below were now spotted, striped, every color of the rainbow. One bore pure white wings, beside another with midnight black. Aziraphale chuckled, very softly, which made Crowley feel immensely satisfied. Dusting off his hands, he circled the angel and continued walking.

“Yes,” Aziraphale hurried to catch up, cap twisting in his hands. “I get the sense that the feeling is so obvious, so…universal, they never think to describe it.”

“How inconsiderate.” Crowley thought it over. “So, flash of heat, racing heart, sun gets brighter, then ten pages about the color of their eyes? That about it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale rubbed a finger across his lip. “Not always beauty, though. Some appear drawn by their partner’s clever mind, or acts of kindness. Some praise stories of bravery or great deeds, others fixate on meaningless symbols of wealth. But still, those only tell why one falls in love, not what it feels like.”

“Sounds like a sort of obsession.” Crowley furrowed his brow. “That treatise had a list of…sort of rules of love. Mostly about jealousy, really, don’t think the author thought much of women, but… ‘Every action of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.’”

“I see…so that, together or apart, one cannot help but think always of the other. That certainly aligns with the evidence.” He started to replace his cap, then paused, looking inside. “Anything else of use?”

“‘Love can deny nothing to love.’” Beside him, Aziraphale turned pink and a brilliant smile broke across his face, like the sun after a storm. He pulled from the cap the bright red rosebud Crowley had hidden within.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slid the flower into his buttonhole, drinking in the way the delighted shiver ran across his shoulders. Then the angel looked up, hitting Crowley with the full force of his smile.

Stunning. Blinding. It stole Crowley’s breath away, wiped every thought from his mind.

One day, that smile would destroy him, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“So, this creperie — are we close?”

“Ngh. Smh. Unh. Nearly. Another block or two.” The park’s gate stood just ahead, half shut, the bustling street beyond. Crowley quickly stepped ahead, pulling it open for Aziraphale. “You, ah, find the answer you needed?”

“I…think so, yes.” He rested his fingers on the gate — so close to Crowley’s he could feel their warmth — then quickly pulled away, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been trying to work out…well…whether I’m in love with you, Crowley.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted nervously and he began to pace. “I-I want you to know, I don’t desire you. I’ve never felt that sort of attraction. And I’m not jealous by any means. I’m not even certain who I’m meant to be jealous of. But…” He turned back, tugging his jacket. “I think of you. Constantly. Every action, every experience reminds me of you. I go to a concert, and I can’t concentrate on the music, only whether you would enjoy it. I hear a joke and I imagine how you would laugh, or roll your eyes, and I can’t know a moment’s peace until I’ve shared it with you. And last month…when I was reprimanded…for days afterward I could think of nothing but how I wished you were there. When I finally found the strength to venture out, it was only from my determination to come here.”

“For…crepes?” Crowley offered stupidly.

“No, you silly creature, for you.” He stepped forward, reaching up as if to straighten Crowley’s lapels, but once again his hands dropped. “I hear your voice and no matter how dark my situation — no matter how absurd you look in the current fashion — I just…feel happy again.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and lifted his eyes — hopeful, fearful, vulnerable — to meet Crowley’s.

“Oh.” Something more was probably needed. “Yeah.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Well.” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped and he turned, trying to hide his expression. “Yes. I thought you should know.” He ducked his head and hurried through the gate. “Where — where is this creperie? We should try to arrive—”

“Me too.”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say anything. His mind was still ten minutes behind, struggling to catch up, but the pain on Aziraphale’s face hurt him like a blow to the chest.

The two words stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“I…I think about you, too.” Crowley stepped halfway through the gate, gripping the bar so tight it began to bend. “When I wake up, or fall asleep and…and away from you, here, I just…I miss you…but you — you idiot, with your crepes and your — your execution and…and then you smile and I just…” Blast! How could Aziraphale be so eloquent? Crowley swallowed and started over. “Look, m’trying to say…don’t think I can deny you anything. And. If that’s love…yeah. Me too.”

All this time, Aziraphale stood perfectly still, his back to Crowley. But now he turned, blue eyes furiously blinking. “That’s…ah…thank you. I know y-you hate being thanked but…” Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, until only inches separated them. “Thank you.”

“Nh.” He could so easily reach across that last bit of distance. Crowley didn’t know what that would accomplish, what he’d even do, but he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “It…doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still a demon, and I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley hissed, shocked at the fervor in his own voice. “We don’t need to play by their rules. We could — run off, or—”

“We can’t. Crowley, both our sides would — they’d find us, they’d destroy you.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” He reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m not.” The angel jerked back, putting more distance between them, eyes wide. “Crowley that’s — that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, pulling away. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Aziraphale shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I want a shop in London, where I can surround myself with books and foods and everything I enjoy. I want my superiors to trust me, let me bring good into the world my own way, without sending me all over Creation at a moment’s notice and — and punishing me for a few miracles to make my life easier. I want us to go to plays and gardens and balls together, not for clandestine meetings but because we enjoy them. To be openly in each other’s company, without fear of reprisal. And…I’d like you to visit my shop and bring me flowers or sweets. I’d serve my very best wine and…we’d talk all night about…everything and nothing. And laugh together.” His eyes fluttered open and for the first time Aziraphale looked sure of himself. “I want what we already have. Only I want more of it.”

This time he didn’t move as Crowley reached out. Long fingers carefully adjusted the rosebud, standing it straighter in its buttonhole. “Yeah. I…I’d like that, too.”

“And you don’t want anything…physical?”

Crowley snorted. “M’not a human.” But he wondered if Aziraphale’s cheek was as soft as the rosebud’s petals. “I’d like to touch you. Your hand, your face. Your wings. Hear your voice as I fall asleep. Feel your fingers in my hair. Is that…too much?”

“No.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe…” Crowley fidgeted with his glasses, shuffled his feet, but refused to step away. “If we’re careful…”

“The Arrangement is already dangerous enough. You must understand…”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I do. Nothing changes.” Except there were words now, to the feeling he had when he thought of his angel. And that changed everything. When he looked again, Aziraphale nodded, as if he felt the same.

“Right then.” Crowley circled around Aziraphale, sauntering back to the main road. “Let’s see if these crepes are worth risking the guillotine.”

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale easily kept pace. “One bite of true Breton crepes will silence your doubts forever.”

“Breton, huh?”

“Oh, yes, far superior to any others.”

“If that’s so,” Crowley smirked, remembering Aziraphale in his cell, “s’a wonder you came to Paris. Particularly in such a…controversial outfit.”

“The city has…certain other attractions.”

Something warm and heavy wrapped across Crowley’s shoulders, invisible to his eyes, though he could feel the individual feathers tickle his neck. Aziraphale strolled beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, as if nothing were amiss.

Carefully, trying to look natural, Crowley scratched his shoulder, brushing his knuckles down a long flight feather, softer than any mortal bird’s.

Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly and flexed his wing, holding Crowley a little more tightly. An embrace that no one could see, no one could know about, except them.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Still seems pretty risky.”

“Yes. But I’m an incorrigible old fool. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Suppose I can understand,” Crowley said as he extended his own wing, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s composure broke as he wiggled, burying himself in invisible feathers. Crowley smiled, heat running through him, a warm spring day after a long cold winter. “After all, we’re not so different, you and I.”

[1] De Amore, Andreas Capellanus, c. 1190

So happy to finally share this!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ace omens #ineffable husbands #asexual ineffable husbands #ace omens zine #aziraphale #crowley #love confessions #feeding the ducks #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves his angel #what even is love #ace fanfiction #qpp #banter #my writing #ao3 link

101 notes · View notes

idreamtofmanderleyagain · 3 years

Text

Hot takes about Severus Snape are a wierdly decent glimpse into how a person with progressive values analyses things. Literally every time someone talks about Snape, it’s like this tiny window into how one-dimentionally people actually think.

Recently saw a twitter post that was a fantastic example. Here’s how it goes (paraphrasing):

Person A:“Snape is POC and Queer coded, that’s why you guy’s hate him uwu lol.”

Person B: “Actually I hate him because he was mean and abusive to children under his care uwu but go off I guess lol”

Both of these takes are designed to be dramatic and/or reactionary. They each use partial truths to paint very broad strokes. These are get-em-in-one-hit quips. This is virtue signalling, if you’ll excuse that loaded phrase. Nobody had a substantial conversation, but now everyone who sees their statement knows the high ground they took.

At least a hundred other people chimed in to add their own little quippy hot takes into play, none of which add anything significant, but clearly made everyone feel very highly of themselves.

So many layers of nuance and complex analysis is completely lost in this kind of discussion. On tumblr, you get more of this kind of bullshit, but you don’t have a word count limit, so you guys just spew endless mountains of weak overblown evidence backing up your bullshit arguments, none of which was really about engaging in a real conversation anyway.

Here’s the thing about Snape.

He is a childhood domestic abuse victim. His abuser is a muggle.

He becomes a student at a magical school that takes him away from his abuser and immediately instills in him the idea that being a part of this magical world is a badge of self-worth, empowerment, and provides safety and security - provided that he keeps in line.

There is a war is being waged in that world over his right to exist (he is a half blood).

He is a marginalized person within the context of the narrative, forced to constantly be in the same living space as the children of his own oppressors who are being groomed and recruited into a hate group militia (the pureblood slytherins). They are in turn trying to do the same to him.

He is marginalized person bullied by children who are also part of his oppressor group, but who have “more liberal” leanings and aren’t direct about why he’s being targeted (the mauraders are all purebloods, Sirius, who was the worst offender, was raised in a bigoted household, the same one that produced Bellatrix.).

He had a crush on a girl who is a muggleborn, and therefore she is considered even lesser than him and carries a stigma to those who associate with her. That girl was his only real friend. In his entire life.

For both Snape and Lily, allying themselves to a pureblood clique within their own houses would be a great way of shielding themselves from a measure of the bigotry they were probably facing. There would have been obvious pressure from those cliques to disconnect with one and other.

Every other person who associates with Snape in his adulthood carries some sort of sociopolitical or workplace (or hate cult) baggage with their association. Some of them will physically harm and/or kill him if he steps out of line. He hasn’t at any point had the right environment to heal and adjust from these childhood experiences. Even his relationship with Dumbledore is charged with constant baggage, including the purebloods who almost killed him during their bullying getting a slap on the wrist, the werewolf that almost killed him as a child being placed in an authority position over new children, etc. Dumbledore is canonically manipulative no matter his good qualities, and he has literally been manipulating Snape for years in order to cultivate a necessary asset in the war.

He is a person who is not in the stable mental state necessary to be teaching children, whom has been forced to teach children. While also playing the role of double agent against the hate group militia, the one that will literally torture you for mistakes or backtalk or just for fun. The one that will torture and kill him if he makes one wrong move.

Is the math clicking yet? From all of this, it’s not difficult to see how everything shitty about Snape was cultivated for him by his environment. Snape was not given great options. Snape made amazingly awful choices, and also some amazingly difficult, courageous ones. Snape was ultimately a human who had an extremely bad life, in which his options were incredibly grim and limited.

In fact, pretty much every point people make about how shitty Snape is as a person makes 100% logical sense as something that would emerge from how he was treated. Some if it he’s kind of right about, some of it is the inevitable reality of suffering, and some of it is part of the cycle of abuse and harm.

Even Snape’s emotional obsession with Lily makes logical sense when you have the perspective that he literally has no substantial positive experiences with other human beings that we know of, and he has an extreme, soul destroying guilt complex over her death. Calling him an Incel mysoginist nice guy projects a real-world political ideology and behavior that does not really apply to the context of what happened to him and her.

Even Snape’s specific little acts of cruelty to certain students is a reflection of his own life experiences. He identifies with Neville; more specifically, he identifies his own percieved emotional weaknesses in his childhood in Neville. There’s a very sad reason there why he feels the urge to be so harsh.

Snape very clearly hates himself, in a world where everyone else hates him, too. Imagine that, for a second. Imagine total internal and external hatred, an yearning for just a little bit of true connection. For years. Imagine then also trying to save that world, even if it’s motivated by guilt. Even if nobody ever knows you did it and you expect to die a miserable death alone.

There are more elements here to consider, including the way Rowling described his looks (there may be something in there re: ugliness and swarthy stereotyping). These are just the things that stand out the most prominently to me.

J.K. Rowling is clearly also not reliable as an imparter of moral or sociopolitical philosophies. I don’t feel that her grasp of minority experiences is a solid one, considering how she picks and chooses who is acceptable and who is a threat.

All of that said, this is a logically consistent character arc. Within the context of his narrative, Snape is a marginalized person with severe PTSD and emotional instability issues who has absolutely no room available to him for self-improvement or healing, and never really has. And yes, he’s also mean, and caustic, and verbally abusive to the students. He’s also a completey miserable, lonely person.

There are elements in his character arc that mirror real world experiences quite well. If nothing else, Rowling is enough of an emotional adult to recognise these kinds of things and portray something that feels authentic.

In my opinion, it’s not appropriate to whittle all this down by comparing him directly to the real world experiences of marginalized groups - at least if you are not a part of the group you are comparing him to. There have been many individuals who have compared his arc to their own personal experiences of marginalization, and that is valid. But generally speaking, comparing a white straight dude to people who are not that can often be pretty offensive. This is not a valuable way to discuss either subject.

Also, I believe that while it’s perfectly okay to not like Snape as a character, many of the people who act like Person B are carrying Harry’s childhood POV about Snape in their hearts well into their own adulthood. And if nothing else, Rowling was attempting to say something here about how our perspectives (should) grow and change as we emotionally mature. She doesn’t have to be a good person herself to have expressed something true about the world in this instance, and since this story is a part of our popular culture, people have a right to feel whatever way they do about this story and it’s characters.

The complexity of this particular snapshot of fictionalized marginalization, and what it reveals about the human experience, cannot be reduced down to “he’s an abuser so he’s not worth anyone’s time/you are bad for liking him.”

And to be honest, I think that it reveals a lot about many of us in progressive spaces, particularly those of us who less marginalized but very loud about our values, that we refuse to engage with these complexities in leu of totally condemning him. Particularly because a lot of the elements I listed above are indeed reflected in real world examples of people who have experienced marginalization and thus had to deal with the resulting emotional damage, an mental illness, and behavior troubles, and bad decisions. Our inability to address the full scope of this may be a good reflection of how we are handling the complexity of real world examples.

Real people are not perfect angels in their victimhood. They are just humans who are victims, and we all have the capacity to be cruel and abusive in a world where we have been given cruelty and abuse. This is just a part of existing. If you cannot sympathise with that, or at least grasp it and aknowledge it and respect the people who are emotionally drawn to a character who refects that, then you may be telling on yourself to be honest.

To be honest, this is especially true if you hate Snape but just really, really love the Mauraduers. You have a right to those feelings, but if you are moralizing this and judging others for liking Snape, you’ve confessed to something about how you’ve mentally constructed your personal values in a way I don’t think you’ve fully grasped yet.

I have a hard time imagining a mindset where a story like Snape’s does not move one to empathy and vicarious grief, if I’m honest. I feel like some people really just cannot be bothered to imagine themselves in other people’s shoes, feeling what they feel and living like they live. I struggle to trust the social politics of people who show these kinds of colors, tbh.

But maybe that’s just me.

270 notes · View notes

nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Yandere! Corrupt Angel! Keigo Takami X Demon! Reader- Episode 1/3: The Same Side Of A Coin

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

Hey friends.....this is a ride Theres talkings of suicide, sinning, degredation, heaven vs hell and religious themes. You’ve been warned.

Leggo

...

You stood in the middle of the dancefloor, staring around the room. Once a year heaven and hell would come together and host the gala of the century. The Dark One and The Holy One would set aside their differences one day out of the year and host a party bringing both their children together for a huge affair.

Every demon and angel across the nine realms would show up. The beautiful, the ethereal, and the not so beautiful too. You watched as each leader sat respectfully on their thrones.

You watched as The Dark One looked over his people. It was times like this you admired the man. Your soul had mistakenly fallen to the pits of hell when an angel who wouldn’t do their job correctly denied your entry to heaven. You were given special treatment as a result.

The other demons knew you didn’t do anything wrong and they didn’t hold it against you. In fact, the other demons treated you like a kid sister. They never let you near any real demon business.

“Ah, Young Y/N! Come!” The Dark One waved you over. “There’s someone you must meet my child.”

“Yes, Sir!” you gave a thumbs up from the crowd. “Excuse me, Pardon me.” you shimmied through the crowd. You caught the eye of many angels. The other demons spoke highly of you, saying how the feather freaks would be lucky to have you...they were right.

You wore a black gown, with a pretty decorative necklace. Your wrists were decorated in beautiful lace cuffs that matched the rings on your right hand.

“Y/N, my word you look beautiful as ever.” The Dark One praised. “I want you to meet-”

“The Holy One, I know you...my family speaks...spoke-” you corrected yourself. “Highly of you.”

“Y/N, as I live and breathe. Old Goat Face wasn’t kidding.”

“Oh shut up and fix your bedsheet, Cloud Breath.”

You giggled as the two argued like siblings.

“Y/N, I would like to personally apologize. I’m afraid some of my children can be quite...elite about who the let through the gates.”

You remember being thrown down the stairs, falling for a while, then landing next to a lake of lava. Of course that was a while ago.

“It’s okay...not like I was the purest soul in the world anyways.” you shrugged.

“Sin does not define you my child, I’m sure your heart would have landed you here with me had a different angel been working that day.”

That didn’t change the fact that you were booted to hell. No one could change that even if they wanted to.

“Ah! Keigo My boy! Over here!” You watched as The Holy One waves someone over. You kept your eyes on the Dark One.

“How are you holding up, dear?”

“I’m well.” you bowed respectfully. “Sorry for not socializing enough.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, my dear girl. As long as you are enjoying yourself.”

You smiled, about to reply when a new body came into the picture. A tall man, in a black tuxedo strode up to you, the dark, and the holy One. he was obviously an angel from his golden thin rimmed halo hanging above his head of sandy brown hair. Only instead of white wings, his were blood red. They were unlike any you’ve ever seen before. You had never seen a higher level angel before in the flesh.

“Y/N, Triple 6....this is Keigo.”

“Nice to meet you, man. Don’t let twinkle toes tell you anything about us. Demons aren’t so bad. Y/N here is proof of that.”

“Y/N huh?” you finally met his sharp eyes. His gaze held yours for what felt like an eternity. His smug expression slightly faltered as he stared at you. His lips parted slightly at the sight of you. Never in all his days had he seen such a low level demon hold such a high priestess appearance. “I’m...charmed to meet you.”

“Likewise.” you bowed your head respectfully. You had noticed a few select demons getting near you. All the upper levels seemed to glare at this Keigo person with intense hate and you were positive it wasn’t just because of the color differences.

“You don’t have horns.”

“Excuse me?” you raised an eyebrow.

“You have no horns.” he said again, a smirk teasing his lips.

You moved your hair from in front of your forehead to reveal two little bone-ish stubs. They weren’t sharp, nor prominent like the higher-ups. You remembered the others saying you needed horns that fit you just right. They would grow...eventually.

“Hm, Keigo, Y/N...why don’t you two go on the dancefloor?” The Holy One asked.

“With this asshole? No thanks.” you rolled your eyes. “You think just because your higher up than me, you can disrespect me?” you crossed your arms. (Read more below the break)

...

“Disrespect. Dear girl, it was merely an observation!” he looked amused at your anger.

“Don’t you smile at me.” you seethed. “I know a pompous ass when I see it.”

“Y/N, do try and calm yourself.” The Dark One put a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it with malice.”

“Come on. What do you say.” he held out his hand. He winked.

“Only because I refuse to say no to a God twice.” you seethed.

Everyone watched as Keigo, wings spread crossed the dancefloor with you on his arm. You obviously weren’t too happy, given your first impression had already down down the drain.

He’d better not touch Y/N if he knows what’d good for him,

Keigo of all people, dancing with a demon doesn’t surprise me.

You tried to ignore the gossip as a hand rested at the base of your spine. Keigo looked down at you, his smugness unwavering as he began move with you to the music. It was a low, slow jazzy tune with what could be described as a ‘sensual piano’ melody.

“I really didn’t mean it the way you took it, doll.” he whispered in your ear. “But you’ve got fire, I respect that.”

“I..I’m sorry.” you sighed. “I’m just...used to people degrading me because-”

“This is so new to you.” he finished, his smile slightly faltering. “I was like that too, thousands of years ago.”

“Well I’m on year two so-” you scoffed. “It’s not that bad...I guess. Hell isn’t as bad as the books say it is.”

“Well heaven isn’t all clouds and rainbows either, doll. I’ve been banished so many times I’ve lost count.”

“Banished? I don’t understand.” you tilted your head to the side.

Keigo could see what was left of your innocent aura hanging around you. Most people who fell into the pits of hell were already long gone with no trace of human emotion or attachment. You...were different. It reminded him of...himself once upon a time.

“I’ve gone rogue. They tried to restrain me but they give keep giving me chances.” he shook his head. “That’s the think about the Cloud Kingdom, dear. They refuse to believe there are bad people in the world.”

“Is that why...your wings are-”

‘No...that’s more of a stylistic choice...can’t let all those souls go to waste can I?” he winked. “Red suits me don’t you think.”

“Y-yes.” you replied honestly, finding it hard to lie.

“So what about you?” he raised an eyebrow. Among the hum of the other patrons and the music, not to mention your demonic heart thumping loudly against your chest you felt Keigo’s breath on the shell of your ear. It was like he was telling you a secret. “What brings you to the pits...killing an ant by accident?”

“My application for the gates was apparently denied.”

“No why would that be.” you don’t look like the type to sin.

“Trust me.” you shook your head. “I’ve sinned more times than I can count...I guess putting a bullet in my head was the last straw.”

Keigo’s breath hitched in his throat as you told your story. You...you shot yourself? Such a small thing? You weren’t a murderer, or god forbid anything else. He felt himself silently fill with rage. You had the glow of an angel that was for sure.

“I’ve come to terms with it. Guess I wasn’t worthy.” you shrugged.

“You are always worthy.” he abruptly cut you off. “It’s these white wear wearing, cloud riding fuckers that aren’t worthy.” he seethed. ‘What other sins could you have possibly committed.”

“...The Dark One hasn’t told you?...I’m a lust demon in training.” you explained. “I used sex to fill voids when I was alive. When I couldn’t replace my pain with pleasure...kapow!” you put your fingers to your head and faked a gunshot.

“Lust demon?” Keigo raised an eyebrow. “That explains why you look so sexy tonight.” he flirted.

“Are you hitting on me?” your eyes widened.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

You hadn’t noticed that Keigo body was flush against yours. Skin to skin. You felt warm, scorching hot beneath him. That was the demon fire.

“Y-yeah.” you nodded. “I do...wow-” you stepped back from him and fanned yourself.

“Is everything alright?” Keigo stepped forward and laced his hands in yours.

“What have you done to our sister?” a high priestess demoness waltzed up. She glared at Keigo who seemed unfazed, only raising an eyebrow. “Y/N, Dear are you alright?”

“I don’t know.” your chest heaved. “I feel- so...” you partially moaned.

“What has this angel scum done to our sister.” a male demon stormed up. He unfurled his dragon-esque wings. “Sister Y/N, say something.”

“I need air...I have to go outside.” you immediately walked away. Keigo, in a confused state watched you walk away.

“Sister Y/N is unwell! We must go after her.”

“She’ll be fine, we’ll know if she’s in trouble.”

Call it instinct, but he had to follow you.

106 notes · View notes

rodeoxqueen · 3 years

Note

Can you do more head cannons of The DMC boys taking care of their baby girl???

Howdy,

I do not think I’ve written headcanons of Dante, Vergil, Nero, and V with a baby daughter? Well, no time like the present.

Enjoy,

Rodeo

Dante

“Baby. Baby girl. Baaaaaby!” Dante calls as his daughter, white-haired and arms covered in baby fat, gurgles with joy.

Literally the love of his life. The babe looks just like him, with white hair and blue eyes.

Lady and Trish adore the baby girl and do not trust him to dress their niece cutely. So they spend all his money buying the cutest little shoes and dresses. The baby fever is so bad for them.

Dante is so protective of his little demon child. He duct tapes all the sharp corners in his shop. It’s Hello-Kitty and red duct tape. It’s such an eye-sore but he’s so proud of himself.

He doesn’t use her crib. Every night, his daughter cries when he puts her in the crib. He ends up taking her to his bed, her little body resting on his chest, moving to the rising and falling of his form.

They eat meals together, both covered in bits of food. Messy eaters, the two of them. Dante always seems to eat incredibly leaned back and his daughter copies him, leaning to the back of the baby seat with her little feet crossed.

She loves sundaes and slaps the table when she can’t get any. Dante can’t resist giving her the strawberries to gnaw on.

“Shithead! You’re going to give her cavities!”

“Nero, she doesn’t even have teeth yet.”

Sometimes they just nod at each other.

“Hey, boss lady.”

“Dah.”

“Very nice.”

He gets a tactical baby carrier, much to everyone’s disgust.

His little baby girl is often found latched onto his leg, cooing and refusing to leave from her father’s proximity.

Vergil tries to hold her and she cries immediately. It’s because Vergil looks like a very serious Dante and that doesn’t sit right with her.

The twins tried dressing the same and brushing their hair the same style to see what she would do. She keeps pointing to the other and saying “da-da” and grabbing at the other twin. Eventually, she starts fussing.

Well actually, demon children can detect parental pheromones. She likely figures out who is who very soon and will not unlatch from her demon daddy.

“She’s got quite a grip,” Vergil comments as blood soaks into Dante’s shirt where her hands clung to him.

“Her claws came in early.” His brother grunts. His hands aren’t even on her, she is completely supporting herself with her little devil hands.

Dante will walk out of the house with his hair done like his child’s. The last thing a demon sees is the merciless face of Hello Kitty on a barrette on Dante’s head. It’s quite frankly scarier than anything else.

See Exhibit C-(credited to @aztarion)

Vergil

“This is my daughter. If anything happens to her, I will kill Dante and everyone else in this room and then I will kill Dante again.”

“Vergil what.”

This man does not use babytalk. He talks to her in complete sentences with words Dante doesn’t even know, his child babbling in return.

“Child, I grow quite jaded by this tirade. Either participate in nap time or stay put, I shall not heed your intentions to stay up.”

“Abababa!”

“I will not tolerate your churlishness.”

He does his best to dress her in blue. They match all the time.

He isn’t great with doing hair that isn’t his. His daughter has all her hair swept back like her old man. She copies him, slapping her forehead and swiping her stray strands of hair back. He smirks at her likeness.

Vergil had to be taught how to change a diaper by Nero.

No baby carrier, he will hold her to his waist at all times and she chews on the handle of the Yamato. He just lets her.

He doesn’t buy her toys, everyone else does.

“Child, you must stop collecting tributary from your relatives.”

“Bababababa.”

Vergil does not trust those two women with his child. However, he finds his daughter points to Trish and makes grabbing motions. Trish coos at her in her slender arms and laughs when she chews her hair, his daughter gripping Lady’s finger in her other hand. Vergil stops, and realizes-

This is the closest he will ever see his mother hold his child. He finds he does not mind it.

Vergil’s daughter is protected by his doppelganger, who moves stuff out of her crawling path and ensures she doesn’t bump her little head.

He also does not use the crib. But he tried. His baby daughter cried and reached for him, her little face scrunched up with sadness.

“It is for your own good. You must be independent. The world is a hard place, sleeping alone is the least you can do.”

The baby continues to cry and Vergil relents, eyes soft as he takes her back. He holds her the entire night.

“Perhaps just this once, my little lamb.”

All grown up, his daughter will find her baby photos in a neat scrapbook, all images were taken by Dante of Vergil holding her every night.

Nero

Youngest dad here, quite frankly the most competent.

He grew up taking care of other kids, no matter how punk rock he is, his instincts to take care of kids shine through.

She has a black pacifier that’s shaped like a skull.

He is so clingy to this little girl, knowing how he grew up with no parents.

His little girl is always with him. If not, she’s with Kyrie. She has to be convinced to go play with other children.

“Hey, can an uncle hold his niece-”

“Frick off, I’m her dad.”

“Censoring yourself, are we?”

He gives up swearing near her. That swear jar paid for a new school building next to the orphanage.

Nero melts when his little girl scratches her nose the way he always does. Some things are just genetic.

His little girl has his temper. She kicks and screams and slaps him when he doesn’t give her what she wants, although she is an angel in general.

His kid is the first one to fully trigger, a very angry and blue one-year-old with horns and astral wings, literally bursting with demonic energy and snarling. Nero sheds a tear in pride after she slashes the side of his face. A bag of frozen peas in hand, he looks at her with joy.

“She’s going to be so kick-butt. Just like me, huh?”

His daughter is tolerant of her grandfather. In the arms of Vergil, she glares back at him.

“She will be a very strong Sparda,” Vergil comments as she rips a button off his jacket.

Nero is so soft with this baby girl. He’ll scream at Dante and his father seven ways till Sunday but coo in baby talk with her.

He sings her to bed the classics.

“But I’m a creep, I am a weirdo. I don’t belong here…..” Nero rocks his daughter side to side as she softly breathes.

“N-Nero?” Kyrie asks from the doorway. He casts her a glance.

“It’s Radiohead.” He says before returning to his loving mumbles. Kyrie sighs.

“Oh my darling. Look at you, little star.” He beams as he taps her little nose. Her hair is white just like his when Nightmare is unbound.

He adores her, this little crawling bundle of joy.

Cane in one hand, he holds his child in the other.

“Wow V, human babies sure are squishy looking gremlins.”

“Griffon-”

“In a good way!”

The two other familiars are also dedicated to his daughter. Shadow likes to clean her with her tongue, causing her hair to stick up in all directions.

Griffon collects things that are shiny and gifts them to her little fat baby hands.

Unfortunately, babies are very grabby little people. Griffon caused a power outage one time because the little starling pulled his tail feathers out in curiosity.

Of course, V reads to his child his poetry. It’s the only way she can be put to sleep.

She fusses and V simply holds her up and asks her what the matter is. She babbles and squirms and V does his best to understand baby talk.

He lets people hold her, although he is nearly inches away to retrieve her in case she is displeased.

Dante is the favorite uncle and she loves to play peek-a-boo with him.

V nearly keels over one day when she managed to absorb Shadow, soft baby skin decorated by black spider lilies. She returns Shadow in the form of a kitten although the big cat quickly turns back into a grown panther.

She tried it with Griffon. Yes, of course he pops out again a swearing baby chicken.

“My dear, what on earth?”

“Da-da!”

She pulls on V’s hair, threading her fingers through the midnight strands. She also puts her hand on his gently-sloping nose. He doesn’t mind it, although her fingers can be sticky.

He keeps a little bell on his cane to waggle over her head when she is bored. She loves it and reaches her little hands to the sound. She likes to take his rings and clink them together.

Sometimes, he gives up and just eats the same baby food she does.

He’s a very patient father, although she can easily exhaust him with all the demands.

“The queen reigns over all.” V muses as she throws a tantrum.

He has a day-to-day journal of her development, full of pressed flowers and inked poetry of his Little Wanderer.

#devil may cry #vergil sparda #dante sparda #devil may cry imagines #dante headcanons #dmc imagines #dmc v headcanons #dmc5 v headcanons #vergil headcanons #daddy Dante #dadgil #dad Nero #daddy V #parenting headcanons #request #daughter headcanons

557 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

Whoo, requests are open! Can I get Azusa Mukami, Ash Launders, Lau, and Grell Sutcliff with a darling who's a ghost, or something akin to one? Thank you, please take your time with this and remember to take breaks when you need to!

I recently talked about this with my friend, but both of us are amazed with how popular Ash actually is. He suddenly became so beloved in here. Not that I complain😏.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, self-harming behavior, kidnapping, killing

Ghost s/o

Grell Sutcliff

🟥Grell is a grim reaper and for that probably met ghosts quite a few times ago. Ghosts are souls from people who didn’t find peace yet and whilst humans can’t see ghosts most of the time, other supernatural creatures can. Grell feels sometimes a bit sorry for ghosts whose souls are tight to this world until whatever doesn’t allow them to Rest In Peace is solved. There are exceptions though, it isn’t unheard that even after the issue was solved, ghosts decided to stay, mainly because they started enjoying life as an undead once again. So at one point such examples were counted in the supernatural community as well.

🟥If her darling should be a pure ghost, it depends on whether they still try to find a way out of this world or are one of those who decided to live forever as a ghost. If it’s the first one, she would definitely try to make her darling enjoy life once again since she doesn’t want them to leave. She wants to give them happiness once again and would try about everything to make them feel joy again. If it’s the latter case, she would switch from a worried mother mode in a totally fascinated one. She did meet ghosts before, but normally they are more of loners since they grief over whatever they couldn’t finish during life. So having a darling as ghost makes her more interested since ghosts aren’t that known to other magical beings.

🟥Hopefully you know how to manifest yourself or else Grell will get really pouty since she’s clingy. A ghost can learn to materialize their body so others can touch them even though that takes practice. Girl loves you just very much to the extent where she often wants to jump on you and tackle you in a hug after a boring day of work...which ends with her being met with the ground of you don’t know how to control it or did it on purpose. It also tends to scare her a bit if you suddenly pop somewhere up without her knowing since you can just walk through objects. There was this one time where you were looking for her, ending with your head popping up through the ground right in front of her. And Grell might be able to handle, blood, zombies and other gore stuff, but not this. It ended with her screaming startled.

🟥If you’re not dead, but just possess the possibilities of a ghost, the whole walking through walls and turning invisible stuff, you’re most likely a hybrid because believe it or not, in materialized form ghosts can create or bear children too. And half breeds have been since the earliest days always been a more risky topic. Many creatures are still lacking the openness to accept persons from two different kinds since many are still in the classic belief that only the same species should have children together. It leads her to being more overprotective over you since she doesn’t want you to endure hatred and racism from others. She’s fiercely overprotective in that regard.

Lau

🚢He has a weird fascination with such things, at least in my opinion. He might only be human, but he has awareness of the more otherworldly creatures on this planet and his assistant, Ran Mao, herself appears to be some sort of superhuman as well. He has probably heard a lot of ghost stories before, either from his own country or here, in England. And he is somewhat good in telling when a story was just made up so the person could suddenly gain attention or if there is a spark of truth in it. He has a nose for stuff like this and actually likes listening to such stories.

🚢So expect his obsession to very quickly grow if his darling should be a ghost even though he would hold himself back if they are unhappy due to their unfinished business. He is manipulative and is also, despite being good in hiding it from his darling, very greedy and mercenary. He might not show it, but he has every intention to make his darling stay with him, even if that means ensuring that whatever they need to do in this world will never be finished. If you are that kind of ghost who’s happy with their new life, he would be much more open with his curiosity, expressing his interest in your abilities and also backstory. Especially if you should be a lot more older than your appearance gives away, he would be keen on your story. If it should happen that you were murdered and the killer is still alive, that guy will join your kind maybe very soon if they have regrets in their life.

🚢He’s also interested in how your anatomy works since he’s an expert in it. He of course wouldn’t use you like some test subject, but he is just kind of interested how you are able to turn your whole body in one moment in something thinner than air and in the next moment into something that appears to be flesh and blood again. He also kind of likes it to touch through you since your transparent body has a certain coldness around it which gives him goosebumps. It’s a great contrast to when you have materialized and are in possession of a warm body which leads him to being even more touchy than usual. Lau finds it also always very amusing whenever you suddenly appear out of thin air, your abilities are such a breath of fresh air for him. He tends to be a bit surprised, but is good in hiding it with his usual mysterious smile.

🚢He can only guess that a half-ghost like you are one isn’t very beloved in this world. Lau of course doesn’t think you, he finds it highly interesting that you are a mix from two different species, he never thought ghosts could actually create babies. If there’s the possibility, he would like to meet your parents and talk with them, especially the parent who’s the ghost. It kind of leads him to wanting to isolate you a bit since he doesn’t want some other creature trying to kill you since different from a normal ghost you can get hurt by weapons and die like a normal human even though it’s harder to do.

Ash Landers

▫️Whilst he definitely is informed about all the other magical beings existing in this world, he stays away from pretty much everyone, even his own kind. Ash is just embossed from his obsession with purity and doesn’t think of anyone as really worth living since everyone is tainted by greed, lust, sloth and other unspeakable sins. He even hates his own kind since many angels protect the exact lowlife he wants to get rid off, believing that every life deserves living and given a chance. He is somewhat alone with his crazy goals, but he doesn’t mind.

▫️I think Ash with a ghost darling isn’t a very good mix, a horrible if I’m being honest. For the simple reason that you already died and merely your soul remains on this planet, either because of your own free will or because you carry a burden with you. You’re dead. That should say everything to why Ash is experiencing the true deepness of madness and terror someone could never possibly begin to imagine. He failed, he pathetically and utterly failed to protect the only person who actually deserved a happy and good life. It makes his whole life shatter, next to his already screwed up sanity. It does not matter if you were killed, died in an accident or because of a deadly sickness. The village you lived in will be blamed and slaughtered by him.

▫️He’s horrible to act with this because I have this terrible thought that he will not only not allow you to leave, but also desperately try to search for ways to somehow get your soul back into your body or will find a vessel in which you can live. He does not care if you want it or not, he doesn’t even really care if you’re happy or not. Dead is dead and he wants you alive. He would get incredibly prone and torn apart if you yell and cry at him that you don’t want it, that you want to die finally in peace or like being a ghost. You just don’t understand!! HE HAS TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE ALIVE AGAIN!!!

▫️With you being only something akin to a ghost, a hybrid in here, the situation would still be very tangled, but a bit less than with you being an actual ghost. I see Ash as someone who usually despises hybrids, but you are made the only exception from this. It isn’t worth saying that he isolates you since he would do this in all scenarios, even though he also does it in here due to fearing that someone might talk down to you because of your unidentified species. He kind of thinks he’s the only one who can truly cherish you for your whole beauty. You might have an advantage since you can just sneak past him whilst invisible, question is if you’re heartless enough to let innocents suffer under this because Ash can and will burn whole cities down if it leads him to getting you back.

Azusa Mukami

🔪I don’t think he ever met ghosts or other otherworldly creatures before even though he lived a pretty long life. It stands even open to question if he is aware of the existence such other creatures. Whilst he does know that vampires exist, he himself is a half-blooded one, he is not really too informed about other creatures and might even not really cared about it anyways before meeting his s/o. His brothers on the other hand considered the fact of other magical beings on this planet.

🔪He is saddened that you are already dead, it doesn’t matter since how long you’ve already been. It’s still very upsetting for him, especially if you should be mourning over something you couldn’t do in your life as well. I do see him as someone who might actually possess the selflessness to let you go if you’re really desperate despite knowing he’ll die without you. So it’s up to his brothers to find ways to bind you to this earth because they’re scared what Azusa will do if you should ever disappear and leave him alone for eternity. With a darling who likes their current body and is satisfied with themselves, Azusa will be happy as well and be in love with you and your fascinating powers.

🔪But please let him touch you. He is clingy and likes having physical contact with you and if you aren’t able to manifest yourself and hurt him, he will become overtime more desperate. His brother also realize the problem with you being able to escape anytime you want from them except if you make this place your new place to haunt for eternity which all of them hope. Whilst he does like feeling your actual warmth and body, he still finds your ghostly form appearing, the feeling of cold and lingering touches everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. I do not know if ghosts possess blood or anything like this, I doubt it. So that means at least you don’t have to worry about him eventually giving in to temptation.

🔪He will never be able to understand if someone should dislike his s/o if they should be somewhat of a half breed. As I mentioned, I don’t think he really cared much about the possibility of other beings existing and certainly not a mix made from more than one species. It does add up to his worshipper tendencies since apparently people like you are not very common. He thinks you’re wonderful. As a half-ghost you might have blood inside of you, if it’s from a human is another thing to discuss. But Azusa is from all vampires the one who wouldn’t want to suck your blood, even if it drives him crazy. And even if his brothers try to force him, you can abandon your materialized form anytime for your ghost body. You give Azusa’s brothers honestly a bit of a hard time with your abilities, it’s mocking for them in a way.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere grell #yandere grell sutcliff #yandere lau #yandere ash #yandere ash landers #yandere diabolik lovers #yandere azusa #yandere azusa mukami

186 notes · View notes

katzkinder · 3 years

Text

London Bridge Is Falling Down

Envy Pair version of my Counting Sheep series! Himiko is my headcanon for the name of Mikuni's mother. Since Mikuni's name contains the character for "kingdom," I thought this name belonging to an ancient queen suited his mother well.

Mikuni is annoying.

That’s something Jeje has always known, ever since Mikuni was a child, ever since the first time he saw him, bounding around his mother’s skirts and throwing himself into Lily’s arms to be held and cuddled and fawned over while Jeje had slunk back to the cellars. Himiko had been so bright, back then, the rot of Envy not yet showing in a visible way, that tiny baby that would grow into his brother’s Eve gurgling happily in her arms.

Jeje was the one who had found him. Himiko had wept when she saw him, all the anger and hate leaving her at once, vanishing as if it never existed when she laid her eyes on the fragile little bundle, swaddled in soft fabrics with little gloves on his impossibly tiny hands. She had sobbed all the harder when she took the crying child from him, her hands shaking while she cradled him close, useless apologies spilling from her pretty lips. The body of the babe’s mother had rapidly been growing cold on the carpet, and little Misono… Would remember none of it.

(Jeje remembered all of it, though. He doesn’t think a single moment will ever fade from his mind, no matter how many eons pass)

As Mikuni had grown, with Jeje watching over him as a silent, imposing, guardian angel, always behind the boy’s mother while she had read bedtime stories to him, always so aware of those bright, bright, too bright eyes, Jeje had also become aware of a number of other things, and those things remained true into adulthood. Mikuni has all of his mother’s gorgeous looks (and some from his father, but admitting as such is just asking to be choked), her stubborn brightness, her sharp tongue and wit, but more than any of that...

Mikuni is annoying.

...Because he never listens to what’s good for him. Just like his mother before him, he had taken Jeje despite his warnings, and some bitter, sick part of Jeje had wanted him to. The same part of him that had given in to Himiko herself.

But, well, he’d always known Mikuni never listened, too.

He wonders if Lily knows, though he doubts that he’s aware, of those golden afternoons when Mikuni would sneak down to his hiding place and find him lurking near the boilers, the excited, terrified whispers of Lily’s children, his human children, chasing after the young heir as he confidently hopped down, step by step, into the “monster’s” lair.

They had talked. About nothing. About everything. Well, actually, Mikuni had talked, seemingly not caring that Jeje never said much back, incredible and beautiful and… Well, there was a reason everyone called Mikuni brilliant.

Jeje knew better, though.

***

The most annoying thing about Mikuni, in his opinion, is not how loud he is. It’s not his contrariness, or his capriciousness, or his constant, gnawing curiosity causing him to make mischief.

The most annoying thing about Mikuni was how badly he wanted people to think he was naturally good at everything.

See, Mikuni was smart. Jeje would give him that. But he was also very stupid. It wasn’t as if he lacked common sense, though sometimes Jeje wondered, but it was like Mikuni wanted people to resent him.

More than anyone Jeje had ever met, his Eve was a hard worker. Someone who hated owing others a single damn thing. It was that useless pride and sense of responsibility for things that couldn’t possibly be Mikuni’s fault, things Jeje suspected, no matter how much he denied it, Mikuni had learned, had internalized, from his father and from Lily, that was why Jeje refused to call Mikuni brilliant like everyone else.

...But he did shine. Like a candle in a darkened room. Like a beacon. Warm, and inviting, someone to warm himself beside, even knowing that that flame would burn him up, just like a moth.

The question was... Who would that flame melt into nothing first?

Jeje would be damned twice over if he let it be his Eve.

Turning away from way he had been watching the other man work late hours, hunched over Nod’s ledgers and planners and Mikuni’s own personal notebooks, where his pen scratched across the surfaces of each calculating profits, expenses, bills, new products and designs and promotions and planning trips, Jeje silently makes his way to their kitchen.

Burning the midnight oil just means you won’t have any left when you truly need it.

A snort, reaching for their cabinets. Of course, that’s what Mikuni had him for.

***

He’s gotten very good at brewing tea. Jeje isn’t much of a chef at all, but living with Mikuni for so long, it was practically guaranteed he’d learn to at least make a semi-decent cup, and thank god he had. He would have truly killed Mikuni by now if he hadn’t, he swears, the man is just as persnickety about his tea as Lily is with his coffee.

...He’s also gained a new appreciation for the stuff, but maybe that comes with the territory of spending hours upon hours listening to Mikuni’s one sided argument about the best ways to drink it. It’s hard not to be impressed with all the little details that goes into brewing what’s considered a perfect cup (by Mikuni’s standards, anyway), and even harder still to not feel a fondness for something that draws such genuine passion out of his once charge, now equal.

...It’s such an odd thought. He knows what people think. That Mikuni has always had a stranglehold on him. That Mikuni has always been in charge. That Mikuni has always been someone… Grown up.

Again. Jeje knows better.

He sets the temperature on their electric kettle, one purchased on one of their many visits to the British Isles, sits at their kitchen table, and waits. Thinks.

Mikuni has been grown up for a long time now. And he will continue to grow, and people will continue to think, no matter Jeje’s efforts, that he is a no good, conniving schemer who would sacrifice them all on a wish and a prayer and something like a maybe.

And, well, perhaps they aren’t wrong. Perhaps Jeje is a fool. But if he’s a fool, he’s a court jester, and as court jester he will make absolutely certain this time that the king does not make his mistakes without someone there to make fun of him for it, even if only behind closed doors, even if only between the two of them.

To everyone else, he is a dictator’s executioner, and that’s fine with him. Everyone else doesn’t matter.

His eyes drift to Mikuni’s favorite cup, one made of glass and painted with delicate, swooping strokes of gold, with lilies and a taupe lacquer surrounding all but a window through which one could admire the lovely colors of their favored drink. He takes it into his hands, so much larger than this tiny cup, and finds himself smiling as he turns the joint birthday gift from the Lust pair over and around, admires those intricate, fancy details that speak of quality and knowing down to the letter exactly what Mikuni’s tastes are.

Well.

Almost everyone.

***

The teapot has been warmed, the kettle filled with mineral water and piping hot, and by the time Jeje finishes steeping the loose leaf tea, their little kitchen clock, kitschy and cute and shaped like a cartoon chicken hatching from an egg, reads 2:17 in the morning.

Jeje picks up the cup, the container of melatonin supplements Mikuni has taken since he was twenty at his Servamp’s behest, and carefully carries both back to where he knows the other man will still be completely absorbed in his work.

True to form, Mikuni is still at it. The predictability of his late night, sleepless habits, of his need to do something with his time, makes Jeje’s frown deepen, ever so slightly.

He wishes Mikuni would just rest. Close his eyes, not do anything, just lie there and let Jeje guard him, just be still, be quiet, like did when he was a child.

… He knows better than to think a mind as stubborn and that moves as fast as his Eve’s could ever achieve that, but he can dream. He can also just sicc the Lust pair on him.

That’ll put him to bed real fast.

“What’re you grinning about over there?”

He startles, not having expected Mikuni to acknowledge his presence, and nearly sloshes hot chamomile with lavender onto the pretty little matching saucer that accompanied the cup. It’s a miracle it didn’t fall over completely. Jeje lets out a breath, so quiet it’s inaudible, and curses himself for forgetting that Mikuni can see him right now.

Then again, even if he was wearing his mask, Mikuni would have seen right through him.

He always does.

His Eve is watching him still, waiting for him to move, and then his eyes flick down to what Jeje has in his hands. His lips twist.

Jeje ignores it and continues to make his way over to where Mikuni had been peacefully working. They don’t speak a word to one another, and no sooner than Jeje sets his cargo down, he’s going back the way he came, knowing it’s useless to try and ply Mikuni with words or favors.

The man is annoying in his stubbornness, too.

He hears a sniff behind him, the scratch of pen on paper once more, but it isn’t long before that little noise stops again. A sigh. Jeje chances peering around the doorframe, smiling, just a tad, as a clearly frustrated Mikuni slaps his pen down onto the counter and picks up his cup, no doubt tempted by the smell of his favorite night time blend.

A swallow. Two.

Mikuni unscrews the lid on the melatonin gummies. Pops a couple into his mouth. Chews, and swallows. The tension leaves his shoulders. He allows himself to savor the warmth in his hands.

Jeje leaves him be and heads upstairs to their room, knowing Mikuni now won’t be far behind.

“Jeje,” Mikuni calls after him, voice soft in that way it sometimes, ever so rarely gets, so quiet Jeje almost misses it. “... You still really suck at this.”

Mikuni is annoying.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #jekuni #servamp jeje #mikuni alicein #pawprints #it's done!#it's late but it's done!

43 notes · View notes

the-river-person · 3 years

Text

Secrets of the Deltarune

Okay so I was taking a closer look at the Deltarune and I started to notice some really weird things. It’s a symbol for the Kingdom of Monsters, right? Wrong. Gerson tells us “That's the Delta Rune, the emblem of our kingdom.The Kingdom...Of Monsters.” Okay so its the same thing, right? Nope. I looked up emblem and its distinction from Symbol. A Symbol represents an idea, a process, or a physical entity. While an Emblem is often an abstract that represents a concept like a moral truth or an allegory. And when it is used for a person, it is usually a King, a saint, or even a deity. An emblem crystallizes in concrete, visual terms some abstraction: a deity, a tribe or nation, or a virtue or vice and can be worn as an identifier if worn as say a patch or on clothing or armor or carried on a flag or banner or shield. So what does it matter? Well Gerson even tells us why. “That emblem actually predates written history.The original meaning has been lost to time...“ Hold up. Predates written history? The beginning of written history is approximately 5500 years ago. Somewhere around 3400 B.C.E. Thats a long time. And the prophecy that goes with the symbol talks about the Underground going empty, so it can only really be as old as The War Between Humans and Monsters. But...when was that? The game doesn’t tell us the exact dates. Well we have a couple clues. At the beginning of the game we have a little cut-scene of the war and then a bit where we see a human going up the mountain only to fall down into the Underground. Most players assume that this is you, beginning your adventure. Except its not. Later in the game, when you SAVE Asriel in the True Pacifist Route, we’re shown another cutscene with the exact same human figure in EXACTLY the same position, being helped by a very young Asriel and the silhouette of Toriel. It’s Chara, not Frisk. So our date of 201X (2010-2019) takes place long before Frisk even arrives. We don’t know how long before. That really doesn’t help with when they were first thrown down there though. So I took a look at the images before that, of the war. The first image shows a human who is very different from the later pictures. Both the make of the spear and the animal hide-like clothing suggest that it’s probably stone age. The text tells us a very general “Long Ago”when describing how both races ruled the earth together. In the next two images we’re shown the actual war. The crowd of humans have various things like torches and spears. Those diamond type spears are very similar to Roman Pilums. The Human figure with a sword was interesting though. He bore a mantle (cape or cloak) and is sporting a sword. Though there’s not much detail, we can still identify the general time period of the sword. The size isn’t big enough for a proper claymore or longsword, or even a hand and half sword. Since our figure appears to be moving forward, and we can guess that it’s not in a friendly manner given the context, yet still holding the sword in one hand instead of two, it’s probably a one handed broadsword. It also has a cruciform hilt (cross-shaped) that is slightly curved. The blade is quite wide with what appears to be straight edges (based on two images with limited detail). And it has a very narrow Ricasso, an unsharpened length of blade just above the guard or handle. Ricassos were used all throughout history, but they’re pretty notable for the Early Medieval Period in Europe. And the rest of the sword (blade type, length, crossguard, and method of use) is very reminiscent of a Medieval Knightly Arming Sword, the prominent type of sword in that period from the 10th to 13th centuries. So I had to take a closer look at my spears. Turns out, they actually more closely resemble a medieval cavalry lance or javelin. And many Javelins have their root in the style of the Roman Pilums, including the sometimes diamond shaped tips. The sword and mantle of the figure suggest heavily he’s a knight, and backed up by the spear carriers we can guess that its the Early Medieval Period, possibly the beginning of the Romanesque Period. So that would place us all roughly a thousand and at least ten years before Chara fell into the Underground in 201X. Asgore was certainly alive back then. In the Genocide Route Gerson says “Long ago, ASGORE and I agreed that escaping would be pointless...Since once we left, humans would just kill us.“ and in the Post-Pacifist when you go back to talk to everyone he’ll say this when talking about Undyne “I used to be a hero myself, back in the old days. Gerson, the Hammer of Justice.” He even talks about how Undyne would follow him around when he was beating up bad guys, and try to help, by enthusiastically attacking people at random such as the mailman. This tells us that Gerson and Asgore are as old as the original war and both had been part of the battle. And both lived long enough to survive till now. Gerson is quite old looking, while Asgore is not. He explains this by saying that Boss Monsters don’t age unless they have children and then they age as their children grow, otherwise they’ll be the same age forever. But Undyne doesn’t appear to be old. And I started to wonder how long normal monsters lived in comparison to Boss Monsters. A long time for sure. From the Undertale 5th Anniversary Alarm Clock Dialogue we can learn that Asgore once knew a character called Rudy (who also appears in the Deltarune Game), who he met at Hotland University and appeared to be generally the same age as Asgore. Since it takes place in Hotland we know that it was already when they were underground, Asgore was King and was already doing his Santa Clause thing, and that Asgore was trying to find ways to occupy his time aside from actually Ruling. In the dialogue he tells us that Rudy began to look older than him. “I was there for it all. His Youth, his Marriage, his Fatherhood. Then, suddenly, one day... he fell down. ... Rudy... I... was never able to show you the sun.” Monsters can live a long time. But Boss Monsters, as long as they don’t have a child, can live nearly forever as long as they aren’t killed. Based on that, Undyne is probably quite young and Gerson is incredibly old even for a Monster, and yet only recently he’s stopped charging around fighting bad guys. Since Undyne was with him, those bad guys were in the Underground, and his distinction of her attacking not so bad folk like the mailman, means that he was probably in an official capacity to fight crime, such as a guardsman, or maybe captain of the royal guard. So. Even though there’s plenty of time for a prophecy to spring up naturally. We have a number of Monsters who have actually lived that long that would be more than happy to correct mistakes and assumptions. Gerson is quite elderly and is a tad forgetful, but he still knows much. Characters such as Toriel and Asgore are still hale and hearty, and both had witnessed so much. Though we know very little about the character, Elder Puzzler is also implied to be quite aged and knows a great deal about the “Puzzling Roots” of Monster History. You’re probably wondering what all of this is leading to. Well with these characters in place to maintain knowledge of history in the populace, then we have an Underground which created a prophecy AFTER it was trapped there, which leads me to conclude that when the prophecy was created, it must have been referencing something older than the War of Monsters and Humans.

“The original meaning has been lost to time... All we know is that the triangles symbolize us monsters below, and the winged circle above symbolizes... Somethin' else. Most people say it's the 'angel,' from the prophecy...” ‘Angel’. This is when we hear about the angel. We see the Deltarune on Toriel’s clothing and on the Ruins door. As well as behind Gerson himself. The thing he mentions clearly has wings of some kind. Surrounding a ball (note to self: Look into possible connection between mythical ball artifact from the piano room and the Deltarune Emblem). It looks a little like the fairy from the Zelda series. Those “triangles” are the greek letter Delta. That letter has a lot of connections and meanings to it. A river delta is shaped like the letter which is how it got its name. There are a number of maths and science connections. But the two connections you’d be interested in are that a Delta chord is another name for a Major Seventh Chord in music. The soundtrack of Undertale uses these chords to do fantastic things with the tone and aesthetic of its leitmotifs, changing them from a happy or hopeful tune, to a dark and despairing one without actually changing the melody. And in a subfield of Set Theory, a branch of mathematics and philosophical logic, it is used to calculate and examines the conditions under which one or the other player of a game has a winning strategy, and the consequences of the existence of such strategies. The games studied in set theory are usually Gale–Stewart games—two-player games of perfect information (each player, when making any decision, is perfectly informed of all the events that have previously occurred, including the "initialization event" of the game (e.g. the starting hands of each player in a card game)) in which the players make an infinite sequence of moves and there are no draws. But why is one of them turned upside down? I started looking things up again. Turns out there is such a symbol. The Nabla symbol is the Greek Letter Delta only inverted so that it appears upside down. Its name comes from the Phoenician harp shape, though its also called the “Del”. A musical connection is exactly what Toby would do. But its main use is in mathematics, where it is a mathematical notation to represent three different operators which make equations infinitely easier to write. These equations are all concerned with what is called Physical Mathematics. That is... Mathematics that calculate and have to do with measuring the physical world. Why is that relevant? Well the difference between humans and monsters is that humans have physical bodies while monsters are made primarily of magic. Well I also discovered that the Delta symbol for the ancient Greeks was sometimes used to as an abbreviation for the word δύση , which meant the West in the compass points. West, westerly, sunset, twilight, nightfall, dusk, darkness, decline, end of a day. All this symbolism for a couple of triangles. There’s entire books devoted to them. And he calls the whole symbol, deltas and angel alike, the Delta RUNE. Whats a rune? Well a rune is a letter, but specifically a letter from the writing of one of the Germanic Languages before the adoption of the Latin alphabet. Interestingly... the Greek Letter Delta does NOT qualify as a Rune. In any stretch of the word. I searched for hours. What I DID find was the etymological origins of the word Rune. It comes from a Proto-Germanic word “rūnō“ which means something along the lines of “whisper, mystery, secret, secret conversation, letter”. Interesting. So since its paired up with the Delta... it could be taken to mean “The Secret of the Delta” or “The Delta’s Secret”. If we make a few assumptions we might even get something like “The Secret of the West” or “The Mystery of the Twilight” or numerous other variations that have different connotations. It’s conjecture, certainly, and possibly a few stretches. But it is certainly there to think about. My thoughts centered around the positioning of the letters. The idea that the one facing up represented Humanity, and the two ordinary Deltas were Monsters. With the Angel above them all. Or rather, SOMETHING above them all. We have no proof that the idea of an Angel existed before the Underground’s prophecy. I like to think it did because usually that sort of thing draws on previously existing beliefs and ideas. For all we know the symbol could represent an abstract idea that governed both monsters and humans. Like “Kill or be killed” or “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you” or other basic idiomatic ideologies of that sort. Other than the realization that the Deltarune is older than the prophecy and the Underground, I didn’t have a concrete idea of what the Emblem actually means. Just a lot of theories and connective ideas. But there’s certainly a lot to be found. I don’t really know how much thought Toby actually put into this, but he’s quite well known for secrets within secrets. So its possible he knew all this going in. If he’s anything like me, and I am notorious for writing this sort of twisting references within references within references into my stories, then he’s probably at least aware of an existing connection. Its quite probably that the Deltarune is exactly what Gerson tells us. An emblematic set of symbols that is used to represent the continuing Kingdom of Monsters and has been since before written history. But as he says... its so old that it might have had a different meaning originally, whatever idea the Monsters wanted to remember, wanted to uphold enough to use it for their royal family and their kingdom, a reminder. Of something, or someone.

76 notes · View notes

seragamble · 3 years

Text

Season 12 of SPN but Better

This is my rewrite of s12 in which the main changes are after Lucifer knocks up Kelly he fucks off back to the cage, the BMOL are actually scary, and the narrative finally interrogates how people who aren’t human are treated. Note: I use monster and non-human interchangeably here. (Thank you @autisticandroids for your help with this post.)

The season starts off the same. Sam is perhaps a little more suicidal during his kidnapping, having just lost Dean and fresh off of having to be around Lucifer.

Sam’s myriad of mental health issues pop up here and there throughout the season, after Lucifer and dealing with what Lady Bevell did to him. He does his best to make sure none of this is seen by his family, but Dean eventually figures it out.

At least two episodes where the A Plot is Cas and Crowley investigating a case.

“American Nightmare” is just the start of a theme we see throughout the season of Sam bonding with monsters/non-humans/the ‘other’. He becomes a resource for them and in turn connecting with them helps him feel better about himself.

Cutting the Hitler episode because that was seriously just… :l

Instead Aaron comes back and it’s just a fun episode

Samantha Smith is amazing as Mary but please just take a moment to imagine “Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox” if Mary’s actor was actually ~28

At the end of “LOTUS” Lucifer goes back in the cage

The events of First Blood take place over two episodes so we can gets stuff like:

Cas and Mary hunting together

Cas and Mary (separately and together) threatening people they think can help them find Sam and Dean

Dean and Sam (Sam especially) losing their grip on reality whilst in confinement

Instead of the American hunters largely rejecting the BMOL many of them embrace them. Mostly thanks to the weapons they freely provide. The BMOL also import their idea of “Hey shouldn’t ALL monsters be dead actually.” This becomes a serious issue as we get to see that there are plenty of monsters who aren’t hurting anyone, but are now being hunted.

At the end of “The Raid” we get our first foreshadowing of what else the BMOL are doing when that hunter, who betrayed them to the vampires, is taken to an onsite facility full of various monsters in cages.

The boys have a case that ends up being hunters who fucked around by going after innocent monsters, and found out. It’s a not at all subtle allegory about two monster siblings, where the older sister killed a pair of hunters to protect her little brother. This is the tipping point where Dean finally has a major mental shift in how he views and treats monsters.

There’s also a case where they look into weird supernatural phenomena and it turns out to be the result of hunters disrupting completely (super)natural stuff. It’s an episode about a supernatural creature that has zero interest in killing humans, they’re just strange and otherworldly, and hunters persecuting them has caused a major local disruption in the world.

Instead of the BMOL having their students fight one another to death, they have them kill monster children. We get a flashback of Mick killing a crying werewolf boy.

After Mick has his change of mind about what the BMOL are doing they don’t kill him. Instead he is taken to the facility (seen previously at the end of “The Raid”). This is where the BMOL experiment on monsters, as well as dispose of humans by using them as test subjects. There’s a scene where we see that hunter from before get injected with something, go through a weird mutation, and dies.

The timeline has to be shifted around a little, but instead of Cas being off in heaven trying to find something to find Kelly (which lead nothing to the narrative and went nowhere) the BMOL just make it seem like that’s what he did, while really they have him locked up.

Their reasoning being that if a nephilim is going to be born they want to know all they can about angels, but also they just genuinely don’t see anyone who isn’t human as a person so why not experiment on them. The whole experience is really dehumanizing.

Ketch is there, and I would like to remind everyone about the line, “I do enjoy an angel,” which is a) haunting, and b) implies Ketch has dealt with angels before.

Remember how in “Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets” Cas can immediately identify that angel blade as being Benjamin’s? Ketch has a few and taunts Cas about what he may or may not have done to their owners.

They torture Cas/do a lot of medical experimentation. The torture is “extremely horny for no reason, shave your chest father of two it’s fanservice time”-y (thank u autisticandroids).

On the brighter side, Mick and Cas bond during their captivity because Cas deserves to have a friend who isn’t a Winchester. Also go ask @autisticandroids about this.

We see Mick question his long held beliefs about monsters and grow more as a character. He also gets turned into something, perhaps a Shapeshifter.

During this time we get to know various other monsters being held and undergoing experimentation.

Instead of Mary finding out Mick is dead she finds out about the facility. Same thing happens as in canon where they brainwash her. This time she’s just killing hunters who won’t fall in line with the BMOL, instead of all American hunters (which I feel made no sense).

Garth comes back at some point because of course he does. Why have an entire season about people who want to eradicate all monsters and then not bring back their one friend who would be most affected by this? His whole family and community are at risk of death if the BMOL have their way.

“Twigs and Twines and Tasha Banes” happens next season because I want Max and Alicia to be part of the attack on the BMOL and it’s better for their narrative if they disappear for a while before coming back after that episode. Instead they show up in a standard motw episode to drive home the fact that it’s fucked up to automatically consider witches to be evil.

One of the narrative points would be how the BMOL tolerance of witches is extremely conditional on them only using their magic for them, and the presence of the BMOL in America has led to an increasingly hostile environment for the Banes family.

The people the Winchesters recruit to help them attack the BMOL facility are a mix of monsters they’ve helped out, and hunters who respect them/didn’t fall in line/have noticed their friends getting murdered.

The end result is the beginning of a new relationship between hunters and non-humans.

It might be odd after a season long narrative about not demonizing people just because they’re not human, to have the Winchesters still be all “Let’s forcibly abort this fetus,” but, with the added element of Sam dealing with his Lucifer trauma all season, I think it would make sense to have Dean be in extra Protective Mode™. That combined with Cas, fresh off of having to be rescued and feeling even worse about himself, decides to take the Kline issue into his own hands. The narrative follows along with canon. Since Lucifer isn’t around it’s AU!Michael who kills Cas and Mary tackles back through the rip.

Alternatively if you hate that and want something more domestic you can picture the following: with their newfound POV TFW rescues Kelly and takes her back to the bunker, promising they’ll take care of her child.

#if you saw me promising to post this days ago no you didn't <3 #in my defense stuff happened and i was distracted #anyways would love to hear yalls thoughts

257 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 3 years

Text

five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea. Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t. Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din. Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune. 3800 words.

***

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows. Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children. Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan. Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter. The girl took off eagerly to join the others. Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight. “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him. My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.” She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones. He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head. He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away. “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly. “No. That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what? I see the way you watch out for him. You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly. “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down. Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else? The less said about it, the better. “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips. “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands. “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly. “Huh.” He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them. Despite himself, he was impressed.

“Good for you. Just don’t -- no! Drop it!” He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky. The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing. “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din. He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet. “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child. “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin. Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?” She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said. He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited. “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived. Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear. Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life. The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe. The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood. This one had seen suffering. It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child. She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet. And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn. She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded. No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them. He was a resourceful man. She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear. The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear. They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented. “I’m staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path. His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep. The truth could not be hidden. A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly. “A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not. He was not ready. Not yet. Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk. “You have earned your Signet.” Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him. “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable. “I will wear it with honor.”

There were certain truths she had long known. The best warriors did not harden their hearts. Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste. Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world. It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready. She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape. She knew she would not fall this day.

Beneath her helmet, she smiled. For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market. Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches. Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed. He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid. He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap. She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered. As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready. I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando! Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him. Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms. The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said. “Thanks for watching the kid. He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor. Sticky fingers.” And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time. Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed. “I don’t believe it.” Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was. I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din. The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed. “I know, I know. You didn’t mean it.” He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf. “Always a pleasure. It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands. “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys. Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks… It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still. The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one. He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said. “But dads aren’t just a blood thing. I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all. You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly. “Do anything for him.” The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “I would die for him. This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion. “And again, you’re not his dad? I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her. “Thanks again for watching him. We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him. “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away. Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting. It was nearly time. Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away. He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock. He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world. He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy. He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands. They trembled.

This is what I came to do. This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking. “It’s time to say goodbye.” He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest. The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum. He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee. He looked at him. Really looked, though his vision blurred. I have… I have to remember.

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green. He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate. He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip. Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him. Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive. He would never forget them.

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered. “You’ll learn how to use your powers. You’ll get even stronger. You’ll see.” You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body. Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch. He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment. The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant. She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally. “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak. He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm. He had to try again, for the kid’s sake. “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke. Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi. He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms. You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before. He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble? Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. This wasn’t the Crest. This was Slave I. This was Boba Fett. Fennec Shand was down below. And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone. Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered. He’d been stolen, been lost. Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back. His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars. Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head. He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett. “I hope it works. For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started. They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests. “I’m… grateful for the help. Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know. Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead. He didn’t care about that. But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer. “I didn’t know.”

There; the man should take it as a compliment. Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.” Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful. There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out. “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out. “I saw it. That’s not nothing.”

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically. “Any Mandalorian would have done the same. The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed. “You can keep your Creed.” The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege. Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke. “You were a father to him. That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound. It hurt his throat. “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold. He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies. He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face. “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time. Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears. Knew that she’d put two and two together. Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded. She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale. She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the pity in her face. He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly. “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said. “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently. “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe. Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed. Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters. And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said. He took a drink of his ale. He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.” Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side. He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak. “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder. And sympathy etched in every line of her face. He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked. “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t. They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara. She finished her drink. “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale. “Really. You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze. She’d never used his name before. Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display. “Stop.”

Cara flushed. “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser. I saw what you did to them. It wasn’t…” Her mouth twisted. “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me. You know that. But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat. “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface. “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go. This isn’t you, Mando. And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed. It pressed. It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking. He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled. He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he? Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed. “I know it’s wrong. I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder. She waited, her eyes soft.

He bowed his head, shaking. “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands. “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him. Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late. It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all. The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked. “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him. In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #noromo mando #din djarin + grogu #cara dune #boba fett #ahsoka tano #peli motto #the armorer #omera #my mando fic #ugh this is toooooo sad whyyyy

146 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Homesick - Chapter 2

Behind the door.

Warnings: implied child abuse, abusive parents, blood, nosebleeds, angst, themes of childhood trauma, ptsd

Tags: Darksiders, DeathxAzrael, hurt/comfort, angst, Reader, Found family, Reader needs a hug

Chapter 1

---

“What lays beyond that door?”

Azrael's innocent question causes you to stiffen and your steps falter on the landing, knowing precisely to which door he's referring, but unwilling to even spare it a backwards glance.

The momentary delay hardly lasts for more than a second and goes seemingly unnoticed by the angel, whose gaze appears too focused on the locked, mahogany door that stands quiet and guiltless at the furthest end of your landing. Hanging back near the top of the staircase however, with eyes sharp and turned just enough in your direction that they catch the hitching of your chest, Death does notice.

Then, he blinks, and you're suddenly twisting your head over a shoulder to look beyond Azrael at the door in question, a smile on your lips but not in your eyes.

“Oh, that's just a storage cupboard,” you say casually, waving a dismissive hand through the air and continuing your journey to the opposite side of the house, “I've been in and out of there all week stacking boxes of junk up to the ceiling. Now, come this way, all the best human-y stuff is stock-piled in my bedroom.”

You're too quick to disregard the door, too eager in turning to walk towards your room on stiff legs and Death wishes the angel would turn to look at you so he might also see what the Horseman sees, if only to confirm that he isn't imagining things.

Alas, letting out an intrigued little hum, Azrael clasps his hands loosely behind his back and sweeps after you, all the while pivoting his head this way and that to take in everything your humble home has to offer.

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

You had so nearly forgotten what the joy of discovery looks like in another person. To see the eyes of someone else grow wide and bright with unbridled wonder at a world you've long since lost a taste for.

Azrael's fascination at the most mundane of human objects manages to put a genuine smile on your face, though the ensuing pain still throbs like the beat of an insistent drum every time your cheeks press against your bruised eye.

Luckily, the angel appears to have missed your subtle wince.

After first having dragged him away from your television, you've managed to introduce him to many of humanity's other wonders that lay dotted around your bedroom.

Before long, Death had even slunk inside to join you both, taking up the mantle of an uninterested observer and absently perusing your book collection in the corner whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on the goings on of his companions.

You've perched yourself comfortably in a bean bag, content to simply sit back and observe whilst Azrael explores your room, his wide, white wings folded neatly against his back in order to spare some of your ornaments from being knocked off their shelves.

“This... ursine mammal,” he says, pausing beside your bed and poking a finger into the fur of an old, stuffed bear sitting atop your pillow, “Does it serve some purpose?”

You're too preoccupied with fighting back a laugh to answer him right away, and by the time you realise he's watching you expectantly, Death pipes up in your stead, cutting off any explanation you might have offered.

“I imagine it's only there for decoration,” he muses, casting a critical eye over your bookcase and the dozens of unread stories scattered about on the shelves, “But then, I have to wonder if half the things in this room aren't just ornamentation.”

Knowing what he's implying, you spare the back of his head a scowl. It isn't as though you've had a lot of time to read those books he gave you, not between rebuilding your own home and helping humanity come to terms with life post-apocalypse.

“Ah!” Azrael's head shoots up and he tears his eyes from the bear, glancing towards you instead. “It is symbolic, no? In resembling a most ferocious predator, this bear represents the perfect guard for your home.”

He looks so damn pleased with himself, you almost don't bother to correct him, instead wrestling your grin into a pensive frown and nodding slowly.

“Uh, sure! That is a pretty... exciting way to look at teddy bears.” Hopping to your feet, you make your way over to the bed and sweep a few of Azrael's primary feathers aside, picking up the toy bear and squeezing it to your chest. “But mostly humans use these for comfort at night, when we sleep. We usually get given them as children. And, as we grow older, I... guess we just get too attached to get rid of them. Most humans keep their childhood toys long into adulthood.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Death huffs, shaking his head with a smile hidden beneath the bone-mask, “You humans will get attached to anything that sits still for long enough.”

Azrael, on the other hand, looks as though you've just revealed to him one of humanity's greatest secrets. Rubbing his chin in thought, he says, “Remarkable! I've heard that humans are rather famous for the bonds they forge with other species, yet I never imagined that could extend to inanimate objects as well.”

“Yeah, you'd better believe it,” you smirk, placing the bear down on your pillow once more, “Someday I'll have to tell you about the woman who married the Eiffel Tower.”

At once, the Archangel blinks hard, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair line. “A tower? Surely that’s a jape?”

So perplexed is his expression, you throw back your head and let out a bark of delighted laughter. “What are you, Shakespeare? Nobody says ‘jape’ anymore, Azrael!”

Off on his own side of your little bedroom, Death's neck twists around slightly to regard both you and the angel as you engage in a light-hearted back and forth about the use of archaic vocabulary. He doesn't even realise that one corner of his mouth has begun lifting at the sight.

There is a truth about the Horseman that even he is reluctant to acknowledge, and that is that the constant slew of bad things happening in the Universe is... wearing. It’s wearing. To be on a constant path that always seems to lead towards battle or tragedy? Sometimes it feels as though his entire existence has merely consisted of one battle after another.

He saves one world, only for another to be torn apart, he destroys a species, and another asks him to fight their war for them, he helps the makers but in doing so, inadvertently kills their elder. Century after century - a millennia of bloody battles and terrible sacrifices and trying to keep his siblings safe - If he ever stopped to think about it...

Death’s eyes slip slowly shut.

He has worked... so hard, hasn’t he? Is it really so wrong if he enjoys these moments of fleeting repose?

All of a sudden, a strangled sound leaves Azrael's throat and Death is yanked from his peaceful reverie. “Y/n!?” the angel exclaims, his expression shifting to horrified in less than a second, “You're bleeding!”

Apparently, mentioning your name and blood in the same sentence is enough to get Death's voice to crack as he whips around properly and barks, “What!?”

Baffled, you raise a hand to your nose, dabbing at a sticky wetness gathered there whilst the taste of salty liquid drips onto your upper lip. “Oh, so I am,” you observe casually, only to have a pair of chilly hands curl unexpectedly around your forearms.

Without warning, the terrifying visage of the Horseman is looming mere inches from your face and in another instant, one of his hands presses itself to your forehead and firmly – albeit gently – tips it backwards.

“Um... Death, we've talked about this. Personal space, remember?”

The Horseman remains eerily silent as he stares transfixed at the blood oozing from your nose and you squirm uncomfortably when the grip he has on your arm begins to grow even tighter. Meanwhile, his wordlessness allows Azrael to fret aloud in the background.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” the angel mutters, pacing back and forth behind Death, never tearing his eyes from the red straining your face, “You shouldn't be having all this excitement. You should be resting.”

It's difficult to hold back your groan of exasperation as you lift your arms and knock Death's hands aside, stepping out of his reach.

“Oh for - It's just a nosebleed! Honestly, what has gotten into you two?” With a hefty sigh, you skirt around the rigid Nephilim, dodge one of Azrael's wings as it tries to curl instinctively around you and march into your ensuite bathroom.

Almost immediately, the angel tries to follow, but he swiftly has the door pushed shut in his face before he can enter and soon, they hear your voice filtering out to them from the other side. “I'm not a baby, guys! Nosebleeds are no big deal, it's just happening because of... well, you know.”

Azrael's stomach twists itself into knots at the sight of yet another locked door standing between himself and his human friend. He's about to call out for you to let him see the damage when an icy chill sweeps across the room and he turns, his mouth falling open slightly at the sight of Death staring at him through unseeing eyes.

The old Nephilim's body has gone completely still and there's a haunted look about him, as though he's lost, or perhaps trapped in another time, another place.

“Horseman?” Azrael murmurs uncertainly, feeling the cold prickle at the hairs on the base of his neck. Seconds pass and he receives no answer. Hesitant now, the archangel reaches towards Death's shoulder and, when he isn't immediately shoved away, places a hand on the frigid, solid muscle that bunches under his gentle touch. “Death,” he tries again, and this time the Horseman's head snaps up to stare at him, as if only just realising he's there.

The angel ducks his head to better catch Death's eye, his voice soft enough that only the two of them can hear it. “Are you alright, old friend?”

A long silence stretches between them with only the faint sound of running water from your bathroom tap to fill it.

Then, giving a start, Death roughly shrugs the comforting hand off his shoulder and stalks past the angel towards your window, leaning his elbows heavily against the sill and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge Azrael's concern. He doesn't think the archangel has ever been that close to him before, close enough that the subtle scent of old books and clean linen invaded his nose and chased away the awful stench of your blood, effectively leaving his mind clear once again.

'Idiot,' he chastises himself, eyes still wide behind the bone mask. How could he have frozen like that? In front of Azrael no less. Creator, he'd never live that one down. He had – for lack of a better word – panicked, and it's as embarrassing to admit to himself as it is to have been caught panicking. But...

The sight of your blood... The smell of it, sweet and strong enough that it even settled on his tastebuds...

It's pathetic, really. He is Death. He's seen and caused far more bloodshed than arguably any being in any realm. So why then does your spilled blood hold his dead heart in such a cruel and unforgivably tight chokehold?

The redundancy of taking a calming breath isn't lost on him, yet he does it anyway, tipping his head up to peer out of your window, chest rising and falling with motions he could only have picked up after spending so much time around you.

It's begun to rain, he notes idly. Tiny droplets of water patter down onto the dusty window panes and Death follows the path of one until it merges with several others and is lost in the fray.

Down in the streets below, many passers-by have dived for shelter, yet there are still two figures who remain. One is an angel, whose golden complexion shimmers when raindrops trickle steadily down his face. He's standing in the shadow of a water-logged bus stop and beside him, leaning just a little too close, is a serpentine demon, scales black and glittering like obsidian. The odd pair rest almost shoulder to shoulder underneath the bus stop's awning, each sharing a brief respite from the rain with what was once a well-loathed enemy.

Death blinks upon seeing that their hands are intertwined. Dainty, golden fingers curl loosely around clumsier claws and suddenly, the Horseman feels as though he's intruding on their secret moment, so he turns back to face your room.

Azrael has drifted closer once again and there's a knowing expression on his face that causes Death to frown. Sure enough, the archangel spares your bathroom door a hasty glance before he looks at the Horseman once more. “...Death,” he says slowly, “It's... all right, you know. If seeing Y/n’s blood upset you-”

Hackles are raised in half a second, a set of sharp teeth clack together and Death hisses, “You think I'm upset?”

Judging by the flat look he receives, that is precisely what the archangel thinks.

Despite the obvious vehemence behind Death's tone, he's careful to keep his voice down, ever mindful that you're only a room over. Perhaps getting defensive isn't the best idea.

“There is no shame in it, Horseman,” the angel coaxes softly, “Y/n is my friend as well. There has already been far too much human blood spilled this century.” He casts another, baleful glance towards your bathroom, quietly adding, “I didn't think I would be seeing it again, not this soon. And especially not from our human.”

...Our human.

Death is unnerved by how natural that sounds coming off Azrael's tongue.

Expertly, the Horseman wills his shoulders to slump and his muscles to relax, then, with an unmistakable air of indifference, he folds his arms across his broad chest and turns himself deliberately away from the archangel, glowering at your bedroom wall.

And Azrael, wise enough to read the standoffish behaviour for what it is, allows his mouth to fall shut because he knows that, as far as Death is concerned, the conversation is over.

He has a care not to release a weary sigh. But with you shutting him out physically and the Horseman shutting him out verbally, it's difficult for even the composed archangel to keep exasperation at bay.

Just then, your voice calls out to them from the other side of the door. “Ugh, sorry about this guys. It's slowing down, but it hasn't stopped yet. I'll just be a minute!”

“So long as you're all right,” Azrael replies.

When he receives no response from you and no further input from Death, he lets his head drop into a disappointed nod, pressing his lips together. Suddenly, his presence feels a little too big for the space he's occupying. He needs to think.

Azrael leaves your bedroom with a far heavier heart than he'd gone in with, raking his fingers through fine, white hair and expelling a soft breath from his lungs, as if that might alleviate the weight settling across his chest.

So far, this first visit to your home has not gone as he'd hoped it would. Through no fault of your own, mind. But trying to focus on taking in everything you show him whilst he knows you're in more pain than you're letting on is woefully distracting. That's without even mentioning the creeping sense of unease that has been hanging over him ever since he first stepped foot through your front door.

Briefly, Azrael wonders if Death had noticed the way your breath hitched slightly and your reply had an almost imperceptible, underlying tremor when he asked you what lay beyond the door at the end of your landing. He'd have to ask the Horseman about that later, when he's in a more talkative mood.

Already, the archangel can feel the beginnings of a frown forging crevasses down the centre of his forehead. He composes himself in another breath and finally lifts his eyes from the carpet, only to stop in his tracks.

That door – that unassuming door to your cupboard lays ahead of him, quiet and solid as all doors should be, just sitting there under a flickering light bulb, as though it had been patiently waiting for him to notice it.

And notice it, he does, because something about the door has changed since he saw it last, something so obvious, yet also entirely unsettling.

Where it had once been shut tight, now it stands ever so slightly ajar.

Despite everything in him screaming that he must respect the privacy of his host, Azrael's curiosity grows too bold and he finds himself treading silently down your landing, his shoes making no sound on the grubby, cream carpet. Drawing to a halt, the angel's keen gaze sweeps over the wooden door, taking in hairline cracks and mottled rot that a hundred years has left upon it like battle scars on a warrior's face. Slowly, he roves his eyes down to the dull, brass door handle and he immediately falters, doing a double-take.

Sitting atop the handle is a very noticeable, very thick layer of dust.

His brows knit together until they nearly touch and he reaches out to swipe a finger delicately along the brass. When he pulls away, he lifts his hand for an inspection and, sure enough, the pad of his forefinger is now sporting the same, grey substance.

'Why would a door you claimed to use recently have so much dust upon the handle?' The feeling of unease that had been stealthily keeping to the back of his mind now pokes its head out a little more, creeping forwards, daring him to acknowledge it.

'Something's wrong...' a quiet voice tells him.

Azrael's hand reaches out once more, except this time, it curls around the handle entirely and rests there for a moment as the angel's mind starts to race. 'Y/n.... Are you hiding something from us?'

As soon as the thought enters his head, he can't shake it loose.

Yes - he trusts you - he knows you'd have no reason to lie to him, and especially not to the Horseman. And yet... Clearly there is something beyond this door that you're trying to divert their attention from and whatever it is has you spooked.

Feeling more and more like a common criminal, Azrael keeps one ear on the room behind him and slowly begins to twist the door handle, wincing when its rusty springs catch and squeak in protest.

His wings shiver with anticipation as he pushes the door open.

What awaits him on the other side is decidedly not a storage cupboard...

“A... bedchamber?” he murmurs to himself.

Within an instant, he's hit by an oppressive wave of must and wood rot. The smell spills like liquid from the room and seeps into your hallway, causing the archangel's lips to curl, though he's quick to smooth his expression out again because there's something far worse lingering below the initial stench, something that – even after a hundred years – still clings to the peeling wallpaper and broken, dust-choked bed in the corner of the room.

It isn't quite magic, more like the residue of a dark and terrible memory. Azrael knows as well as any angel that memories can be immensely powerful things and capable of haunting a place long after the living are dead and gone. Hesitating, he takes a moment to steel himself before stepping over the threshold and entering that old, foreboding bedroom.

At once, he notices that, as with the door's handle, absolutely everything is covered in a thick layer of grime and dust, the television on the wall, the various, glass bottles that stand on a table at the room's centre, amidst which sits a single, yellowing glass.

Against the wishes of his own nose, Azrael takes a brief sniff at the air and grimaces.

Alcohol.

Even the most pious of angels would recognise it.

He dismissively turns his attention from the bottles and glides over towards a worn dresser that stands to the left of the bed, a bed that stinks of an odour he desperately tries to ignore. Upon the dresser are a vast array of what you;d once called 'photographs,' all of which sit inside basic, wooden frames. Inquisitive, Azrael bends down and peers at them, a soft smile worming across his face when he sees a familiar human grinning back up at him.

You couldn't be much older than four or five, but he'd recognise you at any age. It seems even as a child, you possessed that same, mischievous spark in your eyes.

You're standing alone, and in spite of a clear gap where a tooth has fallen out, you're beaming up at the camera so hard, he imagines your cheeks had to have hurt. In fact, the more Azrael inspects the photo, the more he thinks your expression most resembles a grimace, not a smile. He shrugs it off however, and moves on. After all, the facial structure of humans is such that they're capable of expressions far more complex than those of angels or demons. Perhaps he’s only misreading it.

The next picture sees you looking a few years older, sitting in the lap of a tall, angular man wearing a white shirt that looks to have been frequently stained by all manner of substances whilst his face is stretched into a grin that makes Azrael's skin crawl. Captured in stillness, it looks menacing and shark-like. Worse still is the large hand that seems to have secured itself like a vice around your thigh, squeezing noticeably into the little, blue leggings you'd worn that day.

You aren't smiling as widely in this photograph....

The archangel's face begins to fall as well.

Humming, he moves on to the next picture and in an instant, that creeping unease suddenly rings in his head like an alarm bell.

Again, you're older here, perhaps early into your adolescence, and the smile you'd sported before is barely there at all. The same man is standing behind you this time, and his long, gangly fingers are clamped down over your too-small shoulders, fingernails digging so hard into the bare skin, the resulting indents are even picked up by the camera.

Your lopsided wince that could be mistaken for a smile at a glance shows off one side of your mouth and in it, Azrael can clearly see that you're missing a tooth.

He may not be the most well-versed on human biology, but he's definitely heard that children only lose the same tooth once. And that the process is a natural one.

Through the lense of the camera, your younger counterpart seems to peer up past the glass frame, past the fabric of time and space and straight into Azrael's misty, pale eyes, a silent yet clear plea in the tilt of your brows and the whites of your knuckles.

'Help me.'

All at once, the archangel feels sick. He staggers backwards, away from the dresser and doesn't even notice the golden halo on his back is thrumming with protective magics, pushing them outwards to envelope your entire house.

He doesn't need Jamaerah's second sight to know that you were afraid of that man who's eyes are stained the same colour as yours. Hazarding a guess as to why you were afraid causes Azrael's throat to tighten.

Swallowing hard, he tries to regain his composure. The archangel has always considered rationality to be one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal and if there was ever a time to use it, that time is now.

'Perhaps... I am mistaken,' he reassures himself, 'I don’t know human customs nearly as well as I-’

“Azrael?”

The angel gives a start and jerks his head around to face the door, only to find Death eclipsing it, his eyes blazing like twin fires.

Stepping forwards into the room, he hisses, “What are you doing in here?”

The Horseman is quite certain he's never seen Azrael look so guilty.

Instead of giving him an answer though, the angel slowly breathes, “Where is Y/n?” Soon, he droops in relief when Death throws a thumb over his shoulder and replies, “Still in the bathing room, tending to a bloody nose... You didn't answer my question.”

Beckoning the Horseman closer, Azrael keeps his voice to a hushed whisper and holds the last photograph up in front of him.

“What do you make of this?”

Azrael's behaviour strikes him as so uncharacteristically odd and secretive, Death actually hurries over to him and snatches the picture frame from his hands, making an effort not to appear curious about the room he's never been inside. The angel watches raptly as Death scans the photographs with his luminous, orange eyes. Then, all of a sudden, the Horseman's fingers tighten around the little, wooden frame, hard enough to make it splinter and Azrael knows his worst fears are being realised. He hadn't imagined it.

Death sees it too.

“You guys shouldn't be in here.”

A tiny voice, low and trembling calls from the doorway and the angel's gaze snaps up. Death, in the meantime, remains too fixated on the photograph to bother acknowledging your presence.

Azrael drifts towards you cautiously, as though you'll bolt at any second. He tries to decide whether it would be better to apologise for invading your privacy or ask you why you look so terrified.

“Y/n,” he starts, paying attention to the way your hands turn over one another incessantly, “We were only-”

“... How... How did you get in? The door was - it was locked! You can't be in here... Get out!” Your voice raises in pitch. There are tears leaking from your bruised eye, swiftly turning the skin underneath it slick and shiny and there’s still a trace of blood underneath your nose.

Death finally lowers his gaze from the photograph and holds you captive under a wide and menacing stare. “A storage room, was it?” he asks curtly, showing you the picture clutched between his ever-tightening fingers.

The moment you lay eyes on it, your back goes rigid and all the blood drains from your face. “Put that down!” you demand and lift your foot as if to take a step inside the room, but as soon as you cross over the threshold, you seem to remember something, and quickly jerk yourself backwards, stumbling into the hallway again and sucking down a ragged gasp, blurting, “Just – Just don't touch it!”

“Why not?” Death drawls and tilts his head to one side, calculating, “It can't be that important to you. You've had it locked in this storage cupboard for these past two years.”

He's pushing you, Azrael realises with a sinking feeling, he's trying to provoke you into an honest reaction, no doubt. The archangel doesn't like it, but he likes the look of that man in the photograph even less.

“That's none of your business!” you snap, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your ribs. Unfortunately, your response only seems to stir something in the Horseman, who draws his head back as though you'd struck him a physical blow and he growls, “I hate to disappoint you, but it is my business where your welfare is concerned.”

“My welfare stopped being your concern about two years ago!”

Death falls silent, jaw clenching.

He'd be remiss to say that your comment hadn't struck at a place he guards jealously. He's painfully aware of the angel's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head and he nearly squirms at the pitying look he's receiving.

It would seem that Azrael knows him a little too well.

“You never once stopped being my concern...” the Horseman mumbles, his gaze moving down to the image in his hand. A younger, smaller you peers back at him with woe caught like sleep-dust behind your eyelashes. Death's eyes shoot back up to you again, the softness gone from his voice when he growls, “Why did you lie to me?”

Tensions are high enough that Azrael doesn't think it prudent to mention you'd lied to him as well.

Apparently, a direct confrontation was not the best way to deal with this delicate situation, a fact that becomes clear when you cinch your jaw shut for a moment, gaze flickering to and fro between the angel and the Horseman.

Seeing two of your most trusted friends standing in his bedroom with a symbol of your shame and your trauma held quite literally in Death's grasp sends your heart rate skyrocketing, fear like poison dripping down into your stomach. You can hardly believe they'd invade your privacy like this. Death especially, who knows better than anyone the necessity for keeping some secrets buried.

He doesn't need to learn about that part of your history - neither of them do. You don't want to have them worrying. And God forbid they should pity you.

Squaring your shoulders, you spin about on a heel and begin to march purposefully down your landing to the stairs.

“Where do you think you're going?!” Death barks after you.

Chest heaving, you pause on the first step and cast a heavy frown over your shoulder at the Horseman, matching his ferocious gaze without a single blink. “If you won't leave that room,” you tell him, “then I'll leave this house. And I'll thank you both to be gone by the time I get back.”

And just like that, you continue to descend your staircase and disappear below the wooden balustrades. Seconds later and there's an almighty 'slam' that signals you've had an altercation with the front door before leaving through it.

For some time, the house is weighed down under a blanket of silence as the pair of unearthly beings are left to stand in the aftershocks of their actions.

“Oh dear..” Azrael's stare is vacant, worried, and he has several fingertips pressed to his lips. “I fear I've reopened an old wound..”

“No. This... isn't your fault,” the Horseman sighs, “I should have addressed this sooner. I've known for some time there was something Y/n didn't want me to know. And, I suppose, I'd always suspected that this room might lead to some answers.”

Taken aback, Azrael turns a mystified look onto the Nephilim. He'd expected Death to lay the blame upon his feathery shoulders, after all, he was the one who first ventured into this so called 'storage cupboard' and upset the proverbial applecart. Still, he finds it somewhat odd that the Horseman – a nosy creature if ever one walked the nine realms – hasn't ever tried to see for himself what lay beyond the door. Tilting his head, the angel asks, “You never thought to investigate?”

At the question, Death averts his gaze and shrugs one of his pale shoulders. “Admittedly, no, I did not.”

“Well... Why?” Azrael presses, though he already has an inkling.

After a moment of frowning pensively at the photo in his hands, the Horseman turns to look at him and he's once again thrown off by the level of emotion in those wild, striking eyes. Death really has grown since knowing you.

“I never brought it up because....”

“.... You didn't want to jeopardise your friendship,” Azrael finishes for him softly, and Death is only grateful that he didn't have to say it himself out loud.

At the same time, the two of them peer back at the photograph and the archangel is surprised at himself for the anger that boils in his lungs at the sight of that man’s hands on you. Death however, isn’t in the least bit surprised at the presence of his own rage.

“Horseman...,” Azrael says, his voice eerily calm, “You don’t supposed.... Y/n might be trying to hide something else, do you?”

"The bruise...”

Furious, orange eyes meet cool and misty white.

“It isn’t out of the question,” Azrael breathes, “A random attack from human zealots? Or-”

“- Or something a bit closer to home,” Death finishes as he tosses the photo onto the nearby bed and turns to face the door.

Outside, rain continues to hammer relentlessly on the house whilst a streak of lightening illuminates the bedroom and the two, imposing beings inside, one with dark magics crackling at his fingertips, and the other with a halo of solid gold on his back that thrums with violent energy as the glyphs on his wings begin to glow electric blue.

Without a word, the Angel of Death and the Grim Reaper slip from your house and stride out into the coming storm, their ancient minds focused solely on tracking down their human.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #Azrael #Death #Reader #abuse #child abuse #angst #Angel #Nephilim #Horseman of the Apocalypse #Hurt/comfort #found family #demon #guardian angels

88 notes · View notes

racke7 · 3 years

Text

Supernatural Redone

So, because I started thinking about it, and because I'm bored. I decided to try to reimagine Supernatural into having a solid narrative all the way through. That is to say, that the first few episodes are consistent with later episodes in regards to “what is at stake” and “what is the enemy”.

(Supernatural is somewhat notorious for falling into ever-escalating power-struggles. Kind of like Dragonball.)

The first episode starts out the same. Sam's college-life gets interrupted by Dean showing up and telling him that their dad has gone missing “on a hunt”. They then set off to investigate various sites that their dad could've been investigating at the time of his disappearance.

During this process, various background-truths come to light. Things like Sam having basically walked out on their family, and that Dean was in many ways responsible for raising him, because their father was busy on his “quest for vengeance” against all the monsters (since a monster killed their mother).

Dean wasn't necessarily on good terms with their father either, but he was the one who always tried so hard to make him proud. And apparently the only one he ever seemed to be proud of was Sam who “went to college”.

Never mentioning that to do so, he abandoned his brother (who practically raised him himself) and more-or-less buried his head in the sand about the truth of all of the monsters who prey upon humanity.

Dean has a... complicated relationship to both Sam and their father. But he's picked his direction in life (hunting monsters for the betterment of humanity), and is painfully aware that trying to do the job solo won't end well. Which is why he's recruiting Sam for it.

Sam understands that going on solo-hunts is a good way to get killed, and for all that he dislikes their father and has some complicated feelings about Dean, he doesn't want his brother to get himself killed. So Sam follows, despite clearly wanting to go back to college and live a “normal” life, away from the death-defying bullshit of hunting monsters.

During their journey to hopefully track down some clue about their father, they encounter some kind of monster-thing that seems to have possessed one guy in particular. The monster-thing keeps popping up, trying to help them against the monster-of-the-week, and neither of the brothers are entirely sold on it.

It calls itself 'Castiel', and Sam keeps pointing out that “angels aren't real”. Castiel isn't very good at emoting, but generally just ignores Sam whenever he gets going about religion. Dean is just so close to pulling the trigger on the damn thing, but doesn't want to do it because there is a human in there.

Dean does this job because he wants to protect humans, and he really doesn't want to kill one. Even by accident. There are however probably hints that he might've done so in the past (Sam doesn't seem to be aware of this).

Either way, with the brothers unable to really attack Castiel, Castiel begins hanging out with them more and more frequently, and seems to be developing a little bit more in the sense of “human emotions” as a result.

Castiel cares very deeply about the idea of protecting humans, but also doesn't want to interfere with humans. Or rather, keeps saying that they shouldn't be interfering with humans, but will always step in if a human is being threatened. And Dean... kind of respects that.

(Cue weird homoerotic tension between Dean and Castiel.)

Sam and Dean finally hear about some clairvoyant person and whilst Dean is highly skeptical, Sam insist that they go ask them about their father.

The clairvoyant person (after a bunch of monster-of-the-week shenanigans) finally relents and gives Sam the information that they've been looking for.

Their father went after a bunch of monster-worshiping cultists. Sam tells Dean and Dean warns him that those cultists are “bad news” and that they really should maybe perhaps reconsider going there at all.

Sam pushes on, because if they can find their father then Sam can finally go back to his college-life that he left behind. Dean is very reluctant, but also very much refuses to let Sam go after them on his own.

Upon arriving, they find an abandoned house. Sam is frustrated, but Dean is still nervous and wants them to just leave already. Sam insists that they continue looking.

After interviewing the neighbors, Sam hears about a bunch of murders that took place in the house. Some kind of crazy person breaking in and shooting everyone. Thankfully the kids made it out okay.

Sam is a bit confused, because monsters generally don't use guns, and so he goes looking for the kids who supposedly survived the whole thing.

Sam drags Dean off to meet with them, and Dean is very blatantly reluctant to go. Sam needles him about “being scared of little kids” since he's been worried about the cultists all this time, and they're clearly all already dead.

Sam interviews one of the kids, and it goes mostly alright. Sam isn't used to kids, and the kid is a bit traumatized about the “scary men” who attacked their home. Apparently, there were two men involved. Which is news to Sam, but alright.

Unfortunately, the kid then catches sight of Dean and gets very scared. Because that's one of the “scary men”.

Sam makes a quick retreat, and confronts Dean about it. Dean continues to be very cagey and trying to persuade Sam to just “drop it, and let's leave, dad clearly isn't here”.

Sam puts his foot down and refuses, because why were there two men, and why does the kid recognize Dean as one of them?

Dean finally and with a great deal of reluctance and bottled-up anger relents. Dean brings Sam back to the abandoned house, and finally tells him.

Their father decided to attack the cultists, and Dean went with him, because it was a big group and he needed the backup. They made it into the building, found out a bunch of really fucked up shit about the cultists, and started blasting. So far so good, Dean isn't really proud of it, but the cultists had it coming.

Then they found a room filled with children. Children who didn't really understand the fucked up shit, but were still the children of the people who did the fucked up shit. So they were rightly terrified of the people who broke into their home and murdered their parents.

But Dean and Sam's father saw this as them being “accomplices” who'd inevitably grow up to be just as bad as the cultists. And so he decided to kill them too.

So Dean shot him in the back, terrified out of his mind, because those were just kids.

Sam is understandably horrified about what happened. Both that their father would do something like that, and with the idea of everything that Dean told him about “dad going missing on a hunt” having been a lie.

Dean angrily pointing out that he'd had nowhere else to go. Nobody else to turn to. And that the monsters weren't going to just stop murdering people just because it was Dean's fault that he was hunting solo.

Basically, a big and emotional fight between brothers.

Now. This could either go in the direction of forgiveness from Sam's side of things. Of him finally calming down and thinking it through and telling Dean that he “did the right thing” in killing their father, and that he's sorry that he had to do that.

Or it could end with Sam finally breaking off his last family-bond with Dean in particular, instead of just “walking out on the family-business”. Leaving Dean to mourn the train-wreck that is his life. Up until Castiel walks into the screen, and crouches down next to him, offering his own brand of awkward comfort (“there's a place just down the street that makes excellent pie”).

Either way, the end result is that Sam goes back to his college-life, and Dean teams up with Castiel to continue saving people from monsters. Even if those monsters sometimes turn out to be humans.

(Nobody ever finds out if Castiel is actually an angel, or is just using the name of one. But he’s clearly not a bad person, despite apparently possessing someone who may-or-may-not have consented to it.)

#stories #supernatural #rants #my writing

14 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Midnight Mass Ending Explained

https://ift.tt/39I2zkp

This article contains spoilers for Midnight Mass.

Ending a horror story is hard.

Perhaps no one knows that better than Mike Flanagan, the writer-director behind horror hits like Doctor Sleep, The Haunting of Hill House, and The Haunting of Bly Manor. After observing the occasional less-than-enthusiastic reaction to the endings of some of his other projects, Flanagan decided to end his latest, Netflix series Midnight Mass, on his own terms.

“I didn’t want to come up with an ending that I thought would please people,” Flanagan told Den of Geek and other outlets prior to Midnight Mass’s premiere. “I wanted to come up with the ending that would have the most to say down the line.”

So what, exactly, does the ending of Midnight Mass have to say? Let’s explain just what goes down in the conclusion of Midnight Mass and assess what it all means.

What’s Up with Mildred Gunning and John Pruitt?

Monsignor John Pruitt a.k.a. Father Paul (Hamish Linklater) was, by all indications, a good Christian man.

“The thing we kept coming back to is that authentically, through-and-through evil people are very rare. We’re all way more complicated. The humanity of Father Paul was something that was baked in relatively early,” Flanagan says.

Though Pruitt is not a bad man, per se, he is a deeply flawed one. A long time ago, before the “war” (probably World War II or The Korean War), Pruitt hooked up with the married Mildred Gunning and fathered their daughter Sarah Gunning out of wedlock. That is obviously a big no-no for a priest and Pruitt lived with the guilt of denying his daughter for decades.

Pruitt finally got a chance to alleviate that guilt when he came across a curious creature in Damascus. In this fictional universe where the concept of a vampire is clearly not well known, John Pruitt made the understandable mistake of confusing a monstrous vampire for an equally monstrous angel. After all, the angels of the bible are so visually terrifying that they make a habit of telling those they visit “be not afraid.”

Pruitt thought this angel had granted him the gift of eternal life, just like the Bible promises. He then decides to share that gift with his congregation. The priest’s major sin here though is pride. He didn’t share the angel’s gift with his congregation out of pure benevolence. He did it because he wanted many more years of life in his prime with Mildred and Sarah at his side. Catholicism means everything to Pruitt. And yet, he would cast it all aside for another chance to have the family he wanted.

“If you showed up and asked me, I would have taken this collar off and gone with you. Gone with you anywhere in the world,” Pruitt tells Mildred after she’s been vampirified.

That’s a touching sentiment from the artist formerly known as Father Paul but it’s unfortunately a destructive one.

“When it became clear that Paul could do bad things with pure motives, the show came into clearer focus. There’s only one character in the whole show who I think is evil and it’s not Father Paul,” Flanagan says.

Only one character who is evil? Who could Flanagan be referr….ohhh.

What Were the Vampires’ Plans?

Flanagan actually never confirms which character he sees as evil, but Bev Keane (Samantha Sloyan) seems to be the best fit…unless we count the angel, and he just seems to be a hungry, growing boy.

Bev is, let’s say, a real piece of work. As beautifully depicted by Sloyan, Bev Keane is the officious church lady who can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business. After Mildred talks some sense into John Pruitt, he understands that he and his congregation “are the wolves” and refuses to participate further. That leaves a power vacuum at the top, which Bev is more than happy to step into.

Why Midnight Mass is Mike Flanagan’s Most Personal Work

By Alec Bojalad

Midnight Mass Cast: Previous Credits From Hill House to Bly Manor, Legion & Sherlock

By Louisa Mellor

Now that Bev has a veritable army of superpowered vampires what does she intend to do with them? The same thing that all Bevs want to do: make more Bevs. Bev represents the worst of colonial Christianity and its historical penchant for converting all to its kingdom of heaven…through any means necessary.

When Erin Greene (Kate Siegel) finds out that Bev and friends have merely disabled the boats and not destroyed them, she realizes that their ultimate plan is to eventually take their vampire party to the mainland and create a whole planet of enlightened Christians who just happy to have an insatiable taste for blood and a severe UV-ray allergy.

What Happens to Crockett Island?

Thankfully, Bev’s ultimate goal never comes to pass thanks to the careful plotting of the handful of human beings left in Crockett Island. Erin Greene, Sarah Gunning (Annabeth Gish), Sheriff Hassan (Rahul Kohli), and Annie Flynn (Kirstin Lehman) get to work on finishing the destruction that Bev started.

Ironically, it’s part of Bev’s plan that eventually dooms her and her kind. When one of Bev’s lackeys proposes putting out a fire that the human crew started because the whole island could burn to nothing like in ‘84, Bev’s eyes light up.

“I mean…the church didn’t burn in ‘84,” she says.

Surely this is Revelation. And Revelation means a hale mixed with fire and blood. There will be a flood of fire that ends the world and St. Patrick’s church will be the arc. That’s a great plan and all…as long as something doesn’t happen to the arc.

Welp. Sarah Gunning burns down St. Patrick’s and Sheriff Hassan and Erin Greene (with an assist from Hassan’s son) burn down the rec center. As if burning a church designated as an arc wasn’t symbolically compelling enough, recall that the rec center next to it is equally as symbolic of Bev’s greed. It was Bev who convinced Crockett Island to take the oil company’s money for ruining their island rather than pursuing litigation. And all they got out of that settlement money was that stupid rec center.

With the church and the rec center gone, there are no man-made structures for the vampires to hide from the sun in the coming morning. And that’s how an entire island of 120-ish vampires perishes simultaneously when the sun rises.

Why Do Leeza and Warren Survive?

All of Crockett Island perishes save for two actually. Warren Flynn (Igby Rigney) and Leeza Scarborough (Annarah Cymone) are spared thanks to some quick thinking. Putting the only two remaining non-vampirized children in harm’s way is not an option for Erin, Sarah, Hassan, and Annie. Thankfully, Warren knows of one secret canoe to reach the “Uppards” that Bev’s crew wouldn’t know about.

The canoe doesn’t take Warren and Leeza to the mainland but it does get them away from the carnage to come. The last shot of the series is Warren and Leeza floating peacefully and Leeza announcing that she can no longer feel her legs. This means that the last bit of “angel” blood has likely left her system and with it Pruitt’s vampire legacy is over.

Saving Warren and Leeza has practical, emotional implications for Midnight Mass’s characters but it also has some symbolic ones as well. The concept of witnessing and witnesses themselves are very important in the Bible. As a second-hand text (though purportedly with every word inspired by God) there would be no gospel without witnesses. Good news is only half the battle. Someone to witness and report on the good news is the other half. Now Warren and Leeza can report on the ultimate good news that the world is saved.

The fact that the kids survive while the adults succumb to their own adult nonsense has some major implications for Midnight Mass’s creator

“That last moment of the next generation looking out at the ashes of what the grown ups made – that’s what my kids are gonna get no matter what,” Flanagan says. “That’s what all of our kids are gonna get. I wish it wasn’t as on fire as it it. But it really is. We’re never going to be able to explain adequately to our children what happened to the planet they inherited.”

What Happens to the Angel?

With all of Crockett Island burned to the ground, the world’s vampire nightmare is over, right? Well that depends on how well you think an angel can fly with torn wings. No, that’s not an aphorism or a poem, it’s the real question facing the end of Midnight Mass.

As if saving Warren and Leeza and upending Bev Keane’s plans weren’t enough, Erin leaves one last little gift for humanity before she dies. While the angel attacks her and drinks her sweet, sweet blood, Erin begins systematically, yet carefully cutting holes in its leathery wings. At first the angel is kind of annoyed but his hunger supersedes any level of discomfort or pain he’s feeling.

Later on, while Warren and Leeza watch their home burn they see the angel flying away but in a halted, loopy pattern. The kids aren’t sure if the beast will have time to find shelter before the sun rises. According to Flanagan, if Midnight Mass is a parable (and he assures us it is) then the ultimate lesson of all this isn’t too hard to glean.

“The angel doesn’t represent vampirism or horror but corruption in any belief system,” he says. “It represents fundamentalism and fanaticism. That’s never gonna go away. You might chase it away from your community for a minute. You might send it off to the sunrise and hope that that corrupting ideology will disappear. But it won’t. And the show could never show the angel die for that reason.”

With that in mind, the angel’s flawed flight pattern isn’t so much Inception’s spinning top but rather a promise that evil will find a way. And then we puny human beings will just have to find a way to stop it all over again. If that’s not Biblical then we don’t know what is.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

All seven episodes of Midnight Mass are available to stream on Netflix now.

The post Midnight Mass Ending Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3ERuGMp

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

13 notes · View notes