#but it remains stubbornly physical in nature
Note
I remember you saying that the angels had a Jellyfish style brain but that got me thinking,
Can they regenerate limbs after they've been lost? For example an angel looses their arm would it regenerate in a few months/years? Or with their holy light could they just make a replacement? Like a limb made out of the same stuff their wings and halos are.
On a different angel connected anatomy note, I've always imagined their wings being significantly more fragile then the rest of their body's. Like at one point i think you said that their wings and halos are the first part they loose after their fall.
Henceforth, maybe the wings and halo's are pure light
i think the physical form of the angels in ultrakill is sort of intriguing, given that the game shows us that blood is the great equalizer (we all bleed, even gods) and there is a distinct physicality imo to the universe presented here as a whole. this world, while being non-euclidean in nature, is also sharply concrete, and the angels to me operate on a similar principle to that of hell - they have a physical form that can be felt, can interact, and can be damaged, but are not set whatsoever. they have a base form that was given by god and the higher up the angel, the closer that form comes to the typical "humanoid" mold (or, as angels conceive it, god's image), yet they have a wonderful capacity to twist and change it as needs must. this is only hindered by them having a limited amount of ethereal "clay" that they can work with (divine fire made into flesh, with sparks running through their muscles and licks lighting over their organs), so losing a limb is still losing a limb. they can't regenerate it on their own, but an angel gifted in healing can easily re-attach the limb - raphael is the best doctor of heaven, and within god's power there is really no wound or affliction he can't repair save death itself. i just like the idea that nothing in this world can escape the bounds of the material despite angels believing themselves to be above such things and that a body, whether made of cells or fire or metal, has limits and is not merely something that contains a soul but is wholly part of the living organism it makes up. they are all their bodies, and even angels must take care of their physical selves as best they can.
and yes!! the halo and wings whither away from fallen angels with the wings first losing their ability to fly and becoming exceptionally painful, then the halo gradually deteriorating as their fallen traits begin to appear. to NO ONE'S surprise, this is influenced by paradise lost - at the beginning of the poem, lucifer is still crowned with his "glory", or his halo, and he appears scarred but virtually the same after falling to hell. however, by the time he infiltrates the garden of eden, his halo has faded and his appearance has changed so much, the angels who first capture him no longer recognize him (satan ridicules them for this, but it is in fact gabriel who points out it's not their fault, as satan is nearly unrecognizable as lucifer by now) BUT otherwise i did want "fallen" to be literal, and i think of an angel's wings as supremely important to them, with flight being their actual primary mode of movement. i also did think of them as being made purely from their divine light too and so could no longer stay in an angel who's light has been taken - what remains of gabriel's in the au for a time is a sort of afterimage, turned black and white as they are no longer "alive" and so no longer operate physically or emotionally (ie, they no longer reflect his emotions) gabriel can still utilize his wings for a time, but only in very short bursts and with great agony, but they eventually must retire as they fade away to skeletal remains.
#it's something i really like about the world in this game tbh#it's all taking place on this divine scale#but it remains stubbornly physical in nature#like. it's all the same. weird and fucked up but the same nonetheless#even angels are something physical in this world#they have their light and they can teleport and they can make constructs#but even abstract virtues have a body that bleeds#so the physical and the divine are linked in this world imo#cake answers
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laws of attraction
s. alhaitham has solved many enigmas, except you.
cw. mutual pining? kind of? fluff. a lil romantic tension. implied academic rivals.
tw. none. not proofread.
wc. 0.69k
a/n. i was getting ready for bed, the first sentence popped up in my mind, and here we are. i have no excuse.
credits. dividers by @/cafekitsune.
There were not many things Alhaitham struggled to understand.
From his focus on linguistics and ancient languages to his almost obsessive pursuit of knowledge in other areas such as physics, he had discovered from a young age that his mind was gifted. No book was too advanced for him. No lecture too complicated or dense. Alhaitham’s life had been overcome with a thirst for knowledge that he had never quite quenched, or perhaps he had never been truly interested in satiating it.
Whatever the reason, the truth remained that Alhaitham had found fewer challenges the more he studied. Be it Kaveh’s emotional outbursts or the inefficiency of his classmates, Alhaitham was unfazed. Keeping to himself was more a second nature than a habit by now—as natural as breathing, as reading.
It allowed him fewer failures. Not that they were ever abundant.
Unless it came to you, that is.
“Struggling?” His voice left him in his usual stoic manner, and yet the flash of anger in your eyes did not go unnoticed. Although subtle, if one were to pay close attention to his face, they’d notice the slight curve on his lips—a smile. “Which book?”
“Shut up.”
An amused chuckle left him at your words whispered in anger. The heat gathered in your cheeks at the sound, shame spreading to your ears and down into your neck and cleavage, hidden from his eyes under the Akademiya’s uniform. His laughter, though short, seemed to anger you even more—Alhaitham had discovered, quite quickly, that any sound coming from him seemed to have that effect. Even when he was merely offering his help to reach the book that you not-so-gracefully had been trying to get for the past ten minutes.
In spite of your mumbled, aggressive words, Alhaitham stretched his arm. His fingers traced the spine of a few books—linguistics in context, a comparison in-depth of language evolution around Teyvat, a compilation of ancient runes—until he finally got to the one he was sure you needed. He plucked it out from the shelf, admiring the familiar cover for a few seconds, before handing it to you.
“I never said I needed this.” You replied stubbornly.
You were always too fast to refuse his help. That was his fault, according to Kaveh, but Alhaitham disagreed. Giving you fake praise on that draft you presented him on your first day of class would have been a disservice to you, and yet you had been far too prideful. Now you avoided his help—him—like the plague.
Alhaitham glanced once toward the table you had been sitting at, an arrangement of old textbooks, reports, and scribbled notes surrounding your space. He turned his eyes to you, a questioning look that told you the answer was obvious. You did need it. You did need the comparative essay on how language had shaped Sumeru’s two faces.
You were, still, too prideful, it seemed.
“You do, actually.” He placed the book on your table, dismissively. “It’s a primary source, shouldn’t you know that?”
A stubborn silence on your part is all he received.
Alhaitham sighed. “It seems I overestimated your common sense. Or lack-there-of.”
He should leave. He knew that—his rationality screamed at him to stop bothering, to take your words at face value, and just leave you alone. But he couldn’t. Whether he relished in provoking you or simply saw you as an enigma that he needed to understand, he couldn’t tell.
“See? You’re an idiot.” You nudged him angrily, ineffectual fists hitting his chest. Some other students had stopped, looking curiously at your exchange—usually, the attention would bother him, but he was too focused on you. On your scrunched-up nose, your furrowed brows, your lips pressed together in a thin, tempting line. “If you’re here just to make fun of me, leave. I’m sure you have far better and more important things to do.”
He sighed, though his lips curved in a subtle smile—he was familiar with facts, concrete information, but you seemed to be too abstract for him to grasp. The only thing Alhaitham knew for sure was that you were a magnet.
And he understood the laws of attraction too well to fight.
more works.
©2023 hiimawarish
do not translate, repost, copy, modify
#genshin impact#alhaitham#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x y/n#genshin impact alhaitham#genshin alhaitham#natsu writes#i dont even like this guy#i just like how he's perfect for enemies to lovers#its like when my friend told me i disliked him because we're too similar academically speaking#i just know i could spend hours fighting him on linguistics#and literature
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my demon gave me everything
part 9 l masterlist
summary: dark!natasha romanoff x reader. Natasha Romanoff saves the world. Morals, lifestyle and past aside, the fact is that she puts her life on the line for everyone else. And for this, she believes she’s owed something. She saves billions of lives on the regular, so why not take the occasional one for herself?
word count: 2.2k
warnings: established kidnapping, physical and psychological abuse, power dynamics, manipulation, amputation, developing stockholm syndrone
Things turn into a blur after Natasha came back. She continued to routinely feed you light meals she prepared and plenty of fluids. Everytime she did it ended with her having to be insistent that you finish what she gave you as your appetite remained stubbornly poor. Between that and cleaning your ankle, Natasha put on different shows for you to watch on the TV she had brought into the room. The redhead always asked what you wanted but you rarely answered, unable to focus long enough to decide on something. Luckily for you, Natasha had looked back at your Netflix history and knew about the shows you pirated too so she was always able to pick something you liked for you. On the days you were particularly unresponsive, Natasha would put a documentary on instead as to have something in the background. She enjoyed those too and your comfort shows were starting to grow on her.
The record player was back too and one time Natasha put a disk on an album you used to listen to until you asked her to put her own music back on. You thought about the music you used to enjoy and found yourself uninterested in any of it, even the songs you listened to on loop before Natasha took you. For the time being, you wanted her music instead. The redhead liked that a lot. She had been tempted to put on some of her favourite movies but knew you were in no state to appreciate new visual media so she left it for a later time. All the more reason to get you better, she had thought to herself numerous times.
Mostly though, Natasha held you. She had you tucked up into her chest below her chin closer than she had before, as though she actually wanted the contact as much as you did. You tried not to entertain the idea, but it proved hard when you realised you could hear her heartbeat going a little faster than it used to. Perhaps you were just imagining things. You barely spoke a word to one another. There was so much yet so little to say that you both decided to settle with the comfortable silence that often filled the space.
Your fever was eventually under control and your hallucinations ended, but Natasha couldn’t deny that there was no improvement in your ankle. She had been giving you the maximum dosage of the medication, all the right meals and drinks and ensured the area was always clean. She had encouraged all the undisturbed rest she could yet nothing changed.
Unfortunately, it was too little too late. One inspection from Strange told Natasha that your foot, and in fact the entire left leg beneath your knee, was unsalvageable. “Our choices are to amputate or let her die,” Strange said simply, never seeing the point in sugar coating news of that nature.
You were muttering something inaudible in your sleep as Natasha and Strange watched from the other side of the room. Your infection had spread and your bones were too damaged to respond to antibiotics if they were given again. Your cells had been eroded beyond what could be repaired and only left the redhead with two options.
“Are Banner and Stark at the tower?” Natasha asked after watching you fall unconscious again.
“They’re not surgeons, Romanoff,” Strange said firmly, knowing what the widow was applying.
“Is that a yes?” The Russian continued.
“Yes,” he said after a beat.
“Okay then,” she started as she came over to you and gently picked you up bridal style. Your eyes shot open at the motion and you gave the weakest cry Natasha had ever heard. Fortunately, the intense burning in your leg was enough to drag you back away from consciousness again. “Take us there,” the redhead instructed, leaving no room for arguing.
Strange begrudgingly opened a portal right into the middle of Tony’s lab where the scientist stood with his arms raised in protest at the intrusion. He frowned once he caught sight of you and dropped his latest ironman helmet to inspect the scene before him. Natasha placed you down on the cleanest looking table as Strange began to explain to Tony what needed doing. The redhead didn’t hear them entirely because you were waking up and Natasha was more focused on ensuring you stayed asleep. She applied two fingers to the underside of your skull and pressed inwards enough for your body to become limp once more.
“Nice to finally meet one of them,” Stark quipped as he came over to inspect your leg out of curiosity. Natasha contained herself to a glare the scientist’s way.
“You have something to replace that leg with?” Natasha asked.
“I’ll be able to have U make something up, but we’re gonna need a clean cut.” Tony explained. Strange tusked and began rambling that a surgical amputation was far better than a straight one, but Natasha still didn’t want any hospitals involved and knew they wouldn’t be able to provide the same kind of replacement that Stark could.
“Do it, and I want the rest of them kept out of this,” Natasha said as she nodded to the door. Not all the Avengers were on the same wavelength as those in that room and the redhead didn’t feel like enduring the lecture that would come with them finding you. Tony nodded and ordered a lockdown of the lab as he wheeled the table over to a more contained area that he would be able to leave you in with U to reduce contamination and collected a small needle to ensure you stayed asleep for the next few hours.
“Thanks,” Natasha nodded to Strange without meeting his eye, knowing exactly what he was making of the scene he had been called to. He nodded back without a word, knowing it best to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being and made his swift exit back to the Sanctum just as Tony sealed the doors on the containment room. The redhead watched on as Tony looked away as U produced a rotating saw and steadily brought it down on your infected limb.
The machine worked steadily and precisely in building and attaching a new leg to you. Natasha watched on the entire time to see the process and also ensure you were staying in your drug induced sleep. Tony didn’t make any more remarks for the next couple hours, recognising the look on Natasha’s face that told him he’d regret it if he did. He was naturally made curious by the encounter, knowing only the brief outline of what Natasha got up to in her own apartment. He, Strange and Fury were the only ones who knew of it, just as the Russian knew of some of the practices they got up to in their own time. The four had a mutual understanding that was necessary to keep things under wraps in a worst case scenario.
After several long hours, U was done. The results were…impressive. Natasha examined the false leg with interest, tracing her fingers over the fleshy material and finding it to hardly differ to the real thing. The ‘muscles’ didn’t relax like they would organically and there were several freckles missing. All in all, it was perfect. The redhead wondered how you would respond to it and whether or not she should even tell you at all. Tony informed her that you would likely know anyway because despite your own doubts, you did know your own body.
*
You woke up in a bathtub filled almost to the brim with water. The surface was mostly covered with a thin layer of bubbles, as though someone had added bubblebath to it at the beginning but not enough to make the heaps last long. It was only when you went to put your head back, suddenly feeling lightheaded, that you were alerted to the presence behind you as your head fell back against something solid.
“Hey, lastovichka,” Natasha mumbled against you as she placed a small kiss on your forehead. A tender gesture, one out of character for the redhead you reminded yourself. Such softness didn’t come naturally to the assassin. You didn’t respond. Your throat and mouth felt too dry to even attempt a word and continued to take in your surroundings. The redhead had her legs pressed against the outside of yours and her arms slung casually around your waist. You could feel her breasts against your back as you shifted with uncertainty. You loved it when Natasha held you in her bed but in the bath things felt… different, as though you were more aware of your surroundings including that of the assassin holding you so close and reminded yourself you couldn’t trust such warm acts.
“Come on, we’ve been in here long enough,” Natasha instructed as she stood up gradually behind you to test how you were able to support yourself. To your surprise, you could hold yourself with ease, something that would have been out of the question just twelve hours prior. Miraculously, you were better. You took your leg out of the water to examine it as Natasha dried herself on, subtly observing you in the mirror.
You ran your fingertips down the unmarked skin where the nasty infection had been and frowned. Surely you hadn’t imagined the whole thing? It had felt all too real and yet there wasn’t a single trace of it happening. Your lower leg did have a certain stiffness to it but there was no pain and you could move it freely without any discomfort.
“My ankle…” you trailed off, unable to think of how to even phrase your queerie.
“It’s fixed,” Natasha stated in return, confirming that it had in fact been damaged.
“How long was I out?” You asked, still tracing your fingers over the area.
“About ten hours,” the redhead answered honestly. This time you turned to her.
“You fixed that in ten hours?” You confirmed, never expecting the technology Natasha had access to to be so advanced. The Russian hummed in response and held out her hand for you to take to help get you up. You ignored it and went to get up yourself but unceremoniously slipped back down, spilling some water over the side. You flushed with embarrassment while Natasha simply raised a brow in question.
Begrudgingly, you took her hand and carefully eased yourself up and out of the bath without any support of your left leg. Though it looked perfectly fine, it seemed it was unable to hold any of your weight and instead buckled under it. You dried yourself off on the tub, thankfully not needing any help with that, and managed to hop back to the bedroom with Natasha’s arm under yours. It was irritably strenuous to make the small distance given that your muscles had all but disappeared and had become unpractised in transporting you.
You didn’t speak to the assassin for the rest of the day, too busy processing everything that had happened in…however long it had been. There was no way of telling how long you had been ill in that bed without asking the redhead and you weren’t sure you would trust her answer if she gave you one. You didn’t trust her at all. Nor did you understand her. You wanted to though. You were exhausted by the constant turmoil of emotions she created that you were incapable of keeping up with. She was cruel, that much you knew and you had learnt that even when she seemed nice, she would turn around and throw it back at you.
You had really believed she was going to kill you after she told you about all the other women she had before you. You believed it was the end of the road and that she was ready to start again with someone else, leaving you to die as isolated as she wished. Then suddenly she was nursing you back to health with more ‘care’ than you had ever seen or experienced from her before. You held your breath though, not trusting that it was genuine because you had no reason to. Admittedly, you hoped more than anything that it was sincere, you just had no way of ever knowing for sure. So you decided you would continue to walk on eggshells until you could get your bearings again.
Natasha was very much doing the same. You were unpredictable, then more than ever. The redhead had wondered if perhaps she had pushed you too far and you no longer wanted to be loved by her and that the hatred you had felt at the start was going to come back kicking. Every time the redhead watched you, she saw no indicator of any deciding emotion, only that of conflict. Natasha had of course seen it before and it always ended up being what finally broke them. The redhead didn’t want it to happen to you and could only wait to see if what you had told her weeks ago was still true: that you hoped Natasha would complete you.
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#dark!fic#dark!marvel#dark!natasha x reader#natasha x reader#black widow#marvel
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HC; Magic Affinity.
Keyblade Wielders by nature, besides wielding the esoteric forces of Light and Darkness, have a realm of ability, technique and possibility as vast as space itself. All find themselves different, having either different leans, experiences or preferences that are further refined by the Heart.
Sora is no stranger to that either!
Taking out his innate affinity of masterfully crafting the power of Connections itself into a form of power, in the sphere of elemental ability and spells, even he has a few natural leans. That's exactly what I'd like to dive into with this!
I believe at the top of this list would be the 'Magnet' series with the KH/FF mythos. The way he utilizes is beyond known term of attracting metals. Material and immaterial matter, all of it can fall under the expertise of 'Attraction and Repulsion.' Learning it within the depths of his third big journey, he's come to discover how his Heart held a natural understanding the more he utilized it.
Having the force serve as a pseudo barrier, ensuring he pulled himself and allies out of harms way, altering the trajectory of attacks, physical and magical if they broke even in the realm of magnitude. Sora doesn't take the scientific specifics into mind when doing this, rather, the idea of Connections themselves formulate an innate understanding of their push/pull effects in order and it's been translated in a new way.
Second up on this list would be the Aero series of spells. In his mind's eye, he often imagines the either gentle breezes or dangerous tempest that can brew upon his home island. With that as a focus that needs no concentrating upon, it allowed him to take those imagined forces, amplify that and expand upon three paths, offense, defense and utilize. From creating barriers (that REALLY got more noticeable after engaging with Xaldin's mastery), to creating bursts of wind as airmade footstools, to casting forth tornadoes and tsunamis alike, being born in the tropics of Destiny Islands lent well to this ability.
Lastly would be the ability of Cure magic as a whole. At his core, Sora is someone who holds a tender appreciation for life. Through the means of mana and the Heart, it drastically heightened his capabilities in the field. Returning lost limb and parts, quickly healing menial damage through regen, to 'reviving' someone upon the brink. (Can't do anything when death truly takes over.) In his field of being an Anti-army unit (like all Keyblade wielders), being able to quickly sustain and keep your body in a optimal position to move is pivotal.
His healing magic always remains at its best however when it's in the name of helping others. His Heart doesn't even need to consider or think as the need to nurture and bring strength to others is as natural as breathing to him. This makes both himself and those he align with be stubbornly durable. It's not just the body, but the package of his reserves that have to be depleted to bring him into a pinch.
Yet, even that can be recharged if given enough time, so those windows need to be taken advantage of!
#| HCs#a lil reading of jjk this morn made me consider this#I believe that one of his first abilities being 'Stun impact' so early on#Was a hinting note to what he'd be more of a natural for#Fire spells would've been in 4th place just due to how it's always#Been a starting spell to him. Heavily familiar as well
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Seventeen
RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi
Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story
Table Of Contents
Karl remained uncharacteristically gentle in the shower. At one point, Ethan opened his eyes, blinking away water, to see the engineer staring at him with deep sadness. And though Ethan inquired, Karl said nothing, withdrawing into the lonely place he seemed to inhabit when not being physical. Or teasing. Or repairing something.
When he lay his damp head of curls on Ethan’s chest, after they’d climbed back into bed, Karl seemed to hold the other a bit more tightly than usual. This surprised the father, who was content to stroke the strands of hair and feel the radiant warmth of the body on top of him. He wondered what Karl was thinking about, and considered entering his mind. Just as abruptly as the thought entered, Ethan was horrified at his own disregard for privacy, and began mentally berating himself for it. Never a thought. Ever again.
But then, he’d done it before, hadn’t he? Listened in with his heightened sense of hearing. Gotten jealous over the conversation Karl had with Ada, and then angry at another hushed exchange, when the Duke and Heisenberg had discussed Karl’s “health” problem–namely, the nature of the cadou to cause him to lose his humanity.
Ethan’s hands hovered, pausing on the satin hair.
“Karl.”
“Mm.”
“Did you…” Ethan frowned. “Have you done your uh…the procedure? Since the other time you did it.” Just before the festival in June. Months earlier.
“No.”
“Are you feeling…” Murdery? Carnivorous? “...the way it makes you feel?”
“Not really.”
“Are you controlling it? How is it getting better and not worse?”
Karl shrugged.
Ethan’s stomach dropped. Had something happened? Was Karl’s cadou…damaged? Was it not healing as rapidly as before? Did the Mold being ‘void’ of a Queen affect him too? Or maybe, it was removing whatever part of him Miranda had used to make him–was that what Eva had said? Ethan’s mind began its spiral, and after a few minutes of quiet, he heard the shallow locomotive breaths of the engineer. He was dead weight on Ethan.
The blond wove his fingers through Karl’s curls again, resting his lips and chin on the mop of hair, staring at the embers of the fire. Apparently being the one doing all the fucking didn’t make Ethan any more sleepy…but he’d always been this way. Karl seemed to get his anxieties out through physical intimacy, but Ethan shut down during intimacy and then stayed anxious after. This wasn’t specific to Karl, but Ethan noted that even this seemed to be getting worse, remembering how he’d almost blacked out earlier.
What was happening? To him, to both of them?
When Ethan stubbornly closed his eyes, intent on sleeping, he saw a strange vision. Inky black, and a gold bowl. It spun, revealing intricate details. As Ethan watched, the familiar dish turned upright. From the blackness came the flow…blood? No. Wine splashed into it. Godric’s Patera.
Ethan heard his heartbeat thrumming suddenly…or was that drums? War drums, a solemn, layered beat. That wasn’t his heart. Neither was the whispering chants that accompanied this new sound. There were so many of them–were these the voices of the consciousness? They only ever answered questions, and even then, maybe half the time he asked. They could whisper a tune?
He didn’t understand anything. Ethan felt a strange trepidation about the bowl, which now moved closer to him, a disembodied hand-no, set of hands-holding it out. One masculine, one feminine.
Find me.
It wasn’t Godric’s voice. It was the whispers around Ethan. He wondered suddenly if he could open his eyes and go back to his bedroom, back to holding Karl. But Ethan wanted answers. Several answers, actually. The ominous, looming bowl tipped, splashing wine, and he extended his hand.
Though he could see nothing, the blond felt the cold plate slip into his grasp just as he tipped forward into blackness that smelled like wine.
—-----------
He tipped upside down again. The patera completely disappeared from his view. For several confused seconds Ethan wondered if he would get lost in the void. It seemed so far away from reality, so removed from even the Mold’s layers, wherever Godric sat. And yet he was able to right himself, fight the strange, thick sticky blackness around him, and stumble with heavy feet toward a single doorway.
When Ethan pushed the doors of the church open, he was relieved to see the same disjointed, blurry borders of darkness, and the throne at the pulpit. Godric sat in it, looking pensieve, but the man brightened, standing slowly, as if he couldn’t be sure Ethan wasn’t a mirage.
The blond wondered why the behemoth of a man was grinning so widely, and then he remembered the clothes he was wearing; pajama pants he’d donned after the shower. Right. Ethan rolled his eyes inwardly at himself and stepped forward anyway.
“Ethan.”
“Godric.” The blond felt ridiculous, but he also couldn’t help but smile. Now Godric motioned to the bench seat, one of the former pews. Ethan’s legs were still heavy, but he forced himself to walk, moving until he was in the surprisingly tender embrace of the taller man. Godric hugged Ethan as if he were a tiny teddy bear, squeezing him and nearly lifting him from the ground. He sniffed Ethan’s hair, and said something in his own language. The stare he gave the blond was curious, and yet…skeptical?
“You changed,” Godric decided seriously. Then he steered Ethan to the wooden seat, nearly pushing the blond down with a large hand clapping Ethan’s shoulder–well, add that to the list of things he’d passed down to his descendent.
Once Ethan was sat-firmly-on the bench, Godric swooped down next to him, openly admiring the other’s bare chest before gesturing at his own robe. Ethan shook his head. He was still trying to get accustomed to the other’s huge presence, let alone the very intense eye contact, when the King’s face broke into a wide grin and he gestured to himself.
“Read me.”
Ethan was perplexed, but then recalled how images from his own memory had flickered in his mind’s eye when Godric stared at him. He had no idea how to do what the other asked, but he allowed his gaze to move to the other man’s, and he focused, staring intently. At first, he felt vulnerable, as if he were staring down a Rottweiler, but then Ethan heard the same drum beats as before.
Some kind of war. A battle. He could see it clearly, smell the smoke in the field. A hulking man mowing down enemies. Drinking from his bowl. A ceremony. Papers signed. A meadow with dark shadows-galloping horses? And more wine. Another man, whispering in the dark. The smell of a pipe. Shouting, anger. More paperwork being signed. Gems glittering in dark water.
Ethan was feeling emotions, as well; a similar sensation as when the Bakers had accidentally forced their pain onto him. Pain loomed at the corners of every cell in his body, overwhelming emotions that he could not stand. The blond pulled away from the deep well, and he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “Close your eyes, they go away.”
He did as he was told. The images disappeared. When Ethan opened his eyes, his expression was curious. “Your English sure got better.”
Godric smiled mischievously. “I have the time to learn. And now, the reason.”
Ethan’s usually troubled glare lifted at this and he gave a half smile. Godric moved his hand from Ethan’s shoulder, but kept it draped near him. His entire body faced the blond’s and even with such formal gestures, the man seemed to radiate cozy. Ethan wouldn’t have been surprised if he had a pair of slippers and a snuggling robe.
Putting the intrusive, but hilarious, image from his mind, he asked, “Did you…want me to come here?”
“Always,” said the other, but he nodded in affirmation. “I sent word.”
He frowned. “You feel so worried. I want to help.”
“I…” Ethan wanted to be flattered, but he was still too nervous around the other. Despite the large man’s very obvious attempt at putting him at ease, he was simply intense, intimidating. “I…need your help, I think,” Ethan said sheepishly, not knowing what else to say. Changing the conversation was safer than asking, “Why were you feeling me?”
Probably.
“How can I help?”
“Is there another way to save the Mutamycete without Eva going back into the Mold?” Well, he’d blurted that right out. Godric didn’t even blink though. He tilted his head, drumming his fingers on the wood behind Ethan’s back. He stroked his impressive beard, and Ethan was staring. Quickly the blond looked away.
“Can be another,” Godric said with a squint. “The mind is accepting of many.”
“Does it have to be ah…uh…a woman, I guess?”
Godric’s squint increased. “Motherly spirit.”
“I see.” Ethan frowned. He’d considered taking Eva’s place for a moment–a rather wild, suicidal idea, possibly–but Ethan didn’t have much of a motherly spirit. “If we don’t?”
“It will all slowly go away,” Godric nodded, his pleasant attitude turning solemn. “Wasn’t always so hard. This is because of her.”
Ethan made a disgusted noise. Did he want the Mold to go away? A few months ago, he would have said sure. Every waking fucking moment after Dulvey, absolutely. But now, he didn’t know exactly what that would entail for his future or his daughter’s. If he could just wipe Miranda from the board, they would have years to figure it out. If they could survive without the Mold (likely, as he already had been, after defeating Eveline) and how to ensure their safety.
If that moment ever came, he would probably need Chris’s help. And Ada’s, more likely. But they had to buy time until Miranda was no longer a thorn in their side. He licked his lips, figuring he might as well interview the other while he was stuck down here in…wherever this was. Godric’s eyes were finally unglued from Ethan’s chest and he now plucked at the gossamers of blond hair. “So light!”
The blond didn’t even respond to this.
“Do you know about Karl’s…the ... crystal Miranda used on the Lords? Do you know how to take that safely out of their bodies? I know Karl already has, but…for the other Lords. I want…” Ethan was speaking too quickly, tripping over his words. “I want to be able to save Karl’s consciousness. I can’t let anything happen to him. I can’t lose him.” Ethan’s frown deepened, which looked less impactful with his hair sticking straight up thanks to Godric’s plucking at it. “I WON’T lose him.”
Godric paused in stroking Ethan’s hair to put his hand over his heart, showing that this touched him. With a sweet smile, he batted his eyelashes at Ethan, and then nodded slowly. Ethan leaned forward eagerly, waiting to hear the wonderful news. There was a way then. This could work. He would just….fix it all. Fix Donna. But more importantly, fix Karl. Forever. His eyebrows lifted, the troubled look dissipating. It was all worth it to hear whatever the handsome King would say.
“Awaken the Fish Man.”
Ethan’s face immediately fell, and his skeptical, unimpressed glare was so palpable that Godric burst into laughter.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“No!” Godric chuckled, but was no better at holding his laughter in than his great-however-many nephew, or whatever the hell Karl was. He choked, put a fist over his lips, chuckled again.
“You mean Moreau, right?”
“Yes.”
Ethan sighed and rubbed his temple. Well, technically, they were going to have to drag his disgusting soul out of its mold cocoon anyway, weren’t they? The Duke would probably have a field day with this one too. Ethan’s loud, “Uggghhhh,” went ignored by Godric, who tilted his head quizzically.
“The Duke?”
“Yeah,” Ethan answered, dropping his hand. “Merchant, big…very big, he’s a–wait. YOU know the Duke? How is that possible?”
“He is a very good friend. For all of us,” Godric said in the closest thing to a solemn voice he’d ever used.
Ethan wanted to ask more, but as it usually was, the Duke’s almost mystical presence seemed impossible to grasp. More questions would probably just lead to more questions. And he had another, unrelated question in mind already.
He pointed to his own eyes. “Earlier, my eyes…went black. I think more than once. And my lips, and hands…did this thing. I…” When Ethan faltered, trying to explain the strange occurrence in the bedroom, he suddenly saw himself in the mirror again. He realized Godric was looking into his memories. The other ran a hand across his mustache stoically as the vision played for them both. Ethan’s shocked look, the way his lips were grey and his eyes completely dark. Veins, jet black, snaking away from his eyes and down his face while he stared in the mirror.
And then, Ethan saw himself on top of Karl, felt himself moving into the other man. He saw his own blackened eyes, saw Karl’s hand on his cheek. He heard the soft voice. Eethun.
“Hey, no, not that-!”
Godric wagged his eyebrows, and Ethan laughed anyway. Well, not like he wasn’t sitting here in his goddamned pajamas in an ancient building, in probably the deepest remaining layer of mold consciousness, basically interrogating the man about everything he could think of.
They both laughed together, before Godric went back to fluffing his hair. The gentle smile faded to something of a contemplative stare as he attempted to explain, “I said, you changed. You stepped into the lake. Changed you.”
“The…that dead place that Miranda made?”
“Yes.”
“You know that place? What do you mean changed?”
“You will be more like her. Wading in the water. It is full of her….you…” The King’s gestures were so like Heisenberg’s. “Absorb.”
“Great. So I am gonna turn evil?” Ethan said, stumbling over the last word. It was the only word he could think of to describe Miranda.
But Godric shook his fluffy head confidently. “Not evil. Mmm…Dark. Desperate. Not just absorb. You walk the same path as her. You are now trying to cheat death.”
Was he? Ethan squinted. He was intent on saving Karl, sparing Eva, protecting Rose. Hell, he was now even trying to consider how to extract Miranda’s remnants from Donna to spare her, even though she deserved at the very least the world’s longest time out for that basement shit she pulled. Well, fuck.
He was trying to keep everyone alive…was that the same as cheating death?
“How do I make sure I don’t end up like her then?”
Godric twirled a blond strand and smiled in an almost sad way. “You will not.”
Ethan exhaled. He knew he shouldn’t have stepped into that goddamn water. Oh well. A part of him didn’t mind becoming dark, if that’s what it took. Then that’s what it’d take. He’d already blown the village into smithereens. Murdered quite a few once-people. And attempted to murder Miranda, at the cost of his own moldy body.
Godric leaned in and whispered, his thick accent clipping near Ethan’s ear. “He likes you dark.”
Karl? Ethan blushed furiously and stuttered as Godric chuckled. The King winked. “So do I.”
He had to be fuschia by now, he was blushing so hard. “I just don’t want to be like her, that’s all,” Ethan managed.
“Then you must learn grief.”
Ethan was dumbstruck at this; his mouth moved, but he had no words. He did not dare to say what was in his mind. That he couldn’t. He never had been able to. To grieve, cry? The closest he’d come was earlier in the garden, with Karl, after learning everything he’d done for Rosemary was essentially in vain. It had taken Karl hunting down the girl and bringing her back to the place of death to even begin to right the wrongs from the BSAA, from Miranda, from everyone and everything that would treat them like experiments. Like the bioweapons that they were.
Eveline had never learned to grieve either, he supposed, and that hadn’t gone well for her. But then who did know how to properly handle grief?
The worried, terrified look that crossed Ethan’s face must have said a lot, because Godric shrugged and answered, “You learn it with anger, and then love. Not darkness-then.” He tutted, wagging a finger as if to say, then you’ll be Miranda all over again.
“You run from sorrow, sorrow will find you.”
Sorrow will find you.
Ethan swallowed. When he managed to look again at the hulking King, Godric gave another knowing, sad smile, and raised his thick eyebrows.
“You should go. Harder to leave, longer stay.”
He clasped Ethan’s hand. But just as they stirred, the blond paused. “I have one more question. Rose.”
“Yes.”
“She’s….she knows how to jump around in the mold.” Godric was already nodding. “It’s terrifying to me. She…what if she runs into Miranda? Gets lost? How dangerous is it?”
“Not dangerous, for her,” he said proudly. “She can not be touched. Rest easy.”
Finally, Ethan had an answer that filled him with relief, instead of further anxiety or uncertainty. That was something. And it was for Rose, the most important person in his life. He stood with more vigor than he’d had moments ago.
He didn’t even realize it until now, but Godric was still holding his hand. Ethan put his other hand on top of the dark-skinned, gigantic fingers. “I’ll come back soon. You’ve…you’re amazing. Thank you for everything.” Ethan got the keen sense that Godric was sad, even devastated, that their time was coming to an end. A crushing loneliness sat at the back of the kindhearted, warm energy that radiated from him.
Ethan gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “And the next time I see you, I want to talk about you. I want to know about you.”
At this Godric turned positively giddy, and pushed Ethan playfully toward the door, which was nearly covered in dripping, oozing blackness. Void.
“Yes?” Ethan pushed, enjoying the teasing now that he’d rendered the other speechless, still trying to cheer the man up.
“Yes,” Godric answered, and leaned down for another very intimate, yet formal-feeling, kiss on the cheek. Then he turned away as Ethan stepped backward into the doorway, immediately losing his footing and falling for stories.
In time he righted; but was still falling…floating? Was he being pulled upward? Ethan felt as if he were caught in a current. A new sensation. Was he not going home? Home, home. He chanted in his head, but nothing appeared.
The familiar blackness blinked, flickered, and Ethan stood in an even more familiar place. A place that smelled like hot cement and humidity, where red emergency lights teased the scene. The factory.
Karl stood in front of him. Not Karl. Who was this?
That’s silly. The man was Karl, Ethan was sure of it. Karl’s hair, Karl’s face, Karl’s body, Karl’s gait. But he was dressed differently, in a simple linen top and grimy work pants. No coat, no elaborate disguise, no jewelry. His eyes were different–green. Ethan realized the main reason that he looked different, and he was suddenly stricken with an unexplainable fear.
This man was clean shaven and had no scars.
This was not Karl.
Not-Karl’s unscarred lips twisted into a smile as he approached Ethan, his boots clattering over the safety grate they stood on. He whispered, his accent nothing at all like Karl’s.
“She’s coming.” His ‘sh’ was a ‘z’, his ‘ing’ an ‘inh.’ It was a thick German accent, Ethan decided, and he backed away, but his bare skin touched a hot concrete wall. Well fuck.
“Who’s coming?”
The man rushed him, and too late, Ethan realized he held something in his left hand. He grasped Ethan’s shoulder, pulling himself by Ethan’s ear. The thick, familiar and buttery notes of Karl’s voice were there, it was so close, but the accent was entirely different.
“Don’t let her use your past. Don’t cave.” This was nearly whispered, spoken so quickly it was a frenzied slur of broken consonants, and Ethan’s eyes widened as he attempted to stare at the speaker. Then he felt a lightning bolt go through his right side and Ethan cried out in terror–the Karl-like figure had fucking stabbed him. With a sinister smile, the brunette pushed Ethan even harder against the wall, and it fell away abruptly.
Home, home home. HOME.
The blackness disappeared, and Ethan clapped a hand to his wound, crying out in pain again as he felt the gush of blood past his fingers.
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(Analysis/Thoughts) - Rupert’s obsession/possessiveness (a bit R15+ thoughts?)
What the manhwa does much better in than the novel, is the development of Rupert’s ‘possessiveness’.
Eclair, the original novel author, stated she wrote Rupert as an obsessive/possessive character, but I don’t really see it - I just see him being a green flag all around.
The manhwa, on the other hand, actually expanded on the novel’s story regarding Rupert’s characterization with manhwa-original scenes and I actually prefer the manhwa’s method.
As a review, in both the manhwa and novel, it’s established from Ch 25ish and 45ish that as Rupert grew up, he didn’t have anything to call his own, and so he clung obsessively to what he did. He was always alone, and considered Tori and Louis and Fassbender as tools. As they belonged to him and has his loyalty, he’ll look out for them and use them to their fullest. As Rupert says, he cherishes things because they belong to him, not because he likes them. Things that belong to him won’t betray him. Lari realizes the best way to earn his trust was to pledge her loyalty to him by “becoming his”. She knows she can’t change his mind, and feels that this thought process won’t change anyways. So she offers herself up to him, and spends the rest of S1 and S2 trying to earn his favor and “become his”.
It doesn’t help that Rupert reminds her that she doesn’t belong to him yet, or that he doesn’t trust her, or having Tori remind her how useless she is - all this triggered her fears and anxiety, and how she’s so useless compared to everyone else.
And thus the misunderstanding throughout the series: Lari believes that Rupert doesn’t trust her at all, and she has to continue to be more and more reckless in her endeavors to prove her worth to him, to earn his trust and protection.
On the other hand based on Ch 115, he warmed up to her REALLY quickly. Looks like he really started trusting her by Ch 59, fell in love sometime between that and Ch 78, where he admitted he wanted to grab and kiss her.
Once again, that brings up the issue that Rupert has never been exposed to any love in his life he doesn’t know what it’s like to experience or give it. So while Lari tells him that she wants to be someone he cherishes (like his other ‘belongings’), he gives it serious thought and tries his best to treat her well. But as his feelings grow, there’s another issue: his natural desire to want to get closer to her and be more physically intimate with her.
All his life, he was told that the Crazy Emperor [Loved] Eva, to the point of being obsessed over her, and possessing her to where she was stripped of her individuality and freedom, and is basically a slave. In response to that [Love], Eva was ruined and would rather die than be alive with that monstrous, depraved. Emperor. That’s what Rupert witnessed of such [Love] - physically and mentally assaulting Eva without consent, hugging with her struggling against him, grabbing on to her so she couldn’t flee, forcing kisses and intimacy upon her. Again, this abuse was so horrendous that Eva chose death.
As the manhwa suggests, Rupert already had strong feelings for Lari by Ch 78. During a moment of crisis, when she was poisoned, his desire to protect her grew even stronger, as well as that desire to hold her tight - but he couldn’t allow himself to touch her.
When Eva was alive, she had told him that there would be no one in this world who would ever love him for who he is, and he accepted it. After all, who would love him, if not even his own mother did? He also knew how much Lari hated and feared him. There was no way he could act on his feelings.
Despite him concluding that he’ll remain distant, to not covet her in CH 63 and 86, he still wants her to be with him. Not realizing what he feels is [Love], he stubbornly reminds her often that “she belongs to him”, in hopes that she won’t think about leaving. Because he knows that if she really wants to leave the palace, he won’t be able to force her to stay. So he reminds her of that promise in Ch 34 and Ch73ish, that she belongs to him now, and to not forget it.
To me, that’s just a feeble ‘promise’ to stay by his side. It’s not like an order she’s commanded to fulfill, that’s the only thing Rupert can cling to to encourage her to stay. Besides that, as she’s denied promotions, riches, material goods, he doesn’t know what else he can offer her (he never thinks of the possibility of telling her his real feelings unfortunately, he gave up before he even tried :( ) As Lari correctly guesses - yes it’s Rupert’s insecurity speaking, not an order.
When Ch 98 comes, Rupert once again realizes how much he relies on Lari. Now that he’s this close to becoming Emperor, he feels so so empty, but as he thought, he’s so warm and happy near Lari. His heart/brain naturally headed over to her room, and it’s natural for him to stay overnight to protect her from any harm if any enemies were to target her. He decided again, to watch over her and cherish her as much as he would his own life. He will absolutely protect her from anything and everything.
Then Chapter 111 hits:
This scene of Lari and Eva is super powerful to me, in the sense that the juxtaposition of the violent, possessive nature between Eva and the Crazy Emperor with the panel of the sweet smiling Lari that’s bloodied, dripping down to literally be the blood on Rupert’s back (or it could be that he’s moving around so much that he’s reopening his wounds and they’re bleeding again <— novel)
It’s interesting becuse i always thought it was rather far-fetched that despite having witnessed these episodes of sexual/domestic violence repeatedly for years, he’s disgusted by it all, yet he treats Lari very well, and they even have a very healthy intimate life after becoming a couple.
But after thinking about the events in chapter 87 and 98, where he worries about his “possessive” feelings after that accidental hug, feeling how soft she is and how nice she smells in 87, and seeing her naked figure, clear skin, soft, wet hair in 98…. Makes me think that in addition to having Rupert having second thoughts about continuing to “own” her in a possessive way and trapping her in the palace (because he wants to keep her by his side but he’s scared of ruining her since she “hates him”), he’s having issues with the physical aspects of developing feelings for her. Readers lightheartedly say that Rupert is feeling horny in these two chapters, and I agree.
I initially thought the manhwa removed the part where Rupert tells her that he’s willing to prove his feelings to her because he wants to hug/kiss/sleep with her, but I think they did include in a roundabout way with this scene: Rupert thinks his rapidly growing physical attraction to Lari, especially after he’s hugged her and saw her bare skin, is a bad thing. He’s a normal guy with hormones, after all. He has a perfectly normal desire for intimacy, to be physically close and connected with his loved one. He wants to reach out to grab her, hug her, but he can’t - because he’s scared of becoming just like the Crazy Emperor.
Rupert thinks his [love] for Lari, is purely [lust] or even just possessiveness. He doesn’t realize that love can be a positive emotion, as he’s only exposed to the negative parts of it.
After all, as someone who’s never experienced love or romance, he wouldn’t understand the difference. All he’s seen is the Crazy Emperor’s so-called [love] for Eva, but it’s just a one-sided assault of him forcing himself on her over and over again, with Eva screaming out in pain and rejection continuously. This type of intimacy is just flat out violating a person. There’s no enjoyment. Just assault.
So with Rupert, who’s realizing his feelings now, with those feelings growing stronger when he sees her crying…. Remembers again the trauma of Eva and the Emperor.
Because with those feelings of her, he’ll end up hurting Lari. He pretended not to know, but believed that Lari’s always hated him. If he touches her, she’ll hate him more. If he forces her to sleep with him, she will absolutely hate him to death. He knows how deep Eva’s hatred for the Crazy Emperor was, and he’s absolutely terrified that the moment he touches Lari inappropriately, that innocent smile will break and she’ll resent him forever, with no chance of forgiveness.
To make it worse, in the manhwa, Rupert imagines Eva wrapping herself Lari, and threatening to choke Lari, as if saying “look, if you dare to get one step closer to her, she’ll end up like me, is that what you want? To be like the Crazy Emperor? The one who killed me?”
So of course he has to let her go, because there’s no way he could ever trap her at the palace like that.
Returning to my original point: the manhwa deviates from the novel by making it much clearer that Rupert doesn’t have yandere qualities of obsession/possession. He’s too self-aware for it.
What I see, is a very lonely, insecure guy who really loves and accepts Lari, who feels that she also understands and cares for him and wants to be exclusive with her. She’s nice and considerate to him, but he thinks that’s her character - she’s just nice and considerate to everyone, including him. She’s very pretty, and considering how there were so many men ogling at her at the debutante, there’s plenty outside of the palace who would also love for the privilege of dating/marrying her. So he just ends up acting jealous and territorial. He can’t force her to do anything, because she’ll hate him for it. There’s not much he can offer her, since she doesn’t need much. He’s too considerate of her feelings and happiness.
Lari as well, doesn’t really consider Rupert a possessive/obsessive person. He doesn’t scare her, or creep her out, or makes her nervous. He sometimes says/does childish or weird things, but he’s able to be reasoned with. If he does something unreasonable, they’re able to bicker about it till he stops doing the unreasonable thing. Overall, she’s been pretty happy and comfortable by his side.
After all, she’s stopped hating and fearing him since about Ch 59, and once she loses that remaining small % of doubt that he would turn in to Rasperich I, she doesn’t let those fears stop her anymore. Because she’s accepted Rupert for who he is now ^^
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Coming of Age; The lessons in immortality and moral high grounding
The longest meta often starts with the tiniest thing.
One thing in Cosmic Garou's design is an interesting one to note.
Long ears.
It's not only demonic, but elvish as well.
It is by no means accidental, because elves who in popular culture posses such long ears, often denote long life, vitality and immortality.
I'd like to borrow something I found from quora, from Douglas Adam's Hitchiker's guide to galaxy. An answer to question:
Do the Elves in Tolkien’s mythos ever go insane from living too long? Do any of them resent being immortal?
I think this topic is covered very nicely in Douglas Adams' book “Life, the Universe and Everything - Wikipedia ”, the third book in his five book trilogy “The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy”:
Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged was-indeed, is - one of the Universe's very small number of immortal beings.
Those who are born immortal instinctively know how to cope with it, but Wowbagger was not one of them. Indeed he had come to hate them, the load of serene bastards.
He had had his immortality thrust upon him by an unfortunate accident with an irrational particle accelerator, a liquid lunch and a pair of rubber bands. The precise details of the accident are not important because no one has ever managed to duplicate the exact circumstances under which it happened, and many people have ended up looking very silly, or dead, or both, trying.
Wowbagger closed his eyes in a grim and weary expression, put some light jazz on the ship's stereo, and reflected that he could have made it if it hadn't been for Sunday afternoons, he really could have done.
To begin with it was fun, he had a ball, living dangerously, taking risks, cleaning up on high-yield long-term investments, and just generally outliving the hell out of everybody.
In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2.55, when you know that you've had all the baths you can usefully have that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the papers you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul.
So things began to pall for him. The merry smiles he used to wear at other people's funerals began to fade. He began to despise the Universe in general, and everyone in it in particular.
"So, Elves, having been created immortal, would live happily in Valinor until the end of time. Humans, if they had been granted their wish of immortality, wouldn’t know how to cope with it."
Elves are naturally immortal; like the Ainur, they are bound to Arda until its End. Elves are immune to all diseases, and they can recover from wounds which would normally kill a mortal Man.[1]:218-9
Nonetheless, Elves can be physically slain or die of grief and weariness.
Saitama denotes all the signs of immortality as well, yet his body is still human, because he stubbornly clings to his humanity. And so his body is still capable of dying.
So in this, Garou's story and one of the themes in OPM is a coming-of-age, where Garou matures enough to realize the cost of attaining such power and takes responsibility for his actions.
Of growing and becoming an old and weary soul, of having your loved ones die before you.
That's why he chose to not remain so and chose to go out in his own terms and not linger around trying to find redemption. Otherwise he'd just become insane.
Humans, when immortality is thrust on them, would not know how to cope with it. There is one being that would know this fact better than anybody else. The one who imposed those limits on humankind.
Yet said being is actually already dead but stubbornly clinging to a human-resembling form and takes the identities and forms of other people because it has none of it's own. Or perhaps it resents itself and so hides behind a facade.
Makes you think who could have killed such a being and locked it away behind a dimensional barrier. If not himself.
So in the cruellest way possible, Future Garou learned an important lesson; not to dabble with powers he does not know to justify being moral police. The consequences are too severe.
That's why he only got a mere fraction of the power and why he was allowed to go out on his own terms. So the lesson will stick harder when it becomes apparent that he's not out of the woods yet. Because he's definitely not allowed to live a long life no or become immortal in the mortal world.
OPM God could have taken his life, yet he did not.
We're really making assumptions here that how long Garou spent touching God's hand is the reason why he got only a small portion of his powers imparted to him.
Instead of OPM God choosing to only impart him with a small fraction.
Or that the gesture itself is entirely meaningless in the grand scheme of things; that the true meaning of taking God's hand is accepting, wanting help and willingness to take that power and touching the hand makes the contract more binding when the person is manipulated to follow through with thinking of it as moral obligation.
It's not like he has to tell them what to do with the power, after all, their own moral code will make certain that they do exactly as he emotionally manipulates them to confidently act.
Like a puppet chessmaster, the space moral police lawyer. Also known as Advocate.
They'd still be a puppet, even if they have free will, when they get manipulated into thinking that they can justify their current actions. And why such manipulation is so hard to shake off by telling them they're being controlled, because their own hard convictions lead them on.
Being able to take the moral high ground, when one has so many problems with society's moral values and everyone else's values one deem bad, is a helluva drug indeed.
(Nice parallel btw)
If it's not apparent, Garou is not the only one who got taught an important lesson that will stick.
Don't take the moral high ground and flaunt that power imbalance. The consequences are too severe. The resulting ignorance and superiority complex are not worth it.
Being able to justify anything one does on the cognitive side is only fooling oneself into becoming a hypocrite.
Consider using heart and empathy instead.
--
So what did we learn about chasing and gaining power, attaining immortality and moral high grounding?
Fucking Don't. Don't fucking do it. Because at the end of the day, people still have to accept responsibility for their own actions if they're to be an actual mature person. Physically and mentally.
The higher moral ground one takes, the harder will be the fall when one slips off the edge.
Oh and the inner critic, Big Brother, is watching, with a magnifying glass in hand.
--
(Funny how your own metas make you sound like a bloody hypocrite huh? There is a lot of power in written and spoken words too. It certainly does make one consider. That's how you know ONE's writing is super-effective. Preach.)
Edit: You know it's kind of creepy when I write this shit for multiple hours, post and then I come back and see ONE has posted an omake in Mob Psycho about the same fucking thing.
Well, I fucking guess I'm on the right track with the theme he wants to tell ppfpfpf. Preaching without action or empathy is just being a dumbass hypocrite.
#opm#one punch man#opm meta#garou#opm god#saitama#fubuki#elves#immortality#coming of age#moral high ground#maturity#long
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♡ ・ kindred beasts, shared breaths ━━━ boel drabble, featuring zephia & eremiya
TRADITION WAS MERELY A SPECTACLE AMID THE STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE; in which, in all aspects this mage dragon knew itself to be familiar, came the assumed predictability of the bishop's reaction once all was prepared and she had been herded into the tent's corner without struggle, like the very sheep she pretended to wear the flayed skin of. thus, predictability bled into a loose stream of evasiveness and retaliation,
bishop returned its gaze with not a hint of emotion. dragon bared its fangs in the kindest of smiles. bishop stepped right. dragon followed suit. bishop stepped back. dragon closed the distance.
"sister eremiya," it drawled in a low hum, reaching for her when the next retreating step bumped her lower back against the abrupt edge of a table. claws flex above her stomach, a ghost's threat of physicality, and━━━ah, there it was. the twitch of her otherwise stern countenance, curling her lips into the small beginnings of a scowl. it pushed further, tilting its head to the side as it mimicked a purr, "won't you tend to me?"
and her answer was ever so obstinate in the face of that in which she had no fear for or to. "do not waste your breath," raspy, not unlike the growl of a beast condemned within a human's throat, "you have paraded those wounds long enough. i want nothing to do with you nor your dirty faith."
an arched brow and a wider grin was all her refusal evoked from it, to which her frown only deepened, to the extent of furrowing her brows and twitching her nose.
"hm, disappointing. even after i spoke so highly of your talent to each attendant who wished to close these wounds themselves." zephia offered a half - hearted shrug of one shoulder, pulling back its claws to clasp its hands behind its back. though it straightened its posture, she had not budged from where she leaned against the table and away from it. another hum, "i suppose i'll be forced to ask my hound for aid, instead. but, ah, i'd hate to bring this up with him. he's prone to dramatics when it comes to me, i fear. you know how children get."
the slightest glance was laid upon eremiya, not ignorant to both the sudden twitch of her hand nor the stiffness of her once relaxed shoulders. amusement brightened two - toned eyes and, once the delight formed itself as laughter within the back of its throat, it played the innocent gasp of a sheep. "oh? do you know him? my darling hound; griss is his name. mark on his cheek? scarred? half - done and half - cut robes? quite the sight, no?"
but the emotion darkening eremiya's gaze could not be fright, no, for her body would have followed the reaction in full, from trembling hands to twitching eyes. thus, mage dragon opened its mouth to continue, before the sudden twist of the bishop's clenched fist tore its very breath from it. gasping, it halted itself on instinct. the magic seeping from her fingers was recognized, swiftly, though little could stop the unconscious stumble backward, a clumsiness it immediately righted.
"if you ever command that runt to stalk me again, i will rid you of your stupid dog." her fist remained closed, stubbornly withholding the stolen energy within the intangible gates of nosferatu. then came the scowl, spreading so naturally across her face that zephia could not help but utter a small, breathy laugh at the successful sight.
a shaky inhale racked its chest, but it continued to prod and poke despite the heavy exhaustion weighing its body. "you're c━━━confident, sister." her gaze narrowed; it wheezed out another laugh. "he'd tear you to shreds in seconds."
and, just as it had been torn away, the loosening of her fist filled in the gaps in the mage dragon's chest, seizing its breath and forcing it to settle on its own. though it shivered at the wealth of magic given back, unmeasured to the extent of evident noticeability.
eremiya clicked her tongue, unimpressed seemingly, "yet he had not."
obviously not. "hm - hm. . . because i told him to keep you alive. what fun are you dead?"
silence, a dreading pause, before she sighed and took hold of her staff from where it stood leaning against a nearby crate. "you have been healed, zephia," she said, "now leave me be and remember my vow."
fangs unsheathed behind its grin as it tilted its head almost curiously, "see? now was that difficult to do?" as she would have bent to its expectation in no other manner. a revelation she could only scoff at. yet her gaze only widened when it leaned to ask, "though i remember you making a great deal over not knowing how to control your magic. but after a feat like that. . . had you lied to surprise dear ol' me, i wonder?"
a pause before eremiya masked her incredulity with a sneer and shoved past it, "the battlefield needs me. make yourself useful and return to whichever den you crawled from, fool." softly, with the twitch of zephia's ear, she sighed, "how exhausting. . ."
OBLIGATORY INTERMUSE BOEL INTERACTION, FINISHED !
#toaboel2024#motheruin#☽ ━━━━━━ ❝ the cruelty of a mother's greed ・ 【 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 】 .#☽ ━━━━━━ ❝ she; who motherhood laughs at ・ 【 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 】 .#the second i thought of zephia wearing her wounds in pride i knew who she'd want to heal her . . . these two are sick i fear#context regarding the incident; in their drabble series zephia had griss stalk eremiya for information until she was deemed paranoid enough#+ to meet at a vulnerable state. it worked and now eremiya is scared of griss and despises zephia / thinks she's immature.#each time they meet; zephia is trying to break down eremiya's elusiveness and eremiya is trying to deconstruct zephia's show of strength#hence eremiya telling zephia that she isn't interested in performing magic in her service and zephia forcing it whenever they meet#eremiya who thinks zephia's sombronisms are dirty and zephia who thinks eremiya's gangrelisms are pathetic . . . . i hate them so much#i just need them two to get away from each other and eremiya to put in a restraining order on zephia#also wanted to flavor nosferatu in a more concentrated manner yfm? steadily keeping the line of energy taut between mage and victim but#not fully completing the spell to extend its strain? yeah this is just nonsense MKDSMKDEWMEKW
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Headcanon Game - A to Z (nsft)
Sentry Adam (dealer's choice~):
Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Ooohhhh boy... this one even surprised me... lol
Black Sentry Adam Park
Dirty Secret:
Adam would rather die than ever admit this to another soul, even Skull and he usually told that man more than he EVER needed to know!
He did admit part of the truth at the ‘roundtable’ bonfire as both Coinless rebels and former Sentries compared stories of their most ‘what the fuck’ tales during Drakkon’s reign. Despite hearing everyone else’s wild escapades and close calls, he stubbornly kept this secret close to his chest. Adam was ashamed of what he’d done, confused at why he’d done it, why his body betrayed him in such a disgusting manner…
But that was not quite accurate, was it? He did have a theory about his physical response, not that it made anything better or relieved any of his guilt.
Skull stood in front of the fire, grinning, arms spread wide as he finished his odd experience imbibing in alcohol and weed with both Drakkon and Red, chilling like a trio of high school kids sneaking a drink and a smoke in their parent’s basement.
A few people razzed Eugene, knowing the tyrant’s public stance on indulging in mind altering substances. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
“There was that one time, I caught them doing a line of blow… They didn’t see me, and I didn’t announce my presence.”
Now, all eyes were laser focused on the former Black Sentry, curious for further dirt on the crazy motherfucker and his demonic doggie. Fortunately, Kim’s arrival and her top tier tale took the attention away from him, to his great relief.
Adam had been too mortified to admit that while he’d stood hidden in Drakkon’s chambers behind heavy velvet drapery, he watched the two not only snort the white, powdery drug from long lines gracing a polished tabletop, he’d also been privy to a vigorous, sweaty, and prolonged fucking.
And as he remained ensconced in the green fabric, he tried to tune it out, tried to resist the primal urge to peek at the performers (because at that moment they very much were like circus acrobats)… Shamefully, his baser nature won out and his hand found its way inside the dark pants to a throbbing rock hard cock.
“Cry for me, you goddamn fucking bitch!” Drakkon screamed at one point, shoving Red dangerously close to where Adam was hiding. “I want to taste your misery!”
It had to be the over-the-top dominant/submissive dynamic between the pair that was causing this reaction, the kink mirroring his own desire as the tyrant berated, smacked, choked, and beat Red about the room, all the while thrusting into his ass with violent force.
This was what Adam was craving in the recesses of his heart, to be bleeding at the hands of a powerful, aggressive woman who knew what she wanted and was determined to take it. Receiving a well-deserved and welcome ass beating before being granted an orgasm…
As luck would have it, Adam came at the same time as Drakkon, the latter bellowing so loudly that the voyeur’s cries went unheard, the asshole’s fingers yanking Red’s head back by his thick mane. And when they collapsed in a sweaty, drugged out bliss, the pet ardently licked and sucked his master’s fingers, his dark eye dilated and glossy gazing with adoration at the fucker even after the pain that was inflicted.
Yes… it was true…. Adam had jacked off while watching Drakkon and Red wildly indulging in cocaine-fueled, violent sex…
That was a secret best taken to the grave.
Kink:
Even before their world took a nosedive into the shitter, Adam was a meek, reserved, and soft-spoken young man. He possessed an easy, sunny smile and had no trouble making friends despite his apparent shyness. His personality complemented the more outgoing, loud, and gregarious natures of his best friends, Rocky and Aisha.
Adam was an observer, a thinker, commenting pearls of wisdom that he seemingly pulled from air at just the right time. He was a model son, an amazing friend, and eventually, a devoted husband and father. For the short time, his wife and child were alive, that was…
As a Black Sentry, his temperament did not change all that much, besides losing that gentle smile, not too surprising given the front row seat he held to theatrical fuckery that would haunt his dreams nightly for the rest of his life. Now, his commentary was a blend of dry sarcasm, sometimes uttered with a very put-upon sigh of resignation.
After Drakkon had been run out of his palace and into the vast wilderness that encroached closer and closer to the perimeter wall, Adam was the only person in attendance that wasn’t jumping for joy. They’d only succeeded in replacing one asshole with another and, while the simpering aristocracy celebrated their treachery, he’d merely tossed his weapon upon the cobblestones, turned on his heel, and strode off into the night, unnoticed and silent.
Spotted wandering aimlessly about their territory, the Coinless guards alerted Eugene to Adam’s presence and the two old friends had a heartfelt reunion before the quiet man was taken under Skull’s wing and brought back to their encampment. The first night he was there, Adam looked about the thick crush of trees and bracken and muttered…
“You know they chased that prima ballerina and his precious pooch into the forest, right? He’ll probably find us now and slit our throats while we sleep.”
It was utter silence as the assembled group stared at the Black Sentry, no one exactly sure what to say to that. Kimberly, Drakkon’s former Ranger Slayer, pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes, while Zack crossed his arms indignantly and Trini slipped away to assemble more watchers.
“Nah,” Skull finally quipped, slinging a friendly arm over Adam’s shoulders. “That’s not his style. He’s like ‘em awake and aware, remember? That asshole’s never been subtle.”
After that, the newcomer was dubbed as a ‘Debbie Downer’, a stick in the mud, who sucked the wind from your sails if you got too excited or happy about something. It wasn’t intentional to be cruel or hateful. This was the way that Adam had survived in the palace.
There WERE times it came in handy like trying to avoid future pitfalls when discussing tactics or intelligence gathering.
However, overall, the consensus was that people tended to avoid Adam if they were in a positive frame of mind. It was not uncommon for Skull to pat his dark hair kindly, and with a slow shake of his head, reiterate that the sullen Black Sentry reminded him greatly of Eeyore, the chronically depressed donkey of the children’s tales of Winnie the Pooh.
Given this quiet, depressing demeanor, the others would be shocked to discover Adam had a secret kink, one that drove him so crazy, it made him stupid enough to feel happiness. At least for a little while as hormones flooded his system and clouded his critical brain.
Adam LOVED a bossy, loud, assertive woman, one that could be aggressive and tell you how things were going to be! The woman would stand over him in her highest, most expensive heels, lacy black stockings climbing her powerful thighs and clipped by a garter belt, a leather corset squishing her breasts prominently, her contemptuous lips curled and sporting a deeply red lipstick.
The mysterious female dominant looked at him like a worm, someone she took great pains to be patient with, a soft, plush little man to mold in her manicured hands. No matter her outer attire, this vixen wore risqué lingerie in reds, blacks, royal purple… they came in laces, silks, leather, and velvet… what she considered her ‘real’ uniform beneath her ‘socially appropriate outfit’ and they served to enhance her powerful, confident nature.
Her shiny stilettos would brush his quivering flesh as he knelt at her feet. Sometimes, the sharp heel or toe would nudge his balls in warning, ensuring she had his full attention. She was a femme fatale and knew it.
Adam would drool over those pricey high heels, lap them clean with his tongue at her command. A knowing smile from those ruby lips as she watched him salivate…thinking of more degrading tasks for the weakling to earn her favor.
In life, his own beautiful wife was just such a woman. She was strong, powerful, outspoken, and a bombshell in the bedroom. That didn’t change when she was looking death in the face, knowing full well she was unable to save herself or her child, the tears flowing down her reddened cheeks.
So, what did she do?
That crazy, gorgeous wife of his drilled that hateful fuck directly in the balls, dropping him into an embarrassing heap before his Sentries, dry heaving in agony and fighting mightily to regain his menacing stature. Adam couldn’t have been prouder of her… She was vicious even to the end.
The depressed, quiet man couldn’t imagine ever meeting another like his wife, resigned to living out his life celibate as a monk and possibly live vicariously through watching Kimberly and Bulk behaving flirtatiously and getting handsy when they thought no one was looking. Sometimes, he felt like he’d love to just watch a couple having sex while he handled his cock himself. He’d resorted to it before…
Fortunately for Adam, men like himself were adorned with giant neon signs, invisible to all except the type of woman he most desired.
And Scorpina could see it loud and clear and was more than happy to walk all over Adam in her spikiest shoes….
Oral:
Adam LOVES servicing his Queen and is very talented in providing pleasure. He prides himself on learning new moves and techniques. Like Red, he finds books, magazines, etc. to keep himself at the top of his game. Giving her an orgasm with his mouth is how he feels powerful and important, to earn his place at her feet.
If his dominant wishes to give him oral as a gift, he won’t refuse her desire, but doesn’t like to stand over her when she does so. It seems to him like it’s putting her in a submissive role. So, he prefers to lay on his back or any other way that preserves their ‘titles.’
#boom! comics power rangers#world of the coinless adam park#lord drakkon#world of the coinless jason#nsft asks#kinky shit
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Y'all, I can't
I know we've all heard me say this before, but I literally cannot handle this anymore. My medical team have flat out told me I need to seriously destress. It's too much for my body.
I'm bleeding internally and have been for months now. They know this because my blood tests keep coming up more anemic than the last, my white blood cell levels are high, and other fluid checks keep turning up the presence of blood. I have had every fucking test over the last three months and they can't find the bleed. Waiting on camera results from like two weeks ago. Which is fun. I want them to find something to fix. I explained to my therapist and my psychiatrist that not having something to fight makes this whole process worse.
Not that I need something else to fight. But, it'd fucking help to know what's happening.
I've lost all interest in food. Literally, want nothing to do with it. I eat because I have to eat so I can maintain my blood sugar levels and for meds. But, even that takes so much energy. I just end up eating whatever feels less likely to make me sick just thinking about it, then adapt to account for what is and is not available in the house. Why has food become my enemy? Who the fuck knows. My medical team sure as hell doesn't.
I'm losing weight, but I have weight to spare, so that's not the worst. No, it's the fact that I've had DEPRESSION hair healthier than whatever the fuck's going on rn. I'm EXHAUSTED all the time. Literally every major organ is pulling some bullshit. I am on meds for all the things. But, meds alone can't fix what's going on. As every medical professional on my roster has gone on and on about. Repeatedly. Like I don't get it. Like I'm not trying. Like it's in any way achievable in the place I'm currently mired in.
My family, of course, remains stubbornly, willfully, intractably ignorant of my situation and my pleas despite me literally, explicitly stating that I cannot keep on like this.
I can't work because of organ complications. No work means no money. No money means having to negotiate and sacrifice and just go without for stretches sometimes. I have exactly .5 in my bank account and that's going to end up negative sometime this week. Yet, I'm still expected to care for young children, attend to older children, clean a house that is not mine and care for an ailing aunt with rapid onset aggressive alzheimer's/dementia. All for no pay, no compensation, no thanks and nothing but grief and harassment when I literally cannot scrape enough energy together to completely push through all my own shit and attend to everyone else and their needs/wants/desires. Everything I do is not the right thing, naturally. And everyone has SOMETHING to say about the state of my health and/or life (especially the lack thereof) while offering zero actual assistance or support - even emotionally, even just by being available. I keep getting bullshit like, "Well, what're you gonna do?" And, "What do you want me to tell you?" And, "You just have to take it and move on."
Three years of straight therapy working to not do that. Three years of therapy growing strong enough to not just give in and to tell people no and a whole host of other things, and now more of this shit. My new therapist is worthless for this kind of stuff. Have a new psychiatrist because my last one left. I am so fucking touch starved I feel sick over any physical contact that isn't with someone too young to care for themselves or an animal. And despite me constantly asking for something, anything all I get is ignored or gaslit or attacked.
There's nothing left for me to attempt for stress relief. I spend most of my time doom scrolling on tik tok because it's the only space that feels in any way engaging or relaxing any more. And I have all this drive to change things, but no way to actually see any, let alone all of it to fruition.
All this to say, my stress levels are incredibly high. I am not okay by any stretch of imagination or definition of the word. And at the rate I'm going, I will probably die from it before anything else happens. Which, btw, is not me being dramatic. That's straight out of several medical professionals mouths. Provided, of course, I do not do a hard reset, which, yeah.
Anyway. Just needed to rant for a bit. Thanks anyone who made it this far. I appreciate you.
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Well, this now opens up 3 new possible scenario ideas!
#1: Minus One reawakens in 2014 to try and assist MV!Goji in taking on the MUTOs. He...doesn't exactly do well since up until then, he's never faced off against enemy kaiju before. Doesn't help that the MUTOs have specifics evolved EMP fields that would disrupt his heat ray ability and leave him a sitting duck to their attacks. The only way I'd see him be able to help MV!Goji would be having enough time to charge up his ray at a safe distance; then let loose at the male MUTO with near-precise accuracy. He'd probably try to fight the female alone, only to get mauled and brief put out of commission before MV!Goji finishes the job sometime later.
#2: He reawakens in 2019, primarily in response to Ghidorah's Alpha Call. He'd for once be torn. On one hand, Ghidorah's genocidal desire against humanity does line up with his own hatred of humanity...but he feels like he owes his continued existence (or should I say coexistence?) to MV!Goji, so in a way, he stubbornly decides to head out to attempt to hold off Ghidorah on his own. Mothra intercepts him however, and advises that he only join in the upcoming battle when it's clear he can make a difference. M-One is quite disgruntled at the fact she's basically saying to stay back unless needed, but he acknowledges her words, and heads for Boston but stays back whilst the final battle of KOTM plays out. In a semi-divergence from the movie, when Ghidorah gains the upper hand, M-One charges his ray and unleashes it at the One Who is Many. Ghidorah ignores the puny ray at first, but once it actually hits, he's completely (if not literally) blindsided. This allows for MV!Goji gain the Burning powerup quicker, but the final portions of the film remain unchanged except for M-One being in the background to bow to his new King.
#3: After 2019, in 2024, he ends up in a rather strange situation. On one hand, he feels a bit happy that MV!Goji is finally seeing things his way, but on the other, he's a bit weary that soon the larger Gojiran would take his anger out on him, making M-One keep his distance for a bit. When the Hong Kong battle happens, he's forced to aim his heat ray somewhere, and that somewhere ultimately was at Kong, but the use of the axe at the last second prevented the "nuke effect" of his beam from igniting. The final battle has M-One actually attempt physical combat to assist the two Titans, but again, he gets his ass kicked real fast. Post-Mechagodzilla death, and he just returns to the sea, just a bit more done with everything.
What do you think?
I'll be real, I don't think Minus One Goji would fit too well in a MonsterVerse scenario due to the MV's themes of balance and humans aiding Titans in some way, Minus One's theme being basically a third atomic bomb causing Japan's economic state to go from zero to... well, minus; on top of his more violent and aggressive nature towards humans, no matter how much he might respect MV!Goji. One scrap with a bigger Godzilla probably won't teach him to be at best an anti-hero. Plus, his lack of experience against other Titans evidently makes him a Glass Cannon whose only real advantage would be surprise atomic breath attacks or being an ambush predator in the ocean, which is highly situational.
I also can't imagine he'd be very popular among anyone because of his hair-trigger temper, which makes it unlikely for a human to consider aiding him to any degree when he'd need it, and that might only reinforce his hatred of humans, resulting in a vicious cycle of "humans hate me so I'll stew in my anger, humans didn't help me so I'll stew in my anger" until he inevitably explodes. -1 Goji simply has more in common with Ghidorah than he does with MV!Godzilla, and that is a hypothetical scenario that we all know will end very badly.
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Can I please ask you 🛀, 🎀 and 🎠 from the sleepover asks?
🛀 What’s your favorite mundane thing to do with your F/O?
Lately I've thought about AZnerine movie nights 😭 i think despite living for almost all of modern history, AZ has never really taken the time to indulge in it. So I think he'd be really interested in "simple" things like cinema ^.^
🎀 What’s your favorite thing about your F/O’s appearance?
Something u have 2 know about me is that 90% of the time the thing that initially attracts me (physically at least) is the nose shape </3 I like that Theseus has a hooked nose I like that AZ has a wide one.
Asterius doesn't have a human nose of course but I like his eyes most :~)
🎠 What’s your favorite thing about your F/O’s personality?
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I genuinely love that Theseus is kind of a mean annoying bitch <3 I find it very cute.
As far as positive traits go I love that he has a very strong sense of justice... he's also very stubbornly determined and so melodramatic. I think he rehearses his speeches when he as the time <3
I like that Asterius has a sense of nobility to him... while he is a prince he didn't get to live the life of one, yet he remains dignified. He's strong and sad and kind in his own unique way- he's not passive in the slightest! Something powerful about that, especially after his experiences.
And well </3 there's no way to say "I like how miserable AZ is" without it sounding a little sick and twisted but it's true okay. 😭 Something about a guy spending millennia searching for forgiveness and redemption. They're not traits you'd immediately notice about him but he's both incredibly stubborn and incredibly passive. As king he managed to make himself Seem generous and caring, but those traits don't come naturally to him- he's really very inconsiderate! He didn't even think about how floette may feel about his actions (even though well, of Course she'd disapprove). Those are more negative traits n all but I find them really interesting.
I think he wants to find new ways to help people nowadays though...!
#💌 letters#👑 the once and future king (theseus)#🐂 darkness into light (asterius)#🗝️ paleozoic within the body (az)#thank u for the ask sorry this is so long. </3
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You make the miles worth it - Chapter 10
Summary - The Chicago Marathon had always been a dream for Hailey. And when she meets a stranger in pink running shoes whilst training, she realises maybe she had been dreaming for more.
Chapter - 11/?
Chapter Summary - Vanessa called in back up to find Jay when he didn’t show. Jay explains himself to Hailey.
Notes - I found the note I had on the prologue for this fic which stated it was going to be 6/7 chapters long. Well this is chapter 11 and we are looking more around the 20 mark! Hope you enjoy this chapter and its fluff makes up for the angst of the last couple of weeks! AO3 Link
The incessant knocking on her door woke Hailey from the barely peaceful nap she had been having. Her sleep was plagued by unread texts and unanswered phone calls.
‘Go away V’, she called out in her sleepy haze.
‘Not V’, a man's voice responded, the door opening to reveal Jay. An out of breath Jay, standing in her bedroom.
Hailey sat up quickly, drawing her sheets up to her chest, she had thrown her running clothes off and jumped into bed in an oversized t-shirt. Her bedhead and outfit choice was nothing compared to Jay’s. His hair was sticking up at angles she had never seen, he was wearing an Army shirt that had clearly seen better days. His navy sweatpants that adorned his lower half were covered in paint splatters and he had finished off the look with some heavy winter boots, it was currently late July.
‘Jay?’ She was completely awake now, all traces of sleep gone from her voice, her eyes roaming over him, taking in the mis-matched nature of his appearance.
‘I overslept’, he blurted out. He was breathing heavily from whatever physical excursion had got him out of breath.
‘What?’
‘I overslept’, he repeated. ‘That’s why I wasn’t there this morning and my phone was dead so my alarm didn’t go off’. He ran his hand over his unkempt hair, attempting to flatten it down but it was stubbornly remaining upright.
‘Okay’, Hailey said quietly. ‘Do you want to come in?’ she gestured to where he was still standing in the doorway.
He nodded and walked in, ‘open or close?’ he asked with his hand still on the door handle.
‘Just pull it too or else Vanessa will have a field day’
‘Not allowed boys in your room’, he winked.
Hailey laughed, ‘not on school night anyway’. All the awkwardness from the last week seemed to float away. This was the Jay that Hailey had gotten to know; flirty and cheeky. And she felt back to herself, able to counter his rebuttal without being concerned or overthinking the situation. She patted the space on the bed next to her and Jay toed his boots off and took a seat, leaning back against her carved headboard.
‘Expecting a snowstorm?’ she chuckled, nodding towards the boots.
‘They were the first pair I grabbed when Kevin almost broke down my door’. The look of confusion married with worry that crossed Hailey’s face at this statement made Jay laugh. ‘I guess I should start at the beginning’.
‘I think you should’, Hailey said, biting back a laugh.
—————————————————————————-
As the pair sat there, Jay explained what had happened. The unit had worked a late case which included a stake out meaning Jay hadn’t had a chance to charge his phone. When he finally made it home at 4am, he had gone straight to bed but his phone died before the alarm went off at 7 to meet Hailey.
After Hailey had returned home and spoken to Vanessa, she had called Kevin, who thankfully had remembered to charge his phone overnight, and Kevin had headed over to Jay’s in person. Kevin’s loud fist against the door was enough to wake Jay, who then flew into panic mode, chucked on the nearest clothes he could find and ran out the door to Hailey’s apartment.
They had both laughed at the outfit he had run through the streets in Chicago in, imagining the sight of the normally very put together Jay legging it down Washington Blvd in his winter boots.
‘How long did you wait for me this morning?’, Jay asked after the laughter had died down.
‘About 20 minutes’, Hailey responded, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread on her comforter.
‘Thought I’d abandoned you?’ Jay nudged his shoulder into hers jokingly. Hailey remained quiet, hands still playing with the thread. ‘Hey’, he nudged her again. ‘We promised to train for this race together, I’m not going to leave you’. He said.
‘I thought my awkwardness had scared you off’, she muttered.
‘Well kicking me wasn’t your finest moment’ his shoulders jostled with laughter. ‘But I did mean it’. She looked over at him. ‘We can take this as slow as you want. I’ll follow your lead Hails.’ He smiled down at her, his soft blue eyes gazing down at her with nothing but truth. ‘I’m not going anywhere’.
He had said those words to her over the phone the night she had run away from him and her own feelings, but being with him as he spoke them again, seeing how he truly meant what he said, it was a warmth spreading through her body.
‘I know’ she said quietly.
‘Good’ was the murmured response. ‘So, I’m guessing you’re not in the mood to run anymore?’ he asked, gesturing to the pile of athletic wear on the floor.
‘I mean, I could be. But not sure you’re going to get very far in those’ she said, nodding to his boots and trying not to laugh.
‘We could order some breakfast and maybe watch a movie?’ he suggested, seemingly unsure of her response.
‘Only if it’s waffles and a Marvel movie’, she said with a grin.
‘That can be arranged’, he glanced down at his outfit. ‘Umm, you mind if I shower first? I would have this morning but I had somewhere to be in a short amount of time.’ He winked at her again and Hailey felt her stomach flip.
‘Of course, bathrooms through there’, she pointed to the door leading to her en-suite. ‘There’s clean towels on top of the rack. I can order whilst you get presentable’. She laughed. ‘But I have no pants on so you’re going to need to move first’, she finished.
‘Oh really’, he raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. ‘Maybe the shower can wait’. He dramatically crossed his arms and legs and leant back against the headboard.
‘Go shower Jay’, she said as she reached over and gave him a gentle shove.
‘Okay, okay, no need to push me off the bed’, he chuckled as he threw his arms in the air. ‘I’m going!’
Hailey giggled as he headed into the shower, but not before he threw another wink in her direction and was met with a flying pillow. ‘Hey!’ he said as he closed the door behind him.
Hailey sat for a minute taking everything in. He was here, he hadn’t run away, she hadn’t scared him off. He was here, currently naked in her shower… The colour rose in her cheeks and she shook her head to stop that train of thought before it headed somewhere she wouldn’t be able to get it back. Listening carefully to ensure that Jay was actually in the shower and wasn’t about to barge in through the door, she got out of bed and pulled on a pair of plaid pyjama pants and headed downstairs. It wasn’t her best look but she figured they were past that now.
——————————————————————————
‘So he’s currently upstairs. Naked!’ Vanessa exclaimed after Hailey had given her the run down of what had transpired, she nodded in response. ‘And you’re down here, why?’ She asked with a shit-eating grin.
‘Because I’m not about to jump his bones in the shower after I literally freaked out on him twice in as many days. I told him I want to take it slow, and I do’, Hailey said, resting her forearms on the kitchen counter with her roommate stood the other side.
‘But you also want to jump his bones’, Vanessa winked.
‘Vanessa!’ Hailey’s mouth dropped open. In a desperate attempt to steer the conversation away from the man currently naked upstairs, ‘I’m ordering breakfast, do you want anything?’.
‘Nope’, Vanessa said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
‘What’s got you so excited?’
‘Nothing’, Vanessa blushed. Bashfulness was not a common trait for the young waitress.
‘Vanessa?’, Hailey prier, sensing that her roommate wasn’t being completely honest.
‘Okay! Kevin’s picking me up in 10 minutes for breakfast’, she smiled softly.
‘And you’re giving me crap!’
‘Well, I believe Kevin intends to show up with clothes on’, she winked again.
‘In my defence, Jay did show up with his clothes on’, Hailey countered in a mutter and the pair dissolved into a fit of giggles.
——————————————————————————
Hailey walked into her bedroom, mind still on the look that was on Vanessa’s face as she had headed out the door, she had never seen her roommate look so smitten before. She was pleased for her, Vanessa deserved all the good things in this life and if Kevin could be even a small part of that then she was thrilled.
She stopped dead at the sight of Jay in a towel in front of her, beads of water still rolling down his chest, his hands towel drying his hair. She felt her mouth fall open but did nothing to stop it.
‘Like what you see Hails?’ he said, his voice thick with swagger, making no attempts to cover himself up.
Hailey couldn’t blame him, if she had abs like that, she wouldn’t be ashamed about having them out either.
‘Sorry, I-’ she said quickly and after one final glance she spun around quickly, feeling the blush spread over her cheeks and down her chest. She heard Jay chuckle from behind her and heard something that sounded distinctly like a towel hitting the floor, her cheeks reddened at the thought.
‘My bad, I thought you were still down with Vanessa’, he said.
‘I was but Kevin was picking her up for breakfast so I came back up after they left’, she said, willing herself to think of anything else except what was happening behind her.
‘As if’, he muttered quietly with a chuckle. ‘I’m going to give him such hell at work tomorrow’.
‘I ordered us food by the way’, Hailey continued, rolling on the balls of her feet, ‘should be here in 20’.
‘Great!’ he said cheerily and then added, ‘I’m dressed now so you can stop being so bashful’ he laughed.
‘I was just trying to give you some privacy’, Hailey countered as she turned around, ‘I wasn’t bashful’ she added in a quiet voice.
‘So it wasn’t your cheeks I saw going fifty shades of red just then’ he grinned.
‘I’ve a good mind to kick you out now. Breakfast or no breakfast’.
Jay clutched at his chest, ‘you wound me Hailey’.
‘Shush it you’, she said as she walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of fluffy socks. ‘You coming then?’ she asked over her shoulder as she headed back towards the stairs.
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Waffles, Captain America and Jay. If you’d have asked Hailey this morning if she thought this is where her day would end up she would have laughed in your face. But it was nice. The pair ate their fill of their door-dash delivered waffles. Hailey choosing to douse hers in whipped cream, syrup and berries, bacon on the side and Jay skipping out on the cream but making sure to have a piece of bacon with every bite.
They argued over which Marvel movie to watch, Jay voting for Avengers: Endgame but was vetoed on the account that Hailey didn’t want to cry and then suggesting Iron Man as an alternative. Hailey wanted Captain America so the pair decided on a double feature: the first Captain America movie followed by Civil War so Jay could get his Iron Man fix.
‘Really we should watch Age of Ultron before Civil War’, Jay had said whilst consuming his bacon and waffles.
‘Let’s not start down the conversation of which order to watch them in’, Hailey said with her cheek resting on her palm, elbow on the counter. ‘We clearly both know them well enough that we can watch them in whatever order we want’.
‘Telling me you’re a Marvel nerd Hailey?’ Jay flashed her a grin as he speared a piece of waffle with his fork.
‘Clearly you are too. Eat up, we can’t get syrup on the couch or Vanessa will have our heads’ she laughed.
It was easy being herself around Jay, even being her nerdy Marvel loving self, the worries of this morning, all but forgotten. She knew she had immediately gone to the worst case scenario when he hadn’t shown up this morning, it was in her nature to always think of the negative. But as she sat with him now, enjoying his company, she was back to feeling a sense of comfort being around him again. He hadn’t laughed at her when she had explained how she felt that morning, he had listened and understood. He hadn’t mocked her when she had suggested they watch a superhero movie, he had countered with another one of the same series. Even as she sat here in her oldest t-shirt and baggy pyjama pants, hair thrown in a messy bun, he was looking at her like she was the only person in the world.
#upstead#chicago pd#hailey upton#one chicago#upstead fanfic#upstead fic#hailey x jay#jay halstead#upstead fanfiction#chicago pd fanfiction#one chicago fanfiction#chicago pd fanfic
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muse bio; sariel
general information
basic info
name: sariel
nickname(s): sarry
title(s): the former archangel of execution
age: 2000+
gender: ?
pronouns: he/him
orientation: demiromantic/demisexual + gay
species: primal beast (archangel)
affiliation: fallen angels (loosely); grandcypher crew (even more loosely)
appearance
height: ~190cm / 6'3" (note: this is a very rough estimate by someone bad at estimating heights, based on him being notably taller than belial, who is 182cm)
build: wiry muscle; somewhat lanky.
hair: extremely long. dark brown, and straight. bangs are sideswept.
eyes: piercingly blue, with deep bags.
scars: several on his back, where his wings were torn out.
other notable traits: a single dark-feathered wing extending from his back, on the left side (can be summoned or dismissed at will); feathers arranged like a pseudo-wing on the right side of his head; (sometimes) feathers covering his right arm; wears a mask reminiscent of a hockey mask, with scratches like scars across it, during combat.
background
sariel was originally the archangel of execution--a primal beast tasked with eliminating his creator’s enemies. however, there was some sort of unexpected flaw or glitch in his creation which gave him a kind personality completely at odds with his job. this discrepancy was noticed by belial, the archangel of cunning and right-hand man of the angels’ creator, lucilius. in an uncharacteristic act of apparent kindness, he made an offer to sariel: if he were to join the newly-created fallen angels, belial would ensure he wouldn’t have to partake in violence. sariel, naturally, took him up on the offer, and became quite attached to belial in the process.
at some point as a fallen angel, sariel was corrupted with chaos matter and more or less lost his mind. he didn’t emerge until two thousand years later, when the few remaining fallen angels pulled him out along with their other experiments to fight the grandcypher’s crew at pandemonium. belial was actually surprised to see him like that, and managed to talk to him enough to snap him out of that state--and, soon after, tore off two of his wings in order to use them to heal his own injuries and give himself a boost of strength.
after the fact, sariel learned that he also tore out the corruption in the process, effectively saving his life. since then, sariel has been on a quest to find belial, who has now been imprisoned in a space between dimensions, and ask him why.
personality
sariel is, in a word, awkward. he struggles to make sense of his own thoughts and feelings, let alone put them into words. this, along with things like his trusting and easily distracted nature, is a direct result of artificial limiters placed on his intelligence, which were intended to keep him in line. but being so simple-minded isn’t necessarily a bad thing; he sticks stubbornly to his beliefs and goals. he’s also quite empathetic, contrary to his former image among the other angels as a killing machine. the fact of the matter is he hates violence, even when it’s necessary.
combat information
general
elemental affiliation: dark
weapon: huge scythe, with a blade bigger than his body. the blade is bent in an odd fashion, and has spikes along the top. see here for reference.
primal beast abilities
enhanced strength.
regenerative abilities. primal beasts are able to heal from physical injuries relatively quickly, and return to their core to recuperate in the case of massive injuries. (the reason for his still-missing wings is that his core was damaged in the process.)
nigh immortality. a primal beast's body is not a true body, but a projection; you must destroy their core to permanently kill them.
flight. an ability he currently lacks, due to the damage to his wings.
ooc information
disclaimers
at the time of writing, i have not seen/played the full stories for either gbvs or rising, and there may be some fallen angels content in the mobage that i'm not aware of. if i seem to be unaware of something important, please tell me!
belisari
this is somewhat related to the above point. i recognize that, at least with the information i currently have, the exact nature of belial and sariel's relationship is somewhat up in the air. personally, i am of the belief that belial was always genuine and open with sariel except for the moment when he tore off sariel's wings (which, as we know, he portrayed as an act of betrayal, but we later learned actually saved sariel's life). this belief is based largely on an old analysis of belial's habits from around when 000 first came out; the basic idea is that when he's being sexual, it's pretty much always some sort of manipulation or misdirection, which makes his distinct lack of innuendo when talking to sariel stand out even more. if you don't share this interpretation, that's fine, just please don't come at me over it. and, again, if this is severely outdated, please let me know. thank you!
also, belial rpers, don't worry, i will not try to push the ship on you if you don't want it. however, no matter what, i do believe that sariel is in love with belial (anyone else remember akira ishida describing belial as "someone sariel loves even though they're apart"? yeah i think about that every day of my life) and will write him as such, even if i don't expect anything to come of it.
autism & infantilization
i believe that, whether intentionally or not, sariel is coded as autistic. i myself am autistic. i will be writing him with this in mind! i'm not gonna say your muses who are jerks can't be jerks (or even that uninformed muses can't be insensitive. do what works for your muse!) but ooc i ask you to respect this. you would think that being over 6' tall, wielding a huge fuckoff scythe, and being 2000+ years old would keep people from infantilizing him, but nope! i see it all the time! keep that shit away from me. i will block over it if it becomes a problem.
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The Hewn: A Field Guide
(this is the sequel to this post)
(this one's long. sorry. consider this optional reading.)
DESCRIPTION:
Memnarks, more popularly known as the Hewn, resemble their human cousins but with several major differences. They are universally shorter than humans, perhaps three quarters of their height, but broader and more brawny to compensate. Their skin and hair tones are more muted and appear drained of colour, with the majority tending towards pale muted browns or various shades of grey.
Nearly all Hewn have distinct physical characteristics that seem reminiscent of earth in some fashion -- some have dry cracked skin with deep grooves like parched soil, others have stone-like growths or patterns over their bodies, and others still have skin as smooth as the surface of a polished boulder. Variation is extreme and how they manifest emerge seemingly at random. Besides these features, memnarks are much like humans, sharing their odd, serpentine eyes and endemic discomfort.
The most notable and perhaps defining feature of the memnarks is their genetic memory. However, this memory is an imperfect thing. Only the most talented memnarks are able tap into the majority of their ancestral knowledge and become true Embodied (their term for those who come to truly tap into one or more ancestor's memories). For the first decade or so of a memnark's life their ancestral knowledge remains entombed deep within, only sometimes burbling to the surface in random contextless flashes or in moments of great peril. It isn't until a memnark's mid-late teens that the process of Exhuming memories begins to occur naturally, though without (sometimes extremely intense!) discipline and guidance by teachers, the memories uncovered remain extremely spotty and incomplete. Some, however, refuse the call to Exhume at all.
SOCIETY:
It is along this line that memnark society is split. One faction, which call themselves Unburied Hewn, believe it is the duty of all memnarks to pursue Embodiment even if one does not achieve it, and strive to preserve the memories of their ancestors and others in purity and clarity. The other faction, which have adopted the (originally pejorative) name of Blind Hewn, believe that they have no such obligation, for it is their souls that will lie within Laneth someday and refuse to waste it on becoming someone long dead.
For now these two factions live side-by-side, but tensions are rising and a schism seems inevitable. Thankfully, memnark society is slow to change, and so these tensions are at a mere simmer rather than a frothing boil. You are more likely to encounter Unburied Hewn in Vorond, because they cleave to the old ways and are more susceptible to inherited nostalgia, while Blind Hewn, who are eager to seek out new horizons and experiences, are more common in Pai and the settlements around the Nak. However, this is no hard rule; Unburied Hewn frequently make trips to the human settlements to commit the lives of their shorter-lived kin to memory, and the Blind can be found within Vorond stubbornly eeking out lives in a society that expects conformity.
While memnark society is not officially caste-based, it may as well be. There is immense pressure and expectation (even amongst Blind Hewn) that a memnark will assume the profession of their ancestors -- what, after all, is the point of training from scratch when a wealth of experience lays just below the surface simply waiting to be Exhumed? While many more defiant memnarks succumb to social pressure eventually, those particularly strong-willed individuals who decide to pursue their own path often find themselves hindered by others and experience increasing ostracization. These memnarks invariably leave Vorond in the end and move to live amongst the humans, hoping to find kinship with their strange cousins.
Memnark society is run by a council of Embodied Hewn (the number of which ebb and flow over time), headed by whoever is the eldest Hulat at a given time, a position that is both identity and title. Hulat has the final say of who is permitted on the Embodied Council, and given his (and it is always "he," even when the Embodied may have been otherwise) deep wisdom and experience, few question the decision. Even beyond the Council, elders hold sway; amongst memnarks, arranged marriage is common and even expected, with parents seeking favourable unions that will produce either extremely specialized or broadly-skilled grandchildren, depending on intent.
Relations with other species, particularly humans, are often positive if cordial affairs, but the memnarks have a tendency to hold deep and long lasting grudges. Most notably, for many of the memnarks there is still a strong bitterness and trauma related to Aïs, to the point that they refuse to trade or consort with natives of Aesinhaut entirely, with rare exception of priests of the Order. While now a myth to most, the wounds left by Aïs are still fresh in the near-unchanging cultural memory of the memnarks, and if they are to act with hostility it would almost certainly be directed at Aesinhaut.
Overall, memnark society is extremely traditional and slow to change, and can often seem very rigid to outsiders. While there is great pressure to put on the facade of harmony and unity, the memnarks are anything but, though sagacious travellers would do well to ignore such things lest they risk offending their hosts.
RELIGION:
Due to Hulat's influence, Laneth (sometimes referred to by the memnarks as the Bleak Mountain) and the Order of the Last Hearth (or at least some odd variation of it) hold the most influence in memnark society, with most memnarks at least observers. Memnarks bury their dead within the mountains, and the Order-blessed catacombs run miles deep. However, other deities hold sway within their society as well.
Hulat's exodus had several Keepers amongst their number, and so a chapter of the Keepers of Secrets of Fire and Earth has been within Vorond since its very inception. The Old Man At the Fire is an extremely important deity to the memnarks and sits just below Laneth in influence. The Vorond chapter is healthier than it's ever been since reconnecting with its sister chapters in the lowlands, and many humans of the Keepers travel to Vorond to learn from the memnarks and their odd techniques.
Beyond them, some smaller faiths can be found in memnark culture, though less influential and without formal structure. Guardsmen and hunters give offerings to a sky deity they call the Azure Glory (Corobel) in exchange for clarity of sight and ability to conceal one's approach, while planters and parents might call upon Mother Night (Velarie) to help seed take root and give children vitality. By far the largest of these lesser cults is that of the Knowing Wind (Tepponilamek), whom the Egregores (those Embodied most devoted to gathering and preserving knowledge) consider their patron. Shepherds, too, whisper prayers of protection to the winds in hope that it might carry their scent away from predators and their voices home when the worst comes to pass. Some memnarks believe it was the Knowing Wind that first lead them to the mountains and speculate it was their creator, and who can fault them? Memory and knowledge are, after all, very similar and intertwined things.
Within Vorond, Haebarik and Omeara have few representatives, but for those Blind Hewn who break from society and seek new horizons the two of them are as sacred as Laneth. To Haebarik they give thanks for the rush of exploration and the gift of freedom, and refer to him as the Boundless Traveller. His most faithful tie ribbons of bright colours to their walking sticks and wagons so that others of their faith might join them and travel together. Omeara, who they call the Black Swallow, offers them the opportunity to be free of the burden of their ancestors and relieves them of Exhumed memories if the proper rites are observed. Some particularly radical followers wear black headbands to signify their faith, and will entirely excise the ancestral memories of themselves (and others, sometimes unwillingly) with secret rituals so that they are free of Exhuming entirely.
And, of course, the memnarks, like their human cousins, sometimes succumb to the abhorrent and seductive dreams of Naakrsh. It seems the Ebon Priesthood of the Flayed Skin has little presence in Vorond (or, at least, a public one); those that listen to his whispers too long find themselves leaving unseen for places unknown.
VOROND:
There is little to be said of Vorond. It lies high on the slope of a mountain north of the Nak. In the summer, once the snow has melted and those fattened creeks have turned skinny once more, it blooms with meadows of alpine flowers, and in the winter, when Laneth's presence is felt most closely and the herders hold their tinder even closer, it blankets those precarious ledges and peaks with driven snow.
The heart of Vorond is a large cave. Though nothing compared to the expansive caverns of the underworld, it was big enough to house all their number for many years. It has been a long time since the memnarks outgrew its confines, and have expanded by carving hallways and rooms into the cavern walls, some of which have looped back to balconies and perches that look down on the main chamber from above. Today, the central chamber is home to clusters of small, stone brick homes and spacious public squares, and hosts the grand home of Hulat and other Hulats.
While Omeara abandoned the memnarks soon after their transformation, she is, amongst other things, a god of barriers and separation; doors, walls, fences, the cleaving and cutting of an axe or blade, and even social separation like banishment or imprisonment are sacred to her. So before she left, she taught them the secrets of laying stone upon stone and gave them plans for a great wall to be erected over the mouth of the cave. Made of the finest ashlar and set with a beautiful egress blessed by Omeara herself, the Wall of Vorond is nearly impenetrable and entirely indestructible. It is an asset to those that call Vorond home, and while for now that is the memnarks, it may not always be so.
#this ended up going over my 1000 word limit. oops#it was good to get out of my system though#if anyone wants to use these guys dont feel like this is scripture or anything#this is more just how i imagine them at this particular time#world 02547 diegesis#world 02547 meta
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