#( its an illogical anger and sorrow )

[endawn]

gnawing at my arm on how pax constantly saved and saved and saved but the one time he truly needed saving nobody came

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ortho, Sebek: The Human Condition

OMG ORTHO COPIES IDIA 😭 dtqtwfh5;#?vekcmsksk These vignettes were super wholesome!! Always love hearing about Ortho’s perspective; he’s quite different from the other NRC students.

I think my favorite part was Sebek being shocked that Idia willingly leaves his room for family outings. Then when Sebek offers to pitch ideas for outdoor family activities, my immediate thought was, “this man is about to suggest doing Lilia-sama’s hellish training as a family friendly activity and Idia is actually going to die” 😂

Just Riddle's birthday left before Jamil begins the cycle anew!

A Boy in Bloom, and his Flowering Future.

“What do you do on your days off?”

How mundane the question was for a pair that was anything but. The birthday boy, a humanoid robot, floating by his feet on gravity-repulsion tech to meet the eyes of his tall interviewer, a young man half fae and half human.

Ortho practically bounced as he produced an eager response. A large grin awaited behind his mouth visor. "I enjoy spending time with the students of Night Raven College! Whether it's streaming movies to watch, working on a play production together, sharing a meal, or just observing them... There's just so much I have yet to learn about the people around me. I'm glad that I'm able to experience these things and make friends while at school. I'll forever treasure these moments!"

Sebek's nose crinkled, his forehead creasing. "I doubt the humans at this school are anything to note of. Night Raven College may boast students worthy of its prestige, but none can compare to the grace and dignity of the young master and Lilia-sama's company!"

"That's not true, Sebek Zigvolt-san." Ortho slowly shook his head. "Life forms differ greatly from one another, but they each have something special to offer. As a technomantic humanoid, I have access to the wealth of knowledge on the internet and in my databases--and still, I do not understand the human condition."

“What could there possible be to 'understand'? Humans are known to be inferior in every capacity. They are born small, helpless, and frail, with only a fraction of them capable of producing a modicum of magic. If one were to compare them to the stars in the night sky, they are but mere specks!"

"But in a way, don't you think that ordinariness is actually what makes them so extraordinary?" Ortho gave an excited twirl.

"I fail to see your point. There is nothing extraordinary about being ordinary!!"

A giggle.

"Humans are capable of the illogical, compelled by profound emotions. An exhilarating happiness which blinds them to their actions, sorrow so immense they're driven to isolation, anger which rages out of control and hurts those around them... And not only that, but backgrounds and values--these all shape the soul and lend perspective in ways I could never imagine for myself."

"You speak of emotions as though they're magic spells." Sebek's gaze was questioning. A knight defending his stance--but lacking his usual sharpness, replaced by quiet conflict. "To be human is not so complicated!!"

“Eeeh?” Ortho tilted his head to one side. “Nii-san can talk for hours about his ‘best girls’ and the intricacies of animaga plotlines though.”

“YOUR BROTHER IS AN EXCEPTION TO THE RULE!!” Sebek boomed as he folded his arms. “His inane rants lie beyond the realm of comprehension! How he happily spends his days locked up in his room being an unproductive lout, I’ll never grasp.”

“Nii-san doesn’t spend all of his days inside! He goes outside too,” Ortho pouted. “We go around town and play this creature-collecting game called Pocket M—”

“WHAT?!” Sebek’s thunderous voice interrupted the child. “You must be deceiving me!! Your brother… WILLINGLY leaves his personal chambers?!”

“Yes…? Is it really that strange?”

“He doesn’t the impression of being an outdoorsman,” Sebek said flatly.

“You’d be surprised. Well, even more than you are right now!”

Ortho’s eyes lidded, his smile turning fond. Memories fizzled up from his memory banks—happy days, spent hand-in-hand. “… Mama and Papa, Nii-san and I, we’d go on outings to lots of places. Parks, rivers, stores, mountains. Maybe they’d have taken us to the ends of Twisted Wonderland if we asked them to. It didn’t matter where we went, as long as we had each other.”

Sebek had gone silent as the birthday boy recalled the past. Hazy thoughts given clarity. Ortho’s tale resonated somewhere buried deeply in Sebek.

Time spent earnestly with family…

His gloved hands clenched into fists, his heart softening. “… Myself as well,” Sebek confessed. “When I was a child, I would have similar outings with my parents and siblings.”

“See?” Ortho beamed proudly. “Something as small and as simple as this can connect us, even though we’re so vastly differently. That’s the magic of it. What makes the ordinary extraordinary.”

There was a break in his voice, and a quick correction before he continued. Sadness had seeped into his words, weighing them down. “Many years ago, we lost something important to us. Nii-san started holing up in his room. The family outings stopped, and everyone drifted apart."

Sebek scoffed. "So he was a coward that ran away at the first major tragedy he encountered. What gall!!"

"That's a natural reaction to trauma. It’s only recently that Nii-san has found the courage again to face the world. He had the strength to face his fears and change the course of his life. That's amazing to me!"

Ortho angled his head upwards. Sunshine spilled onto his face, highlighting the lights in his artificial irises. They were bright as a jolt of lightning in the dark, full of life.

"There are people like Nii-san who can be shy, introverted, or withdrawn. But even they're still human, a social creature. They love, and they want to be loved back by their friends, their families, their special ones. Those bonds connect them to others. It grants them the power to behave in unexpected ways."

Sebek looked startled by the declaration. His pupils were thin slits, mouth wrenched into a confounded "o".

"Love makes humans do crazy things. Nii-san was able to go from zero to hero. Mama and Papa regained what they had lost. I was born from those feelings. And I think... the world itself can be changed with that power. That's what it means to 'live', and to be human. There is no other existence like it."

Doing crazy things…

What it means to be human…

Sebek clamped his jaw shut, a rare instance of inability to conjure a defiant rebuttal. A semblance of a thought attempted to squeeze out, but it quivered as it rose up, still only half formed.

He thought of his mother and grandfather. So gallant, so noble. Then there was his father. Plain, unassuming. So ordinary.

Yet a father that loved him all the same.

An unknown pressure had been building in his chest all this time. He didn’t know what it was, only that it was uncomfortable. A truth creeping up on him, bypassing his shields.

Pat.

Sebek glanced up in shock, finding that Ortho had hovered far above him, planting a pat upon his head. The robotic boy ran his hand through Sebek’s slicked back hair. Back and forth, back and forth, in a reassuring manner.

“You too, Sebek Zigvolt-san! As long as we have people who love and support us, we’ll be just fine.” Ortho’s eyes were electric. Sparking with energy.

“… Heh.” Sebek wiped whatever contemplation had remained on his face away, replacing it with a smirk. “Of course!! I wouldn’t be Malleus-sama’s guard were I to be of poor lineage!”

“That’s the spirit! You gotta shoot for glory among the stars and soar like a comet!”

“Hmph!! I must be slacking off on my training if I’m standing here being lectured to by a child.” Sebek pursed his lips (in what Ortho could only assume interpret as a stiff smile). “… For better or for worse, you are far more human than you realize.”

“Affirmative!” Ortho’s expression turned mischievous. “Shall I register your statement as a compliment?”

“Wh-What NERVE!! I was in NOT WAY complimenting you!! Humans are every bit as flawed as they always were! To call you human-like is not a net positive!!”

Ortho laughed—for this, too, was another precious bond, another thread woven on the spindle called Fate.

Ding!

A sound went off. He shuddered as it came in waves across his metal body. Thumping set into Ortho’s head—a reminder of the time.

“Oh! That must be the alarm I set for the birthday party.”

Eager to change the subject, Sebek loudly cleared his throat. “The time has come, then! Your departure awaits!!”

He presented Ortho with his broom. Like every other birthday boy’s before it, a beautiful bouquet was secures where the bristles would normally be. Blues and whites, like the sky, telling of the truths that he sought.

“Ooh, so pretty!” Ortho cried, accepting the broom by the handle. It was firm against his fingers, the roughness of wood picked up by his tactile sensors. “A special piece of equipment was prepared for me.”

“Will you be able to handle it? You mentioned early in our interview that you typically do not use magic to fly.”

“I can adopt to the situation, just watch! I’ll show you the full extent of my flight capabilities.”

Clink, clonk.

Ortho ungracefully plopped himself down on the broom. The movement was a little difficult—no thanks in part due to all the intricate pieces that made up his “cape” and “robes”. But he was a facsimile of a Night Raven College student all the same.

A birthday boy.

Ortho gripped the broom and leaned forward. The air around him formed a warm bubble, a pleasant hum building in volume. When he counted to 3, all the stored energy was released in a single, powerful burst.

The android took off. His kickback—a ring of shimmering blue light—radiated in his wake and swept across the campus. Heat washed over Sebek and passing students, hugged the trees and shrubs.

It was proof of Ortho’s presence, something warm and kind and full of heart.

His humanity.

[missingn000]

tpg character mini-analysis: hajime kashimo + honor

i wanted to talk a bit about one of kashimo's defining traits that no other tpg character has: honor. after gojo meets them, he trudges away thinking kashimo has no moral structure, but this isn't...quite true. this quality shapes how hajime views the world as they evaluate others' actions based on a certain standard of conduct.

take a look at this line of theirs:

“What [the sorcerers] did back then in order to execute [Sukuna]…I can’t think of anything else so honorless. It doesn’t matter how many sorcerers he took down. There are some things you just don’t do.”

sukuna's yet-unrevealed backstory is incredibly devastating and tragic. in most people, it would evoke intense feelings of sympathy, sorrow, and anger on sukuna's behalf. others would say the people who did That to sukuna were heartless.

but instead kashimo says it was honorless. to them, this is the equivalent of the visceral reaction other people would've had. it's about perspective and priorities.

more below cut!

hajime continues to say:

They shake their head. “If the stories of what the sorcerers did to him back then are true...as far as I’m concerned, they deserved it.”

they deserved it. they DESERVED it? even mahito says he's surprised hajime would take sukuna's side. i'll say this conclusively about sukuna's backstory: the myth that after his failed execution, he wiped out an entire prefecture upon becoming a curse is true.

but hajime still thinks that punishment was deserved. what the sorcerers did to execute sukuna was so far beyond their rigid standard of conduct that such a fate was an appropriate punishment to them.

further, something that significantly annoys them about mahito is that he kills people who can't fight back. tpg 37 got long as hell, so i cut a few things, including this short snippet:

It’s not the violence that repulses them; that’d be illogical for someone whose body count is in the triple-digits. But there’s no honor in it, just slaughtering people who can’t even put up a fight. Kashimo’s fought more than their fair share of unsatisfying, ultimately one-sided battles, but that’s what they were: battles. Reciprocated killing intention. Of course weaklings deserve to die, but that’s a retroactive punishment.

they're repulsed at the idea of killing someone who's done nothing at all for no reason. killing the storehouse guards had a purpose: those people were in the way of their goals and actively fought back to try to stop them. but mahito frequently kills innocent people just for fun, which is completely honorless to them.

four hundred years ago, when sorcery was all about duels and death matches, honor existed in the place of laws or a legal structure. since death was a permitted end to a fight, there had to be something to keep sorcerers from just going around slaughtering people. honor is a form of social currency that earns respect and dignity within a community. conducting actions that fall outside its definition result in being hated and shunned.

however, despite mahito's misgivings, mahito is still rapidly becoming someone important to them -- the first person ever to be important to them. this does not fit in their current moral structure. take a look at what kashimo says when gojo is surprised they'd lay down their life to protect mahito:

Hajime flinches. “I made a promise,” they try. The glow beneath their eyes flickers, a store sign that can’t decide if it’s open or closed. “Breaking it would be honorless. I’d rather die than not be able to live with myself.”

Honor? No one has done anything strictly for honor in hundreds of years. “Is that really what you’re worried about?”

“Of course it is,” Hajime replies, after a delay too long to be entirely convincing. “I have no interest in forming bonds with others, least of all him.”

they're still pretty in denial regarding caring about mahito, so they're trying to convince themself it's about honor, because they can tie that to their existing values. since caring about someone is new, it's far more grounding to sort it into a value structure they already possess rather than face the horrifying ordeal of creating a new one that goes against their current worldview.

in that quote, they say they'd rather die than not be able to live with themself. honor is so important to them that the idea of acting without it is worse than death; they couldn't sleep at night. extreme, right? but i actually got this idea from canon.

take a look at this panel from hakari vs kashimo:

this. why did no one talk about this?? kashimo is someone who exists for fighting strong opponents. they let kenjaku brutally mutilate their body into a cursed object to incarnate four centuries into the future with the sole purpose of fighting sukuna. if hakari killed them here, that goal would not happen.

and yet.

they ask him to kill them. or rather, they think hakari should kill them. it was a fair fight. a fair loss of which they accept the outcome. therefore, they believe it is hakari's right to kill them. that's so, so interesting to me, and it really stands out against the backdrop of their otherwise shallow personality, so i just couldn't resist expanding on it.

their character will continue to develop throughout the story, so stay tuned. thanks for reading!

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Hatred

Corrupted!Link Oneshot

Uhhh, @intangiblyyourswrites made me do it. Zelink, sorta.

I’m moving back to college soon so take this as payment for my absence!

(Very small, if you squint, non-sexual noncon thing in here. Also blood cw. Don’t want to spoil it, but if things like that make you uncomfy I wanted to let you know.)

------

The blade was dipped in red.

He died but his smile was no proof of that.

Behind him was hellfire screams as the Calamity burned its hatred for her into the sky. Zelda’s sandals pounded against the grass beyond Fort Hateno, fear reaching her throat. The grasses of Hyrule Field hid its unevenness and the lip of her shoe quickly caught a jagged rock.

Her ankle grew warm with the slick heat. She didn’t bother to check if her skin tore.

For days she was able to evade whatever had become of the Hylian Champion. Calamity Ganon had resurfaced just as the prophecy foretold and Zelda was unable to save anyone. Not even the one who swore to protect her and refused to follow their own fate to save hers.

Footsteps lumbered over to her. The Master Sword was slung over his shoulder lazily and he wore his amusement on his sleeve. The sight of Link always shocked her. Scraps of malice crawled up his limbs and left the clothes he had died in tattered. Zelda couldn’t recall if the blood that marred his tunic was there when he was lifeless in her arms.

“Predictable,” he laughed bitterly. “A failure even in saving your own life.”

Zelda’s chest heaved and she fought her own primal instincts. Red glowing guardians verged on the edge of the field with eyes spinning rapidly around. This man, someone she refused to acknowledge as her friend, didn’t seem to favor them despite their obedience to his whims. She began to believe that their distance was learned from seeing their own kind be victim to his anger.

“How could you say that?” she demanded. “How could you when you’re the one who has told me I was worth so much more than destiny?”

That was when his smile slipped. His bicep flexed as the sword slipped from his shoulder and he held it in a set stance.

“Did you think you could run from me long? Because this game is beginning to bore me.”

Zelda scrambled back, gasping pain when she attempted to put weight on her ankle. The tears that threatened to spill weren’t due to that, however. “You disgust me.”

“There we go, goddess!” Link harked, drawing closer. His hair was carefully drawn back, neater than the last time he had almost caught her. The blue in his eyes was void of any shine they once held, they were darker. “Those are the words that excite me. Pray tell, dear Zelda, what else do I do to you?”

“Your cruelty sickens me,” she spat. Zelda tried to mirror in approach with receding steps, but stumbled from injury. In a second’s time, he sank his sword into the soil and gripped her forearm harshly. She yelped and sagged against him.

His expression was darker, drunk on whatever power was possessing him. “What else?”

“You’re repulsing, vulgar, irreprehensible.”

He forced her hand up to eyesight and wretched it palm down to where he could clearly see three golden triangles growing bright gold against the dark. Against him. The light danced in his eyes, duller than it was days ago - the time between their meetings had blurred as she desperately tried to pull together the severed kingdom. 

Yet containing Calamity Ganon with her magic was taking its toll, especially when it was unpracticed.

Zelda was never a good judge of character when it comes to people. It made her a poor courtier when the court still existed and now she scorned that fact about herself because the expression on his face was indescribable. All good sense and reason her mind could muster told her that this man meant to kill her just as he attempted to when she went to put Link in the Shrine of Resurrection. 

His grip on her was cemented as she tried to pull away, so weak that she couldn’t heal herself.

When he spoke, she flinched. “Do you hate me?”

She tried to search him. Any ounce of what had been was null to a wild, utterly corrupted being. At one point, there was a man who brought her calmness from one single glance. Now, she was kept awake from fear of this new inhabitant. His eyes saw too deeply and there was nothing humane in his mannerisms. This being thrived on sorrow, even more so when he was the source of it. 

Zelda once craved his smile, but now it only spoke of foreboding demise. She should hate him for everything he has done. To wield the sword of legends against his own countrymen was damning enough. Murdering, pilleging, and seeming to enjoy every second. From the second he laid eyes on her, she felt a chilling fear that stays with you. That scratches into your skin and makes you think of it in the darkness of your dreams to convince you illogically that morning will never come.

It was all a game of cat and mouse to him.

She still felt shame to find herself preferring this Link to a dead one… but he was still dead, right? Whoever this was couldn’t possibly be him.

“Yes,” she said, her throat scratchy and dry from overexertion. Green eyes met icy blue. “I hate you. I hate you, but the more I hate you the more I hate myself.”

Pain welled in her heart. How dare he use that body? I dare he take from her and continue to remind her of what could have been?

She yelped as he drug her to eye level.

“Strike me,” Link implored, shaking her slightly. “Just as you did when at the fort. Raise your hand to me and strike me.”

Zelda scowled. “No.”

“Why?”

“I’m not your dog to command.”

He was put off. The reason was beyond her. The man swallowed thickly and tried to look through her. “Do it.”

When she didn’t, he grimaced. His words came out with gravelly anger, “If you hate me, then do it.”

That was when she saw a new kind of rage that bubbled thick and hot. His breath came short and uneven, fanning over her as she stared back defiantly. If he were to kill her now, she wasn’t going to be complacent. 

Then, without warning, he brought his mouth over hers and kissed her. His lips were rough like the way he touched her; completely untamed and only able to take, take, take.

She wanted to lash out, scream at him, anything that would hurt him. But his lips clouded her mind and only the screams from Calamity Ganon brought him away from her. The goddess’s child felt the monster beat against her seal over Hyrule Castle and Link released her. Suddenly without his support, she crumbled to the ground. Above the woman was Link yelling curses towards the cloud of malice.

“Shut up!” he snarled, stopping shortly to listen to words she couldn’t hear. “Does it look like I care?!”

The one-sided shouting match continued to the point where Zelda scrambled to ignore the pulsing of her joints. The Master Sword didn’t reject her when she grasped it, nor did it fight her when she wielded it against its rightful owner and slashed it into his side.

It took everything she had not to follow it into the dirt, spinning slightly to the side with its momentum. Link paused mid-insult, bringing a hand from his side to his face. He stared at the blood as if it were an annoying hindrance instead of debilitating injury, then found her eyes.

First, he smiled a twisted and gnarled grin before devolving into a bout of laughter.

She ran.

[rpd-rookie]

Under Her Extra-Large Umbrella - Chris Redfield x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: Chris Redfield’s deception is coming to an end in this second part of the story but not in the way he expected.

Author’s note: This fanfic was supposed to be 2 chapters long, but considering all the things I originally wrote in this second chapter, I chose to cut it in two and write a third chapter to develop the story a bit more . Hope you will like it anyway.

Part 1 is available here / Fanfiction also available on AO3 

Warnings: Angst, Romance, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Language. 

Wet hair, forehead covered in pearls of sweat, Chris was gazing at you, panting and exhausted, his hot uneven breath tickling your face when you nudged his rear with your ankles to keep him inside of you, still feeling his cock in your core throbbing like crazy after the powerful orgasm he had just experienced. “Damn, woman. Are you trying to kill me?” He breathed out and you giggled “What? Have you lost your stamina?” “No, but I’m afraid you dried me. I’ve got nothing left.” You laughed, finding his naughty words more ridiculous than funny. “I think you’ll have to wait till tonight for round 3.” He pecked your nose and pulled out of you to get off the bed, majestic body glistening in sweat. “I’m gonna go get a shower.”                   “And I’m going to try and find my clothes.” You looked at the mess around you. Both yours and Chris’ clothes were scattered everywhere in his bedroom. A perfect picture of how wild and hot this afternoon alone together had been.                 “Good luck with that.” Chris humoured as he left the room, completely naked. Guess that was a good thing your roommate was not here this afternoon.

You got up, draped in his bed sheet, your body sore and still very hot and sticky. Chris had asked you if you were trying to kill him. Well, as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if he wasn’t the one who wanted you were trying to kill you judging by the your dishevelled hair and the swarm of dark hickeys he had left all over your chest and collar bones. Oh, he would hear about this!

You started gathering your clothes and Chris’, picking them up one by one onto the floor and the furniture. “Damn, where are my panties?” You cursed as you scanned the room but they were nowhere to be seen. So, you looked for them in the pile of clothes then under the blanket, actually unable to remember what Chris had done with them. Maybe under the bed.     You knelt and peaked under the mattress. There was nothing as well, except a lot of dust and bits of fluff that immediately tickled your nose.                   But as you kept looking under the bed, something weird caught your attention.         There was a sort of red cord hanging in between two slats of the bed base. It made you frown because it strangely looked like the cord of your Umbrella access badge. But it couldn’t be that. You had lost that badge weeks ago, probably in the Metropolitain. Its presence here, especially under Chris’ mattress was simply impossible and completely illogical. And yet, you pulled on the cord anyway.

What a horrible surprise when you saw the card fall onto the floor and realised it was indeed your old badge. How had it gotten here? You didn’t know what to think. But you couldn’t help but hear the same question repeating itself in your head. Why Chris? Why?

The badge in your hands, you sat on the bed, lost in sudden paranoid thoughts that were so unlike you. What if Chris was a spy? What if he was working for Tricell or the Connections? After all, those guys had been trying to compete with Umbrella for years. What if he worked for the Government? What if …         So many ‘what if’ and yet one single common denominator. Chris had betrayed you.

You didn’t know how to process all the emotions you were feeling right now. Burning anger. Frozen shock. Both mixed with a awful sorrow that didn’t seem to want to escape in the form of tears just yet, not as long as you were trying to deny all the conclusions you had drawn and convince yourself that you were imagining things. There was certainly another explanation.

You stood up and started walking in circles in the room like a lion in a cage, whispering to yourself. “Calm down, Y/N. Calm down.” But you couldn’t. And despite all the energy you were using to control your breathing right now, there was that raging uncontrollable panic inside of you growing bigger by the minute.  “Alright, if he’s truly spying on you. There must be something else here. There has to be. Think.” You opened Chris’ wardrobe and started rummaging in it. You sighed, relieved, when you found nothing in it except some dirty clothes that definitely needed some good washing. But it wasn’t enough to soothe your mind and so you pulled the drawer of his nightstand open and immediately threw the contents to the floor. A pen, a watch, cigarettes, condoms and an unsealed letter that you immediately grabbed. “S.T.A.R.S. Office – Raccoon City Police Department.” You read on the envelope and your clever brain immediately made the connection between that address and the incident with the American branch of Umbrella you had overheard at the lab weeks ago. But it was still very blurry to you.

You opened the enveloped without an ounce of hesitation or remorse and started reading.

                                                    “To my amazing S.T.A.R.S. buds,

                 What’s up in the station? Still surviving those long days without me? Barry, are you still crying?                  Me? I’ve been very busy. Spent many nights getting to know my umbrella girl better. Apparently she has some huge project for the both of us. I’m wondering what it can be. She’s so secretive. But no woman can resist Chris Redfield. You know me, I’m worse than a parasite.                    Jill, any news from Claire? ”

You barely knew Chris. But the Chris in that letter wasn’t the one you had spent your days with for the last seven weeks or so. This letter certainly had a hidden meaning and judging by the word ‘umbrella’, ���project’ and ‘parasite’, it wasn’t very subtle.                 You gritted your teeth, anger slowly getting the better of you, and crumpled the letter in your hand.

“What are you doing?” Chris’ sudden trembling voice made you jumped. You turned around, still kneeled among his stuff, and immediately glared at him. He was standing in the doorframe, wearing only a pair of green sweatpants. His face was pale and you could read a certain fear in his usually very cheerful and relaxed features. “Y/N?” You got back on your feet and approached him, the letter and your badge in the same hand. Chris froze when he noticed them and his heart skipped in beat.                

You didn’t say a word – an ominous calm before the storm – and went too stand before him to look at him in his scared brown eyes. A couple of seconds passed in which you mind struggled to find out what to do right now, not really knowing how to react.   You finally let your impulse get the upper and suddenly, your hand burned Chris’ cheek with a huge slap. You had never hit anyone in your entire life. That was not who you were. But the storm was here and you couldn’t control it.   You violently slammed both items against Chris’ broad naked chest and started screaming and hitting him, lashing out all your anger at him like a fury. “How could you?! You son of a bitch!”     Chris barely flinched and took all your hits in silence, knowing that he deserved them, that he deserved all your rage right now. They didn’t hurt but your wrath against him did. “Answer me!” He could feel a knot strangling his throat. He couldn’t talk. He didn’t know what to say, afraid to make things worse. “Answer me, you asshole!” You yelled and he finally caught your wrists in an attempt to calm you down and prevent you from getting physically hurt. “Y/N, please.” He whispered, holding you still.             “Why?” You asked, huge tears rolling over your face. “Why?” You repeated, begging for an answer, for an explanation. But all you got was silence and guilty miserable eyes. “Are you a spy?”          

“ No … No I’m not a spy. Not exactly.” He finally managed to say. “I’m a cop.” You frowned, finding things always too blurry to understand the situation. “I work at the Raccoon City Police Department, S.T.A.R.S. unit.”     “So you’re not Air Force?” He shook his head. “And you’re definitely not on vacation.” You fell the floor crumble under your feet, afraid of the extent of Chris’ lies and terrified of the consequences that were to come. “I’m on a mission, a personal mission.” He confessed with a broken voice. He didn’t look so strong anymore.             “What mission?”                   “How about we get dressed and sit down to talk about it calmly?” He offered. But you didn’t care you were naked under this sheet right now. And you didn’t care Chris was only wearing sweatpants. You wanted your answers. And you wanted them now. “No. Talk to me now. Explain it to me. Explain the fucking reason why you used me and betrayed me.”

Chris briefly closed his eyes. Hearing those words coming from you were hard to bear even if he had been repeating them over and over in his head since the day he met you. They were hard to bear because hearing them from you was making him realise what he really had been doing all along. They were the painful truth that had finally come to hit him hard in the face.

He tried to catch your hands in his but you removed them as soon as you felt the warm palms against your skin. You didn’t want his affection right now. It repulsed you. “In July, my unit and I were sent on a mission in the Arklay Mountains to rescue the members of the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team who had gone missing while investigating a series of killings in the mountains. As soon as we landed, creatures attacked us and we took refuge in a mansion but that was just the beginning of the nightmare. My unit was entirely decimated by zombie-like creatures and other atrocities, monsters that had been created by the Umbrella Corporation thanks to what their scientists called the T-Virus.”             You froze. You had heard of the T-virus. You were using it in most of your experiments related to the Nemesis Project. Its existence was top secret. So if Chris knew, then …       “The surviving members of my team and I infiltrated Umbrella’s laboratory to collect evidence. That’s how we realised that Umbrella had failed to contain their virus and that it had escaped the facility, contaminating and killing locals that had been in contact with it. Only four of us came back.” Chris’ voice was so full of emotions. Sadness, grief, anger, guilt. It tied your stomach in a painful knot. “When we told our story to our chief, he refused to believe us. Somehow we understood he was probably corrupted. So I decided to leave and investigate on Umbrella on my own to find all the evidence I needed to end them and bring justice to my team. That’s how I took the first flight to Paris and that’s how I met you.”

You remained still for a while, trying to process the entire story. But even if there was a part of you that was sympathising with Chris and recognizing the horrors he had been through, there was still another part that was so mad at him and deeply resentful. “So you used me for your personal vendetta?” “It’s not a vendetta.” He tried to correct.     “Isn’t it?” You retorted and he sighed, a slight annoyance tinting his despair.

“You stole my badge and certainly spied on me judging by the content of this letter to, I quote, bring justice to your team and end Umbrella. Sounds more like a vendetta than a mission to me. But tell me. I’m curious. What else did you do?”           “Y/N.” He murmured, unwilling to admit that part of the story to you. “Stop Y/N me and answer the damn questions! Why did you want my badge? What did you discover when you spied on me? And more especially why me, Chris?!” He looked you in your begging eyes, feeling painfully sorry. “I don’t know why it happened to be you. I guess it could have been anyone else. But I’ve never…” He cupped your cheeks and you took a step back, trying to reject him, in vain. “…ever wanted to hurt you or use you like that.” A new tear slid along your cheek and Chris dried it with his thumb. “That wasn’t my intentions. I just got bogged down in my own lies and the situation escaped my control … and… I don’t expect your apology.”             “ Good. Cause you won’t have it.” You spat and he looked down, trying to contain his sadness. “You should have been honest with me.”             “ I had no choice.” Chris said in his defence but you would not have it.           “No choice?” You scoffed. “The second you felt like the situation was becoming out of your control, you had a choice. Give up, watch it become out of proportion or tell me the fucking truth!”     “I didn’t want to hurt you.” He confessed and you sighed, exasperated. “You said it already but look! Here we are!” You screamed. “I’m hurt! I’m fucking hurt because of you.” That was harsh yet fair.   “Can’t you at least understand why I did this? Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for a second?” He knew he would not have your forgiveness but he hoped to have your understanding.  

You jaw dropped. “Oh but I do understand, Chris! I do! I know what Umbrella is doing is terrible. I know what I’m doing is terrible. But if you had just talked to me, I would have helped you. We…”             “Helped me?” He harrumphed. “You’ve been creating dangerous monsters in your lab for months. And now you’re talking about doing what’s right? Well by all means, explain Project Nemesis!” He growled, finally starting to show his anger, and your eyes widened.     “Oh so you read my journal as well. Fantastic!”       “Yes, I read your journal. I stole your badge. I sent information to my colleagues and I used you. But what is it in comparison to all the awful things you and your scientists buds have been working on in secret in this god-forsaken lab of yours?! You guys are murderers!” You stared at him, bewildered and feeling insulted but the truth was that he was right and you couldn’t help but acknowledge it. “I feel guilty, Y/N. I feel guilty because I know that what I did hurt you. I feel guilty because I happen to care so fucking much about you despite all the reasons I have to despise you. Guilt is eating me up, day and night. But, tell me. how do you sleep at night knowing you’re creating those atrocities?” “Guess you didn’t read my diary so well, did you?” Your calm was back, your anger certainly drowned in pain and sadness. “You know shit, Chris. But if that’s what you think of me the maybe you should probably get out.”  But Chris refused to move.       “Get out” You repeated with the same tone. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak but you immediately cut him off. “Get out!” You yelled, pushing him as strongly as you could, but he barely moved. “Get out of my place, Chris!” And he didn’t know why he refused to leave or move from that doorframe. Stubbornness? Denial? Or simply his deep attachment for you?                 But whatever it was, you would not have Chris spend another minute in your apartment. “Fine.” You opened his wardrobe and started throwing his clothes in his suitcase, tears running down your face, as Chris watched you, still and quiet. It was the end. He could feel it in his bones.         You grabbed his suitcase and shoved Chris with your shoulder as you left his room to head towards the main door and throw his stuff carelessly in the corridor. Then you went back to lock yourself in your room.  “And don’t forget your precious evidence before leaving!”

Chris blinked a couple times to keep his tears in his eyes when he heard the door to your room slam shut, knowing that this was certainly the last time he would ever see you or hear from you. And it ached more than what he had imagined. How he wished things had ended up differently.

[rose-coloured-prince]

A Dreamer’s Light

Word Count: 548

Romantic Logince, Poem, 

Warnings: uh Roman’s insecure, mentions the ocean once, mild crying (oops), it’s kinda sad with a happy ending so :3  

--

A wonderful light has filled him

but should it escape his grasp

A dreamer left rejected.

Whispers

Phantom murmurs

tell forbidden things

Things that cause the light

to burn.

‘Speak of your light’

‘Explore what his lips taste of’

‘Fill a paper with him written across it a thousand times and capture every look of his in graphite’

Each more persistent than the last.

However, a dreamer is allowed to think.

Take dreams from a dreamer

and you’ve left nothing but a shell

So a dreamer allows himself his purpose.

The air between them

so sweet and silky

his every move is fluid

run your hands

through him

His hair 

His hands

through him.

A dreamer hides the sounds he makes

when his thoughts are filled to brim

of him

so much so that its spills

out onto paper

that will never see the light of day

A dreamer captive in secrecy.

A dreamer wants to mold 

a grin in his face

create that rarity 

However, he’s not worthy

his hands dare not touch 

A dreamer would only corrupt.

If asked his favourite colour

A dreamer would say red; a half-truth.

His favourite colour once was red

Colour of passion; bold and bright

Colour of love

His favourite colour is truely

this magnificent shade of indigo

and it’s taking over his work

Indigo paint spills onto his canvas

writings about the night sky and the ocean

Indigo.

It’s calming, strangely

this cool hue.

However,

he did find that

Red

seemed to clash with

Blue.

They are both overpowering

they seep into the paper

marking territory

no boundaries, fighting! yelling!

When they meet

they mix into an ugly shade of grey and purple.

‘How idiotic’

He’ll throw his words 

back towards himself

‘How illogical’

A dreamer

and

A realist

could never be.

His heads in the clouds

and 

His feet never leave the ground

They’d never meet.

He doesn’t know if the water that

tracks his cheeks

are because of 

the anger in his head

the light in his chest

or the ruined canvas.

A dreamer looks up to 

stonehard sharp eyes

protected behind glass

A dreamer watches his light spill out

after an apology,

during a sorrowful embrace.

A realist stares back in shock

at the words a dreamer uttered

Three words

that moves mountains

and makes stars

and eases the rumbling tension

when he smiles

“I know,”

He presses his lips to his cheek

where saltwater fell.

Maybe 

A dreamer

and 

A realist

Could find common ground,

and never leave each other’s side,

listening  to their heartbeats,

and sharing their light.

Maybe

red and blue

can coexist

with the right shades

allowing the other it’s time 

in the spotlight.

Maybe 

A dreamer

is longer confined to 

secrecy

and free to run his hands 

through his hair

His hands

Through him.

Maybe 

Whispers 

are no longer

phantom murmurs

and tell forbidden things

but are real and purposeful 

In each other’s ears

leaving red cheeks

and pleasuring chills.

A dreamer knows his purpose

Not just to think

and passively watch his ideas

but to take them on

and go after what he wants or 

rather who he wants

and his realist will smile back at him

Encouraging

and a dreamer is filled with a wonderful light all over again.

-

@stars-and-rose because you made that post about wanting logince fic as a poem

[myheroaizawashota]

“Aizawa handling seeing Mic for the first time since being revealed as the U.A traitor.”

[Ive been thinking about writing something like this for a while now, but after seeing these two (http://vm.tiktok.com/dNCBgb/) bring this idea to life i couldn’t help but sit myself down, cry for a minute, and then FINALLY write it. I know this is a bit different than we’re used to on this blog, but bare with me here. This is an Aizawa x Traitor!Mic one shot, so sorry to disappoint those of you who don’t ship it or don’t believe in Traitor Mic ooooor are only here for my teacher trio x reader content! I promise you that content will be continued after this!]

[PS to Lizzie and Jordyn: I am SO SORRY that this has taken substantially long :) fun fact I’ve restarted this fiction uh about 4 times, because I couldn’t solidly figure out how to open the fiction. I didn’t forget about it, nor was I promising you false dreams here haha I’m just absolute booty when it comes to openers. Hope you enjoy.]

[photo credit to the amazing artist @ask-hizashi-and-shouta]

A flash of dulling lumincent light crawled out from the underside of the local night market’s weathered canopy, it’s haze contouring along the right side of the clinical erasure pro’s face as his feet seemed to aimlessly carry him back towards the solitary isolation of his haunted home. These days the underground hero blew through the streets in a desperate attempt to avoid the memories that tainted the walls of his living space. He could remember a time when being in the comfort of his own company was the envy of his dreams, but now he did just about anything he could to avoid being alone with his own thoughts. The down pours of tonight’s abysmal sky hardly phases the man as heaven’s tears began to soak through the bangs of Shouta’s rich raven hair. After the week he’d had a few droplets of moisture condensed from the atmosphere did little to cause a reaction from him. If he was being entirely honest he couldn’t feel a damn thing, both emotionally and physically. His body had began to grow numb to the world around him as his mind shifted to disconnect from the unwanted reality he had been presented.

As thunder crackled through the ghostly alley of the eerily quiet market the hero began to show a slight urgency in his pacing. While he wasn’t afraid of the sound, he knew logically being caught in a storm like this wouldn’t be a genuinely smart thing. Moving with slightly more purpose, the man couldn’t help but grow distracted as his eyes caught the top headline of the news stand just in the edge of his view, “Present Mic: The Famed U.A Traitor Still At Large, Authorities Have No Leads.”

Clenching his jaw he turned his head away from the article, constricting his fingers around the thick plastic handle of the bag he carried, the sudden force causing the top of his knuckles to fade white. He knew it was irrational to care and hurt the way he did, but that didn’t stop his emotions from betraying his mind. Pushing past the feelings the clawed to free themselves from both his tired eyes and heavy chest, Aizawa finally arrived home. Haphazardly he dropped the bag right where he stood just inches inside his front door, he not caring about the safety of his items. It was just pantry goods anyway, things he kept for when...company came. Christ, he didn’t even know why he still was continuing to buy these crap snacks, something in him just compelled him to grab them. It wasn’t like they’d be eaten. Factually Shouta never cared for sweets, so the likelyhood they’d be consumed by him was slim. Drenched and dripping, he uncomfortably made his way through the house heading for his bedroom. Not making it more than two footsteps, an unease began to grow inside the typically steady pro. With the sound of a faint thud coming from the room he’d been inbound too, his hands constricted around the damp scarf that clung to his neck, he approaching with caution. Great, a break in was the last thing he needed right now. With the same stealth and swiftness he was known for in his work, he deployed his weapon, the fabric of it tightening as it made contact with a body. “You must either be really stupid or have a death wish to intrude her-“ he couldn’t help but pause as shock rushed his body. Stood in front of him were a set of painfully fimiliar green eyes and a smile that killed him to see. While his apprerance had been altered drastically, the long blonde locks the other sported now dyed and chopped, he was still recognizable to the Eraser hero. Uncontrollably his lip began to quiver, teeth digging into his tongue as he pressed it roughly to the inside of his cheek. Releasing the weapons hold, he turned his back to the fimiliar stranger, aggressively rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. “You’re an idiot. Why are you here?”

“I had no where else to go...” came the response. It was quiet and almost defeated, and while sensibly Aizawa knew he shouldn’t have cared....he did.

Not responding to the traitor behind him, his body instinctively began to close off to the other. His arms moved to cross over his chest as he stood distanced both spiritually and physically. It was a subtitle change in the mans body language, but Hizashi could see it. After sixteen years with the stoic man he’d finally began to pick up on the minute tells the other let off on the rare occasions he let himself display his emotions. While it wasn’t something most people would take notice too, Hizashi did. It was evident to him the man was hurt. “Come on, don’t do this. Please just talk to me...” The tone of the once admired voice hero sounded nearly as broken as his counter part felt.

As if some nerve had been struck inside the shorter of the two men, Shoutas body spun to face Hizashi his fist wrapping around the fabric of his shirt. What nerve did the other have to think he could just break in and act like nothing even happened. “Don’t....don’t you walk back into my life and pretend like this is okay. It’s not okay! None of this, is okay.”

The former blonde was taken back by the harsh emotion filled outburst his ex lover, ex friend, and ex confidant had displayed. For Shouta to express himself like this, it must of been bad. “Just...calm down...listen to me alright? I never meant to hurt you.”

An audiable laugh came from the typically reclused ravenette. “As if you’ve been truthful with me up until this point. I trusted you....I let you in when I should have kept you at an arms length like I do everyone else. Tell me exactly why I should believe a single thing you say to me. Out of the sixteen years I’ve spent with you how much of it was lies.” He hissed hand moving to press the others body harshly into the wall “out of sixteen years, how long have you been pretending to be my friend, to care about me!”

“I never pretended....I’ve always cared about you Shouta. Everything I’ve ever said to you about how I feel has been one hundred percent! Everything I have ever done has been to protect you alright!” Tears began to form in Hizashi’s eyes as his hand moved to rest against his friends, he working to loosen the other’s grip. “I don’t care if you wanna believe me or not okay? That’s your burden to carry, but I know that every time I ever looked you in the eyes and told you how much I loved you, alright that was real! Every time I ever smiled or laughed, or told you that you meant the world to me, that was real! I didn’t take this traitor gig to hurt you alright, I did it to protect you!”

“Protect me, oh that’s laughable!” Shouta let his hands drop the others body, the tears he’d been fighting back for a week now starting to bubble to the surface as his finger tips moved to trace over the scar under his eye “this? This was protecting me? Do you have any idea how idiotic and illogical you sound right now!”

Hizashi turned his gaze away from the others face, it riddled him with guilt to look at the thick scar the other wore. “I was promised you weren’t going to get hurt....you’re not the only one who was lied too....” gently rubbing his hands over his face, the no longer boisterous voice hero gave a groan. “They only wanted All Might. I was just suppose to tell them where and when to find him. Information in exchange for yours and the kids safety. That’s all it was suppose to be. I wasn’t banking on All Might powering down before the trip even started, okay? How was I suppose to know the guy was gonna be a no show and they’d go after you and the kids Shouta!”

“Because they are villains Hizashi! They were villains and you just bent right into their will! What did they have on you that was so incriminating that you would trust them you idiotic loud mouthed -“

“You! They had you...” hizashis voice was abrupt, a small crack to its tone as he spoke. Casting his eyes to the floor his lips twitched from side to side, as he tugged at his collar. “Call me idiotic or irrational or whatever else you’d say typically say to me....but these guys aren’t the local band, they’re the headliners in this rock show and they are some seriously terrifying cats!”

Shouta couldn’t stand to listen to the other any longer, his fist clenching at his side. Even if there was a truth to anything the former pro had to say, it infuriated Aizawa that the other thought this was a battle he needed to fight alone. Knowing if he stayed in the same room any longer with the painfully recognizable face in front of him, he was bound to make a move he’d immediately regret. Turning his back, he clenched his jaw exited the room. Against his better judgment, the irrationality of his emotions kicked in. He could feel his eyes sting with aggravation and sorrow, his chest weighted and tight. “You can stay for tonight. So help me, you better be gone come morning Hizashi, or else.”

With no more left to say to the other, Shouta blew his way from the bedroom slamming the door behind him. The moment he was out of view of the other, the tears aggressively poured from his eyes, all the hurt, all the anger, everything he’d been feeling for a week finally coming to a boil. He knew it was ludicrous to let the other stay here, and he knew he’d come to regret that choice at a later time, but what was he suppose to do. He still loved that idiot. Traitor or not, you can’t erase sixteen years of memories, no matter how badly he wished he could. Desperate to put this day to rest, Shouta threw the emotionally drained husk that was his body aggressively to his couch. Forcing his eyes shut he tried to forget the aching pain in his chest, the feeling making his body feel anxious and heavy. He could feel the overwhelming rush of emotions as he bit his tongue fighting back more tears. He refused to cry, it was unreasonable to shed tears for someone who could care less about him. With his face buried into the back of the couch, the typically stoic and impassive man finally fell to sleep.

When morning came, the overly tired and uncharacteristically emotional hero gave a groan. Sleeping on the couch may have been the biggest mistake of his life. While it was comfortable for sitting, hed forgotten how uncomfortable it was to sleep on. Retrospectively it was hitting him that he should have kicked his former lover onto the couch instead but, he guessed that’s what happens when you let your judgements cloud with emotions. Dreading the walk towards the bedroom, his heart rate escalated as he touched his hand to the door. Some masochistically dejected part of him almost hoped the other was still behind the door despite his warnings last night. He knew it would just bring him more pain and anguish to see him, but he couldn’t help it. The pain was better then going back to the feeling if nothing. Slowly letting his hand pry the door open, his heart sank to find an empty room, the window wide open. He knew he shouldn’t feel dispondent from the sight of the empty room, but he was. Cautiously entering the area with his guard still heavily held, he made his way towards the center of the room. As he glanced around to assure the other wasn’t hidden, his eyes became distracted as they caught on a folded white piece of paper. Reaching out with unsteady hands, Shouta let his fingers trace around the edge of the paper. He could feel the way the tension churned at his stomach, pitting every emotion he never imagined he’d feel in his gut. Tired dark eyes locked on the sloppy handwriting scrawled across the page, truly hizashis hand writing was abysmal. He unraveled the folds to reveal a winded letter laying behind them.

-

Shouta,

Seeing as you wouldn’t listen last night, i wrote this all down for you. I know the chances you’ll read this are slim. I know you’re furious with me, and I can’t say that I blame you. I wouldn’t be shocked if you threw this letter out and forgot about me all together, but I can’t leave knowing things are the way they are. You deserve to know as much of the truth as I can tell you, which isn’t really much. Just know, i promise this was all to protect you. I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at that, but it’s the truth. I wouldn’t have given up being able to see you every single day if I didn’t have a cause. I’d rather live my life miserable and distanced from you knowing you’re alive than have to live with the fact you’re dead because i tried to fight these guys. Just know, that even if you stop loving me it’s okay, I’ll never hold it against you. Even if it’s not with me I want to know you’re happy and safe. You asked me last night how long I’ve been lying for. It’s only been for the last year that I’ve been keeping secrets, but never once did i pretend to be you’re friend or your lover. Every moment of our love was genuine, a hundred percent baby. Every smile I gave you was palpable, every laugh was legitimate, and every kiss authentic. If you believe me about nothing else, I’m begging, please believe that every time I said I loved you I meant it. Every single last time. I still love you, and I won’t ever stop. I miss you, seeing you last night made me realize a lot of things. One of the most important ones being that i should have came to you and let you know what was happening, but I thought i was doing the right thing trying to protect you. I’m sorry that I was a giant idiot babe and screwed things up for the both of us. Please take care of yourself. Since I’m not there to nag you anymore babe, shower daily. Don’t forget to feed yourself, and sauce packets aren’t a meal! I love you three thousand baby, and I promise you that’s the god honest truth. Catch you on the flip side Eraser.

Hizashi

-

Tears ran down Aizawas face as his fingers dug into the corners of the paper, his body shaking with sobs. Stood with the note in his hands, salt water blinding his vision, the erasure champion couldn’t help but kick himself. He wished he could have heard these words for himself last night, but he was to stubbornly idiotic for his own good sometimes. Pressing the ball of his palm to his right eye, the other continued on to read the small blurb at the bottom of the note. That idiot would leave a post scriptum after writing such a heartfelt note. It was probably something ridiculous and childish.

-

P.S

I left something in the closet for you. Hold onto it for me. Im gonna need it back one day, and I know it’ll be safe with you.

-

Shoutas heart stopped, his body hardly even hesitating to fly to his closet. Yanking the door open, he froze to see the other mans hero costume, complete with directional speaker set up in the safety of his closet. He didn’t know what intentions the other planned to act on, but he knew three things. One, this was not going to be the last time he ever saw Hizashi. Two, that man intended to clear his name. Three, Shouta wasn’t sure how, but he was going to make sure he was there to help. As much as it pained him, he believed Hizashi. Uncaring of the consequences the underground hero set off in search for his friend. If he knew his lover, which he did, the man had a half baked idea that would probably get him killed....and there was no way Shouta would let him do it alone. Gathering both his and Hizashi’s equipment, the man headed out leaving everything he knew behind. Love was irrational and for once, Shouta was fine knowing that. He’d rather be seen as a traitor, aiding and abetting the other, then live in a world without him. Even after the monumental betrayal of the other, he still trusted him.

[ofaretuza]

‘Robert Frost‘ Quotes; sentence starters  Accepting ⛧  @suhmuse  said “Freedom lies in being bold.” from c i r i 

In the wake of the vehement statement, the sorceress remained silent, her expression unchanged. Though she appeared almost indifferent, the intensity in her eyes betrayed the truth—she was fully focused on her charge, dissecting not just the words uttered, but every individual nuance of the girl’s composure, from the fierceness that sparked in those large green eyes to the ferocity of the scowl that had flickered across her face.

Feral little witcher-girl, full of such indomitable spirit. How ironic that you are ruled by your emotions. Just like me. Just like him—though he’d deny those very emotions exist with his last breath. Had things worked out differently between us...

No. I mustn’t think it. Mustn’t imagine what might have been—the pain is too great. Focus on the task at hand, not on mistakes made in the past that cannot be changed!

Mentally shoving aside the wave of sorrow before it could take root and drown her, she narrowed her eyes, concentrating on the girl and the statement presented, which was satisfactory on the surface, yet woefully incomplete.

A dark brow arched upward in contemplation, the silence between them dragging out as she returned to pondering the meaning of all the tiny little hints Ciri had unconsciously displayed.  She would wager that the spark in the girl’s eyes was excitement—she’d most likely been thinking of boldness in the most obvious form. The sort of boldness demonstrated by Geralt and the other Witchers—dauntless and daring, displaying far too much valorous courage and far too little common sense. Following that train of thought to the next, she could surmised that given Ciri’s preoccupation with becoming a witcher, she no doubt imagined that freedom somehow translated and corresponded to a life spent on the road slaying monsters.

A soft sound escaped her—one comprised of frustration and a heavy dose of irritation, though neither pertained to nor were directed at the young girl beside her; no, there was another target entirely, though she certainly couldn’t point that out to her charge. They belonged solely to the man who’d asked her to help Ciri master her abilities—to teach her about magic and the control thereof, nothing more. Without a doubt, he would not take kindly to her overstepping the bounds of that agreement... however, she’d promised the girl sincerity in  all things—and she had not thought to limit that promise to subjects of a strictly magical nature.

Oh he’s placed me in a wretched position—do I hold my tongue so as to not contradict what they might’ve taught her, or do I speak freely, and in doing so be true to myself and the promise I made her?

Her jaw tensed—it was the only outwards sign of the turmoil that was taking place in her mind.

“Correct, yet incorrect at the same time, my ugly one,” she said finally. “And before you bristle and hiss like an angry kitten, yes, those two terms can most certainly apply to the same thing.  Your tone was enthusiastic and full of conviction... your eyes aflame with the same, even as you postured and attempted what I can only presume is your version of the White Wolf’s vicious snarl. Each of those things indicates that you were not speaking from a place of logic and reason, but rather allowing your emotions and feelings to gain the upper hand... which is rather amusing since I assume you were answering with thoughts of becoming a witcher filling your head... and they all  claim  to be void,  totally emotionless creatures.”

Her tone inadvertently shifted, sounding jaded and bitter towards the end; she frowned—unfortunately, there was no undoing what was done, she could only hope that the girl hadn’t caught the slip.

“Thinking like a witcher isn’t a bad thing, in and of itself—provided you keep in mind that society will never consider you as such at first glance. When they look at you, they will not see a witcher... they will see a girl, and as far as they are concerned, girls aren’t allowed to be bold or free.  We have discussed this topic before, albeit briefly... now it seems we must revisit it, expounding on the issue. You must never forget that the fairer sex are always at a disadvantage when it comes to society as a whole. Men hold themselves above us, seeing us as nothing more than chattel—as such, our thoughts and opinions don’t matter, simply because we are women. To most of them women have no purpose in life other than satisfying their needs when it comes to pleasure or bearing a brood of sons to prove their virility.”

She paused for a moment, lips twitching at the fiery spark of anger that appeared in the girl’s eye—knowing instinctively what she was thinking and responding before the objection could be voiced.

“I said  ­most  of them—not all. It’s quite obvious that Geralt and the others have evolved beyond such idiotic, archaic notions—the fact they trained you in the witchery ways proves it.” She reached over, smoothing an unruly strand of hair behind the girl’s ear—making a mental note to take care of it with her scissors when they returned to their room. “Unfortunately, you can’t hide away in the Keep forever, Ciri... as lovely as that thought might be.”

Once again, her tone betrayed her, the wistful, dreamy quality exposing secrets not meant to be told. Memories swarmed her—recollections of Kaer Morhen, and the days and nights she’d spent at his side; for a dozen heartbeats, she could not speak, then she cleared her throat, irritated with herself for the momentary lapse of control.

“The one you have placed on a pedestal  has given you one example of boldness, now it is up to me to give you another that is far more important... one that will help you not just as a witcher, but as a woman who is driven by emotion.   Society will penalize you for that as well, you see—men will use it against you. Rather than debate your comments, they will dismiss them, using any emotion you might display against you—labeling you an illogical female, incapable of seeing reason. Which is why you must learn to master those emotions and hide them away deep inside where the world cannot see them.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I am sure you have heard whispers about my coldness... my icy nature—I know what is said about me, Ciri. It suits my purpose. When I speak, people listen. When I offer advice, they contemplate what I’ve said. And when I am displeased, they are contrite, for everyone knows that the cold iciness of winter is far more dangerous than the warmth of summer.“

She was surprised to find that she’d begun stroking Ciri’s hair as she spoke; the gesture was the exact sort of indulgence she rarely allowed herself to partake in at all—limiting the brief instances to when she helped the girl with her grooming. She’d forbidden herself anything more—it was a dangerous thing to do. She couldn’t allow herself to become attached in the slightest, for if she did, it would hurt far too much when their time together came to an end.

She’s his... not mine—no matter how much I wish it otherwise. He will reclaim her, and when he does, I will have to let her go.

That’s all there is to it.

“And thus, we come to the sort of boldness that involves heart, mind and spirit, my feral little witcher-girl. It is not marked by a lack of restraint or a lack of control. Nor is it steered by untamed emotions that will make you careless, or by a rebellious, recusant attitude.” The sorceress pulled away, standing up and making a show of smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt; her icy mask was affixed firmly in place—betraying not a hint of the dismay she felt at the loss of that small, warm body cuddled up against her side.

“Boldness in its truest sense is comprised of purpose driven, intentional behavior and strong conviction. It requires aligning your heart and mind to the truth that you feel at your innermost core and embracing it fully, Ciri. It means having a purpose—one so clear and bright that you would never relinquish it; something you believe in so strongly that you would rather die than abandon it. That feeling of complete certainty... when you embrace it, and act on it, you are truly bold, and when you have that sort of boldness, you will always have the sort of freedom that no man can ever take away from you... because it is rooted in your soul.”

With that, the sorceress turned away—a silent indication that their lesson was done. However, the truth was that she’d turned away to hide her expression from her charge—afraid that the surge of emotion she felt in that moment would reflect across her face.

Oh, my White Wolf... I envy you your true purpose.

Would that I could take your Surprise for my own, I would keep her by my side forever and never let her go.

[p-jiminaa]

Fated to you. (part 1)

Kim Taehyung and You.

Summary: You have no other choice other than to marry him.

Genre: Mixes of everything! You know... cupcakes and espresso?

Gif is not mine, credit to the owner.

Masterlist

| #1 | #2 |#3 | #4 | #5 | #6 | #7 | #8 |

“Love? Did you really think that you’re that special for me to love you?” He said it harshly, without trying to cover the harsh meaning behind his words. You shifted your gazed from your laptop screen to him. You shook your head in disbelieved as this is not the first time you witnessed him breaking up with his girlfriend and weirdly enough, the timing is strange. It is as if he only did this when you’re in the cafe.

“What about all these time we’re together. I thought it mean some...” without letting her finishing her words, he interrupt. “No. I am only here for the fun. Now, if you excuse me.” He then stood up, leaving the girl, looking dumb.

Your gaze followed the man until he exited the cafe then move back to the girl who was sitting there, still in her place. You then realized almost everyone’s attention is on her. Some showed that they were sorry while some did not even care. The girl then cried, shield her face with her palms. That surprised you as you expect her to go after him but no, she decided to create drama here. If she think that crying in public place will gain more sympathy then she’s wrong, she’s only embarrassing herself. 

You closed your laptop lid harshly, letting out a harsh breath and stood up, walked towards the counter, stand behind it and put on the microphone that is usually used to called up customer’s name in order to inform them that their food or drink is ready. 

“Everybody. My name is y/n and I am the owner of this cafe.” When you are sure that you got their attention you then continued. “We were really sorry for this sudden news. Unfortunately, we have to close our cafe today as there was an emergency situation happens at our kitchen just now. You can write down your name and phone number on the paper on your table and we will contact you for the repayment that you had made with us today. Again, we were really sorry for this unexpected situation.” With that being said, you bowed your head to the customers followed by the two server who worked with you. Although you heard some complaint from the customer, but they did not protest by showing some ungrateful behavior rather they went out after plotting down their number and name. 

Two of the server look at you with their surprise expression as they did not expect your sudden announcement. You shook your head lightly and asked them to go to the kitchen to help the chef with anything. They obeyed it instantly as they know you need alone time with the girl.

Your gazed then shifted to the girl who were still sitting on her chair, crying. You knocked on her table to get her attention. She put down her palm and looked at you with eyes full with tears. You took a seat across her. 

“Funny isn’t it?” She started the conversation. You stared at her with blank expression as you could not understand her.

“What so funny?” You lean your back against the chair. 

“Guy.” She says as she wiped away the tears. “When they want us, they act like an insane man. They promised everything. They did everything that we asked them. They followed us. But then, when they are done with us, they dump us like rubbish.” She says with eyes fulls of regret and sorrow. Your eyes falls on the ring on her finger, a blue sapphires diamond. That guy must be rich. You said to yourself. “I know this sounds unbelievable but I caught him making out with another woman in our bedroom, several times.” She chuckles in despair. “And I am crazy for still wanting to be with him even after that happens.” 

“And why did you stay?” You asked her. 

She exhales a long breath. “I don’t know. Maybe love.” Your mouth drop when she said that? Love? What even is that? Gosh! Why did people lose their sanity once they’re in love. Like they lose their common sense and unable to differentiate between logic and illogical things. She then rant about everything until she realized that she had been here for a very long time. “I am sorry ranting on you all of these thing. We barely knew each other.”

 You shrugged in response. “Its fine. I just hate when women are view as feeble.” You said it seriously, eyes fixed on her.

“Err what?” She was confused with your statement.

“You were crying in my cafe. It's really disturbing other customer if you did not notice that. I even have to close my cafe because of you. So yea, don’t have to thank me, you’re welcome.” You said it in sarcastic voice tone. You then continued “I am now done with my job as a woman who is helping other weak woman who were just left by their boyfriend and not to forget the facts that her crying was not because of their break up, but because she just lost her sugar daddy. Am I right?” You stared straight into her eyes. 

She shook her head and again you interrupt her when she’s about to say something. “What? How do I know about the sugar daddy thingy? Oh look at your ring sister and your Gucci handbag and ah, not to forget, those earrings.” You pointed her ears. “You know that earrings is really a limited edition. And you told me that those earrings was given during your first ‘monthsary.’ Not even anniversary, but ‘monthsary’ and he’s leaving you today, when yesterday, you both celebrated your third ‘monthsary’.” You chuckles in a mocking way. “What are you? A bitch whose living to suck off man’s money?” You crossed your arm. “Rise up sister. You cannot depends your life on man.” 

With that being said, you stood up and took your laptop situated beside her table where she sat before you heard her shouting at you. “You bitch! How can you have no sympathy towards...” You turned to face her. 

“Oh shut up will you. Why are you making a scene when I just helped you from embarrassing yourself.” She then cursed another ‘so called beautiful language’ but you ignored her. Your server ran to her to shut her up but you straightly went  upstairs, to your office ignoring whatever she said to you.

You were about to sit on your chair when your phone suddenly vibrated. You unlocked your phone and read the message on your screen.

We have fixed the date. Come back tomorrow to meet him.

-Dad.

You plopped on the bean bag chair the moment you finished reading the  text. Why does it have to be this way. Why can’t I choose my own groom? Why I have to obey my parent’s wishes even when I live by my own right now. Your were startles when your door was open and there you saw, the man that helped you a lot since you ran away from home, Yunhyeong.

“Hard day?” He smiles and walked towards you and took a sit on the couch situated beside you. You shrugged. He smirked in response. 

“What?” You assumed he saw what happened earlier. 

“You know, you need to learn how to behave or talk nicely towards stranger.” 

“What? Am I disrespecting you?” You asked him in disbelieve. He shook his head. Why is your response like this? Because your so-called mother had trained you to be lady like since you’re child. Can’t imagine if she saw what happened earlier. 

“I mean is... that poor girl had just broke up. You should calm her rather than aggravated her anger more.”

You instantly replied him. “That so called poor girl is a bit**. Her crying was just an act. She cried because she just lost her source of income. So I don’t think I should comfort her with kind words.” 

He smile slightly. “Just because your mother...” You glared at him. “Oppps. I mean just because your father’s wife turn to be a bit** who only want money, doesn’t mean all women are like her. Try to be nice okay?” You rolled your eyes. 

“Whatever.” You then moved your gazed to your phone screen. “By the way,I am not coming tomorrow. Take care of the cafe for me, please.” You smiles sweetly to him. Your way so that he can stop by after he finish his tomorrow and look after the cafe. 

“Hmm fine. Is it finally happening?” He asked you. And you nodded your head. His facial expression lit up. “When can I meet him then?”

“I don’t even know him, let alone meet him.” 

“I can’t believe you’re finally getting married y/n!” He says excitedly.

“Oh my God, stop it. Why are you so happy with this? Are you happy that you’re finally able to get rid of me?” You say with a huff.

“Ya pabo-ya...” He knocked your head with his phone. You glared to him in response. “I am just happy that you’re finally able to make your parent’s wishes came true. So that mean, you’re accepted back right?” 

You shrugged, did not want to give him clear answer as you don’t even know about that. Will your father able to forgive you? Even after you told him to disown you. Is that bad witch still living with your father? Even after you curse her for taking your mother’s role. You don’t even know that. The only thing you know is, your uncle went to see you, a month ago. He says you’re getting married. And this married must happens, MUST.

***

You meet your father, in the garden, sitting under the gazebo. Straightly he told you that you have no say in this marriage or else he will do ‘that thing.’ You exhales long breath, defeated to your father’s wish. Sometimes you wonder, why am I born into this family, why I have no choice in life. Everything is already fixed for you and that include spouse. 

“Let’s go y/n.” He stood beside you who were still sitting. You stood up. He then linked his arm with yours. “Really? Are we in a drama?” You says as you walked beside him.

“No. I just miss holding my daughter.” Your head turned to your father upon he said that. He smile genuinely. You shook your head in disbelief. No, this is just a drama!

“Ya Kim!” He untangled her arm from you and immediately embrace who you assumed to be your future father in law. Wait did he just called him by his surname? Oh My God, that proves they are indeed close to each other. The man or should you say Mr Kim looks old well not so old. You guess since he and your father are best friend so they might be the same age, so around 50? Just like your father’s age. 

Your father then turned to you . “This is Y/N.” You instantly smile and bowed your head to him. “Pleasure to meet you Sir.” You greeted him. He nodded his head. “You too y/n. You grow up beautifully, Just like your mother.” You smile when you listen to his compliment. Well, you can proudly admit that your facial looks similar to your mother. 

“This is my son, Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” You glanced over to the man who was standing beside him. Your eyes widened in surprise when you finally see him. How can you did not realize his existence when you’re about to enter the living room. 

“Hello, nice to meet you.” He bowed his head slightly. You replied by bowing your head slightly to him. 

“We shall leave them to do their deep talking.” Your father then interrupt both of you. And his statement really surprised you. You glanced over to him and shook your head slightly, disagree to what he just said. He smirked in response.

Taehyung’s father also agree with that. When they were about to exit the room, Taehyung’s father turned “Taehyung, behave.” He warns his son. Oh My God, should I be scared since he was just being warned. “Don’t worry Dad.” He replied.

“Are you stalking me all these time?” You says the moment the door closed. Well, its really weird, like he know your cafe and even know your favourite places. He nodded his head proudly.

“Since when did you know about our arrangement?”

“Three months ago.” You furrowed your eyebrows. And that make sense. No wonder you keep seeing him lately. Did he did that on purpose? So that you would disagree with this.

“And so you think by behaving badly intentionally in front of me will make me disagree with our parent’s plan?” Your voice increased without you even realize about it. However, he smirked in response.

“No. Why would I? I mean is that the real me. The one that keep behaving badly. This, at this moment, is not me. This is all just an acting.”

“So then what is your purpose of stalking me? Or showing me your so beautiful behaviour?” You said it sarcastically.

“I just want you to get use to it. Because with or without the ring, I am not gonna change.”

“This is ridiculous.” You were about to open the door when he suddenly pull your arm and push you towards the wall beside the door. He took both of your hand, put it above your head and harshly on the wall. With this, you’re unable to move, not even slightest.

“You’re crazy, that for sure.” You glare at him.

“I am.” He smile evilly. “I just wanna remind you that I never took into a consideration of anyone’s feelings. So please, don’t say that I am rude to you.” He close the distance between your face and him until his nose touches yours hairs. “I love your smell. I can’t wait for our...” before he able to complete his sentence, you lifted your knee to hit his private part. That when he finally let go of your hand and crouched a little. He scrunched his face in response to the hit. You smirked seeing his reaction.

“Y/n!” You smiles happily when he shouted at you.

“I am not stupid like the doll you always sleep with. If you expect me to behave womanly, then keep on dreaming.” You put your hands on the door knobs.

“And by the way...” you turn your gazed to him. “Feelings? What are those? Just don’t fall in love with me yeah?” You winked at him playfully and exited the room.

“Y/n!” You then heard him shouting your name again when you’re about to close the door. 

“Why do you have to hit this area. How am I going to give you a child if this area is damaged!” Your eyes widened in surprise when he said that. Did he think that I am going to consummate our marriage? Keep on dreaming.

-

I’ve been into arranged marriage au lately and yeah, so I tried to write my own version of arranged marriage.  ☺️

[ncumenia-archived]

😈 "Lunari blood's in their hands. Give 'em a taste of their own."

My muse is losing hope and slowly drifting towards the side of evil. Send 💞 to try to save them, or 😈 to encourage them! The harpooner’s words echoed inside her head, limbs trembling like a leaf, anger, sorrow, and vengeance boiling inside her veins as she buried her tear-stained visage on his chest, sighs now making her body hiccup, unable to talk nor screaming what was eating her soul alive.Ah, they called them “mad“, “lunatic“ for their “illogical“ lust for blood and vengeance…But, would they refer in the same way to a mother bear who had just lost her cub, and now she wanted nothing but the demise of those who murdered her child?

There was a Solari man on the ground -one could easily recognize one of their dogs: vermillion clothes, skin kissed by their bloodstained Golden disk and false modesty-, his ribcage half exposed in the moist night-air, the stench of his organic fluids filled Ernye’s nostril, whose body was still trembling, and only the Buhru man was her only physical and moral support, there was Solari’s blood on the tip of her fingers…And it was… As red as Lunari’s, the same blood they spilled that night, that painted in red Targon’s ground.Despite the primordial -almost animalistic- rage within her soul, she couldn’t turn around, facing the agonizing man, just hearing his moribund, pig-like wheeze reaching her hear, joining the thousands of screaming voices in her head…Now, a sentence was resounding in the midsummer air, the one he just repeated a few minutes ago…Lunari blood’s in their hands. Give ‘em a taste of their own.That raspy, yet familiar voice wasn’t coming from her head, but from the man, she cared about the most, with whom she shared an endless curse…The Moon of her life.Was he encouraging her to finish off their prey? After all, he was the only one who fully understood her sorrow and wish to avenge all those she lost that cursed night.She held his hand, tightening the grip before, gradually, she turned her head to the “dog“, now in a pool of blood, she could easily understand what he was murmuring…A pray in Solari dialect. Did he really wish the Golden Disk would save him…In the middle of the night? How ironic.«…»She limited herself to a silent nod, weakly caressing his moist arm, his ebony skin looking so perfect under the moonlight before she stood on her feet -her knees still trembling-, as she approached the dead-to-be Solari, her dress’ train drenched in his blood, as she now stood on him, his figure trapped between her legs.Ah, his auburn hues were burning in tears, widening even more when he recognized where she belonged to…-Lunari scum…!-He grumbled in both terror and disgust before a strangled groan came from his throat as a shadow clung to his neck, cerulean hues now staring at his tore apart figure, his dark crimson, and wet clothes…At his white and pinkish ribcage, she could see his lungs pulsating, throbbing and twisting in anguish.«You buried us…But you forgot we’re seeds…I’m their flower, and now I’m here to let you experience what my kin felt on their skin.There will be no dawn for you, Solari.»Before the blackish tendrils clawed his olive-skin, the Buhru made a step forward, willing to join that “feast”, but her silent hand gesture stopped him, now briefly gazing him with the corner of her eye. No, he was hers.«This is my battle, Pyke.Not yours.»The Ripper silently backed, now Ernye’s undivided attention on the vermin beneath her, who, while she was stopping Pyke to join her, he attempted to stab her ankle with his golden dagger, only to get pierced in the wrist by a shadow, screaming in agony as he was now permanently stuck on the terrain, blood drenching his sandy, wavy hair, his previous scream followed by a louder one as the tendrils clawed his torso, scratching it and exposing his bloated, wet organs -ah, she could easily recognize his stomach, his lungs, not to mention his liver- before getting gradually pierced -ah, she really wanted to hear him cry. His dirty tears were nothing compared to Lunari’s children when they lost her parents before their innocent eyes-, yellowish fluid gushing out from the mucosa.She wasn’t impressed by his exposed body, not at all, nor by his cry. What a pity, no one was going to save the poor man for his certain -and deserved- demise. The bitter stench of his blood made the Lunari turn into a “berserker“ mode, her hues now dead staring at his agonizing, reddish visage. Ah, she really wanted to see him suffer like the pig he was.«This is for the child I’ll never have.»An enigmatic, mournful sentence slid out from her lips, before the shadows shaped into a sharp teethed mouth, violently sinking its knife-like claws into his groin, tearing it to pieces as his screams were so loud the Lunari’s mind blanked for a couple of seconds, the Buhru’s unliving hues widened in surprise…Was he proud of her… Or shocked of what she was capable of, how much anger was within her figure?The crimson blood splattered everywhere, his figure now squirming in an almost unreal pain, as, from Ernye’s mouth, some drops of blood began to leak from her lips, intensifying as the seconds passed by, the hate now becoming her main fuel…Her hues getting wet, her sight blurred as she lifted her right foot, her leg shaking, just like her voice.«This…THIS IS FOR THE DREAMS YOU’VE BURNED WITH YOUR LIES.»Her feet sank on his sternum, flesh and blood splattering in the surroundings, dirting her in blood as his now dead figure was slightly shaking, his lifeless eyes widened in horror, facing the moonlight.That’s here that she “returned” herself, realizing what she had done…She had just murdered a Solari.Joy… And sorrow were now overwhelming her, as she took a step back, she would have fallen backward if it wasn’t for Pyke’s intervention, who grabbed her, pulling her trembling figure closer to his, his strong arms embracing her.«…Pyke…»She murmured in a trembling voice, her empty cerulean hues now staring at the void, before her body began to violently shake, hiccup before she violently burst into tears, burying her bloodstained face on his chest, feeling his moist hand caressing her raven locks.It was over.There was no more Solari’s blood stench in the air…Just his skin’s salty aroma…Just the Moon of her life.

[anonthenullifier]

Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Warning: mention of and implication of character death. Based on the trailers for Infinity War. 

All of my other speculative Infinity War fics have been wrong, so if I write this, it means it will be wrong, right? Please?

AO3 Link

The jungle is alive with susurrations, leaves conversing in the breeze, a chatter of birds, a small tributary babbles less than a quarter mile away, all things that, in any other circumstance would be labeled peaceful, but that peace is eradicated by the distant cacophony of war. Vision lays his head back, ignoring the irritating placement of a stub from a broken branch that is stabbing his neck, and momentarily closes his eyes. Which is a mistake, the instant he removes all other visual stimuli he is overpowered by the nigh constant pulsing of the patched together wound in his side and the terrified, frenetic beat of the Mindstone as its brethren call out for it. His eyes snap open and air rushes soundlessly from his mouth as he attempts to steady his mind and push the pain away. “Vizh?”

Wanda is staring at him , the cut she sustained in Edinburgh bunching together as she allows concern to overtake her face. “I,” there are three potential answers here (at the very least) the socially polite reassurance of I am fine, the truth, and then redirection, “believe I may be able to keep moving in a few more minutes.” His words drag her mouth down, but Wanda is not the one to deny his suggestion.

“We can defend ourselves here, no need to keep looking.” The new shields became part of Steve’s overall persona far faster than anyone thought possible, so much so Vision is having difficulty remembering Captain Rogers and his star-spangled disc, the image replaced by the present intensity of the now bearded man. “Wanda,” her eyes only now leave Vision, reluctantly sliding to their leader’s face, and whatever it is they discuss, Vision’s attention is already gone, the pain escalating with each agonizing yell from the distant battlefield and each flare of prismatic power that bursts from the gauntlet on Thanos’ hand.

It is only now, in the tense quiet, in the waiting for fate that he finds himself finally accepting what is happening. He is afraid. Not merely the flimsy skittishness of unease he has experienced previously in battle (mainly when Wanda is injured or stumbles), but a deep, suffocating fear that wraps its long fingers around his chest and squeezes until there is no air left for him to gulp. The thing, Vision discovers only now, with fear is that it is insidious and persistent, an invasive species that forces him to relinquish the usually tight control he has over his thoughts. Now is not the time to meander through the lucid and daunting complexities of life, he should be focused on battle, on what he can do, and yet he cannot seem to quell the raging storm in his mind.

No one is willing to verbalize it, but the truth is plastered on everyone’s face and it is loud and resonant in his own mind: Vision is likely going to die.  It is a fact that had not seemed feasible even a week before when his fingers ran idly through Wanda’s dyed hair, the rain pattering against the hotel window, in fact, he had always taken comfort in the knowledge of the opposite. Of all his teammates, he was the least likely to perish, his very cells sewn with vibranium, the synthetic nature of his organs resistant to aging and disease, never once had he been harmed physically. Until he met the tip of a glaive. Now every reassurance, every surety of his life is tumbling from his grasp. Wanda’s eyes have taken on a sheen of defiance, refusing to accept losing one more person, and that itself terrifies him more. He adores…no, loves her resilience and strength, finds himself equally aggravated and intrigued by her ability to negate logic and stand steadfast based solely on an intuitive and emotionally charged belief that she will persevere. Yet this trait also carries with it a self-sacrificial quality, and if anyone dies today, he needs it to be him, not her.

Which only carries with it a larger, more philosophical quandary he had never found it necessary to consider. What, precisely, happens when you die? He has seen the effects of death on his teammates – has held Wanda in the middle of the night when the hole left by Pietro widens into unbearable pain. He has seen the anger and irrationality in Stark’s behavior and thoughts at the knowledge and continual rumination of what befell his parents. He has seen the hollowness in the eyes of his teammates when they share war stories, jocular tones of their late comrades’ deeds barely hiding the sorrow of speaking in remembrance instead of with that person at their side. But these are the ripples of death, the impact it leaves on others. What he finds himself honing in on is what would happen to him? The process of death is well documented, the slowing of the organs, the changing in coloration of skin (which he believes may not apply to his synthetic dermis), the rigidity of the muscles before they loosen, and then the decay. This, however, is not comforting to know, because now that he’s lived amongst people, cultivated a life of his own,he cannot imagine simply losing it, never knowing what wondrous feats Wanda completes, how she recovers, moves on, lives a long and fulfilling life.  And it hurts, more than the wound in his side and the raging headache from the Mindstone, to accept he will never know this, never see her again. Perhaps this is why humans rely so much on religion, cling to the notion of an afterlife teeming with the souls of their loved ones, because in this moment that is the only thing that instills in him an odd, illogical hope.

A high-pitched noise fills the sky above them, their eyes lifting to watch the streaks of slate smoke billowing out from another boulder-sized asteroid bearing down into the middle of the battlefield. Suddenly his thoughts flee, heart racing at the click and swish of Steve’s shields activating as his eyes narrow with the resolute nod of his head. “Be ready.”

The finality of the words finally puncture the bulbous pillows collecting in Wanda’s eyes, her features cracking as the tears trickle down, head shaking in time with the quiver of her bottom lip as her eyes find Vision’s. “Vision.”

Emotions were once so foreign to him, he felt them but was incapable of identifying and defining them. Sadness, until he knew what it was, was simply a weight that hung at the bottom of his lungs, one that caused his body to respond slower, mind tied up in distortional thinking. It was only upon knowing the term, linking the two together, that he could define and parse out each separate affective state. His name, when she says it, always carries emotion but never the same one: sometimes it is happy, exhausted, excited, amused, annoyed, awe-stricken, or filled with love (his favorite). Yet right now he can, from two syllables, gather her fear and her anger, her anxiety and anguish, doubtfulness and resolution. “Wanda.” He chokes in the middle of her name, realizing only now how despair can influence his physiological functioning, fattening his tongue and closing his throat. But she rushes to him, drops down onto a knee and brings her palm to his face.

“Vision, we’ll be fine.”

It is a blatant lie, one she does not believe and neither does he, but he accepts it, wraps his right hand around her wrist and brings his left to cover her gloved knuckles. They’ve been running for so long now, clandestine meetings across the world, long nights where the only thing that mattered was the words they whispered and the feel of their bodies and minds synchronizing and embracing, that it is tempting to keep going. Another crash and there is a flicker from behind Wanda, the damaged shield faltering and then falling from around the battlefield. “It is too late.”

“No.”

The crunch of a twig echoes around them as Steve crouches into a stance they’ve practiced hundreds of time in training, voice uncomfortably calm while he narrates what is happening, “Thanos is coming.”

Vision refuses to disengage from Wanda’s gaze, can feel the unfounded notion forming in his mind that if he doesn’t see Thanos then it means he is not there. But that is farcical and unhelpful. The truth is that time is no longer on their side and there is only one thing left for them, one last, final strategy that could save everyone - but him. “We are out of time.” Wanda denies it with a barely discernible shake of her head, and now his tears join her own, fingers tightening around her wrist. “We are out of time, Wanda.” The repetition hurts, the acceptance of their worst fears kickstarting his sympathetic system which screams at him to fight or at least try to fly away with Wanda in his arms, run just a bit longer, yet he has to stop that feeling, his body far too injured to carry on. “I love you.”

A shuddering breath makes her, “I love you,” difficult to decipher, but the desperate press of her lips emphasizes the muffled words, fills him with one last glorious rush of the possibilities of life, of being human. Wanda closes her eyes, sucks in the humid air, and then moves her hand to his forehead, scarlet swirling in his peripheral vision. Shuri confirmed the necessity of the stone for the continued functioning of his nervous system, but in doing so also discovered a way to amplify its power if removed. The prognosis for him was unclear, if not erring on the side of poor, but they left some hope of his return, which Wanda has clung to, and continues to do so as her powers begin to pry the stone from this head. Before she removes it, she kisses him again, leaving him with one last promise, “I’m going to get you back, okay?”

Vision can feel his body grow heavy, thoughts slowing and heart coming to a rest. As his eyelids slip down he can see Wanda stand, Mindstone glowing with a renewed fury in her hand and he can’t help but smile at the beauty of the image. Life did not quite go as planned, but for what it was worth, it has been a privilege to have lived it surrounded by his teammates, his family.

[unrefinedtales]

tomione // madness

part 1 and part 2

I wrote this until the sun was coming up. I’d like everyone, as they read it, to imagine you’re sitting at the bottom of a well that’s slowly filling with snow.

THE NIGHT WATCHMAN ~ PART THREE

“With iT I become the death Dickinson feared With iT I'm the red amiral on this ship And I race With infants for my coronation I'll rule over my all my dead impersonations” -iT, Christine and the Queens

When I was a little girl my fine arts teacher told me that I had no sense of the abstract. I kept throwing a flurry of paints on the canvas and hurrying to finish so that I could go back to reading. She brought me before the whole class and asked me to explain why I thought I was above the assignment. I answered, honestly, that I detested painting flowers and wanted to know what happened at the end of my book.

That night a note was sent home to my parents detailing my insubordination. My mother did not hide her smile when she tore up the note and dropped the pieces into the trash.

“A better teacher would have rewarded your honesty,” she told me. “But somewhere between childhood and adulthood, most of truth-telling is lost. Try to hold onto that honesty, dear. The only thing worse than being ignorant, or selfish, or unkind, is being untruthful.”

With Tom trembling before me, I tried to remember the last time I had been entirely honest.

“You owe me nothing,” Tom said, when he had regained control of his breathing. “Leave me be.”

“Please understand,” I told him. “I’m far too bored to go back to playing the piano.”

There. My mother would have smiled at that, the smile I had loved when I was young.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Tom said. “Everything I put in place to prevent it… I don’t understand. I thought of everything.”

“Everyone dies. Surely somebody taught you that?”

He was silent for some time. I studied his face like a scholar would look at an ancient text freshly unearthed from the annals of time, eyes round with greed. I had watched him from afar, day after day, longing to get closer. There was something compelling about him, beyond his presence as the lone visitor in my exile. He emitted a sort of static charge like the television sets in my watching room. He made it difficult to look away. The lofty and influential always did.

“What were you before?” he asked at last.

“I was like you. At least, in one way. I had the same power you had.”

“No one was like me,” he snapped.

I shrugged. “If you say so. None of that matters here. Time, power, technology, blood… it’s no currency here like it was before.”

“I studied,” he insisted. “Death is as guilty of avarice as the rest of us. Long ago those who wanted to curry death’s favor were buried with their gold, so they could pay the toll and pass on in peace. But to safeguard against passing altogether, one need only make death an irresistible offer.”

“You talk as if death is a being that can be reasoned with.”

“Angels and devils have always been depicted in art as architecture and human form melded together. Why should this place be any different? Death is holding us captive until it’s exacted its price.” He looked at me suddenly, eyes narrowed as though taking me in for the first time. “How did you die?”

I smiled. “That’s a rather personal question.”

“I didn’t think of it before. There must be a reason the two of us were put here together. Did you safeguard yourself against death, also?”

“Not at all. I was much more preoccupied with living.”

I felt a twinge. Was I telling the truth? In life I had always been preoccupied with doing the right thing, the proper thing. I had lived for others. Wasn’t that the best, the most generous way of living?

Was it living?

“Stupid,” Tom hissed. There was that venom, his real face showing through. I liked him better this way. Ugly, but honest. “There is something holding us here. I’ll discover what it is and put things right.”

“Look,” I said, “whatever safeguarding you did, it failed. It’s not an easy thing to grapple with. Trust me, I know. Take the night. Get the anger out of your system. Come meet me in the morning. There’s something I want to show you.”

I wasn’t sure if he heard me. I left him bowed over the floor in the atrium of death’s playhouse, contemplative and severe. When I had returned to my room and closed the door behind me, I had to blink. I was standing, not in my quiet bedroom with the cream walls and canopy bed, but in a sparse garden at the foot of a snow-capped mountain.

“Oh, come on, now!” I said angrily.

I was standing at some altitude, judging by the crispness of the air. The wind whipped my hair across my face and blew cherry blossoms in my direction. I was surrounded by carefully clipped hedgerows and stone fountains. There was a solitary figure planted in the distance, clad in wind-tossed black robes with a crown of ebony spires.

“What the hell,” I called out, “am I supposed to make of this?”

The figure tossed something at me, some stunted blackened thing covered in layers of dripping filth. I wanted to recoil. I could not move.

The thing tumbled to my feet. It wriggled in my direction. I wanted to back away. Please, please, let me go, I thought. I willed my feet to move.

The solitary figure was moving in my direction now. Moving quickly.

“Stop,” I said, alarmed. It was moving faster and faster. Desperately, I flung myself back. I started to fall—

“Jean. Open your eyes.”

I cried out as Tom’s face came into focus above mine.

“You have nightmares too,” he said quietly.

“I—Sometimes,” I stammered. It was a lie. That hadn’t been a nightmare. I didn’t know what that had been.

“You said you had something to show me,” Tom said, bringing me back to reality again.

He was pale, a point of reference in the gloom I pushed my hair from my face and stood, wrapping myself in a blanket. The dream clanged around in my head and I stumbled, grasping Tom’s shoulder for purchase.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said. His tone was idle. Did he realize the implication? He seemed truly curious. We were alone in the dark, shivering together, captives. I probably should have been afraid.

“What can you do to me? I’m already dead,” I said, a weak attempt at humor. “You don’t impress me as someone who liked to do his own dirty work. I doubt you ever dealt out violence with your own two hands once in your life.”

He didn’t respond. I led the way from my bedroom to the wall of televisions that occupied my thoughts so much of the time. This room, in fact, rivaled Tom for the top spot on my list of obsessions. There were my parents, out to the movies, holding hands like teenagers on a first date. My friends, all of them together singing a pub song on the walk home from a night of celebration. Snow drifted down from the moonlit sky. The streets were crowded.

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” said Tom. He seemed surprised. He hadn’t been keeping track of the days like me. Of course not; none of this had been real to him until now.

“Happens every year,” I said.

“It’s my birthday.”

It was the first concrete piece of information he had shared about himself since arriving. My heartbeat quickened.

“How old were you when you died?” I wondered aloud. It was difficult to tell from looking at him.

“Not old enough,” he said. “How old were you?”

“Twenty-one.”

My mother rested her head on my father’s shoulder. She wore that same smile I cherished in memory, the one I had seen less and less of as I grew older.

“I used to want what she had,” I said. “A hearth and home. A quiet place to rest my head at night. I thought it was the only thing that would make me whole.”

Tom snorted. “A pretty story.”

I had never heard such derision. I no longer cried. After dying, it seemed illogical to shed tears for things I would never know and feel again. But I felt a profound sadness for the things Tom lacked. Had he ever known a proper moment of joy or sorrow?

“You’ll get a room like this of your own in time, I expect,” I said. “I’m sure you won’t see fit to show it to me.”

“A wall of blank screens would be a poor source of entertainment,” he said. Then he turned to me, with a fire in his eyes that had not existed until now. “It’s you. I didn’t see it before. That’s why you’re here with me. You’re my key. My way out. I just have to understand why.”

My spirits fell. Just like that, the mask was back. He had shown me his true face for an evening, but it wasn’t to last. He was back to appraising me, gauging my value. I turned my back and left him behind, drifting back to my room. I felt more alone, somehow, than when I had been the only one here.

[automatismoateo]

Here is why theists are angered, hurt or triggered by atheists making fun of their religion. via /r/atheism

Submitted July 31, 2021 at 11:39AM by ilovethatcake (Via reddit https://ift.tt/3ffvUGk) Here is why theists are angered, hurt or triggered by atheists making fun of their religion.

Why is it that if you insulted YHWH, Jesus, Muhammad or Allah the average believer would want to murder you? If they sincerely believe that there will be a Judgement Day. On which every soul will be judged based upon their beliefs and actions, then what is it that pushes them to violence when somebody calls them out on their beliefs? God would surely take care of atheists in the afterlife, right? It's written multiple times in the Quran that there's a "humiliating punishment" for the "disbelievers" who now we call atheists. So, why is it then they would care enough to get angry or violent out of an atheist cussing out God? Do they possibly deem themselves to be more strong or even more violent than YHWH? Is it out of pure love, because they are afraid you might go to hell? Clearly, not. Because they want to murder you, in which scenario you would go to hell for eternity, dying as an unbeliever.

Here's the real reason. As far as science has taken us, the question of an intellectual being that has created everything and everyone still remains unanswered. It's the unknown that lets religions exist. It gives them this flexibility. Because if something is unknown, you could think of anything to put it into its place. And call it a good argument. That's not proof. Or should it be a convincing argument. Most theists I have observed never consider the ACTUAL reality of a God's existence. They wholeheartedly *believe* that there is an all-knowing, all-loving and all-powerful being. And so without asking for proof or going deep into the issue they believe. Most of them have been indoctrinated from childhood to give into these beliefs. And the REASON why they are hurt when someone insults God or their prophet is identical to that of a romantic rejection. They actually use the word "reject". To 'reject' God. Why is it? Atheists aren't rejecting God. They say they can't reject something that they aren't convinced exists. So, what is it with the theist? See, the dreamed image of a God in the theist is a self-replica. God knows the theist very well. Their deepest secrets, worries, sorrows, pains, needs and reassures them that it's all going to be okay. But what's mind-blowing is that the theist is their own God. The theist isn't believing in a God that's identical with the actual God of the universe if it existed. Because we have no idea if the real God has those characteristics let alone he exists. Again, this notion of not knowing something is giving the theist flexibility. Yes, the basis of his opinions on God comes from childhood stories and Biblical/Quranic teachings, but the very personal attachment to God (Or to themselves) is that, very personal. Because it's the superego. God for the average theist is superego. God shares MY exact opinions, hears MY prayers, cares about MY suffering, wants to make ME happier. I share my opinions, I hear my prayers, I care about my suffering, I want to make ME happier!

So, God is an imaginary clone of the theist himself/herself. And thus when you 'reject' God you're rejecting the theist. And that hurts the theist deeply, really personally. He/she often resorts to disappointment, sadness, sorrow, anger, irritability, aggressiveness and even violence. I know there are people reading this who have certainly been rejected before by a potential partner they were looking up to. You know how that feels exactly. And I've observed this in the theist. My aunt is a theist for example and when she had found out about her husband's cancer she would go around spreading prayers, and giving money to the poor. Hoping for a miracle that her husband would live on. But what happened is indeed heartbreaking. Her husband did die of cancer in 2016. And I remember the fire in her eyes. She used the words "What kind of a God are you? **** you, God!".. and she's never been the same ever since. My point is you can't perform miracles. There's no such thing. God is yourself. And when you realize this you are let down exactly that way. You feel rejected by God, by yourself. And that's hurtful. Facing reality and suffering is hard. I myself have recently lost my beloved grandmother, and it was pretty harsh to face reality. Yes, we are illogical beings. I thought she would never die, but reality hits you and that's pretty hard. But eventually you understand. So when the theist gets resentful or angry, and even wanting to kill you. This is why. The theist feels rejected. The theist isn't angry because God might feel rejected, the theist is angry because he/she feels rejected. It's that simple. When they look onto the sky and pray, they are looking inwards. Not for God.

[i-nonowanna]

Would Be Better // Ikon - Junhoe

GENRE: college!au aren’t they all \ angst

WORD COUNT: 1,210

PROMPT: Junhoe can’t be what you want.

A/N: Honestly, idk yall.  Don’t hate me too much if this sucks.

You flinched when water was flicked at your face. He smirked, spilling toothpaste on the side of his lip. Slapping his shoulder, you moved for the door until prevented by a jerk on your waist. Junhoe nuzzled his face into your neck and slipped his fingers into your own.

"Don't forget, Babe," he cooed, setting the cool metal into your palm. Junhoe leaned in, sneaking a chaste kiss to your lips, before hurrying off.

"I'll stop by the coffee shop after lecture to pick you up. See you soon."

The ring of your doorbell resounded, plucking you from your thoughts. Toying with the thin band around your finger, you sighed. You'd never brought yourself to take it off. Even if you were sure he had no problem removing his own.  He’d probably done it months ago.

You opened the front door, indifferent. Not expecting company, it was likely to be the landlady, coming to grill you for your inconsistent payments. But you weren't met with the screams of a middle-aged woman, instead a modest bundle of pale flowers, resting against the door frame.

Pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, you cradled the bouquet, curious. It was quite late in the night, much too late for this type delivery. You fiddled with the notecard.

We can't fix everything, but we were friends before it all happened. I'd be thankful if things could at least be that way again. Take care of yourself, please.

- KJH

You couldn't prevent your cheeks from flushing at the unexpected gesture; a gesture which also planted frustration within you.

"Is everything okay?" You called, sitting in the coffee shop's break room. Despite the soothing aroma, that would typically lift your spirits, you couldn't stop your hands from shaking.

A shrill, but muffled, shriek was heard from the crackly phone speaker. "June, is everything o-"

"(Y/N). I can't come out tonight."

"O-okay, um. What about tomor-"

"Look, (Y/N). I can't come by anymore. My mom thinks I'm wasting my time here. I need to graduate before she pulls me out of school."

"Oh. I guess I'll see you later then. I can meet you outside of your class. If you want."

Junhoe faltered. He could hear your usual confidence being replaced by fear. He mustered everything he had to speak the next words.

"No. Don't come by anymore. I won't either." You heard the line click. He'd ended the call.

You couldn't believe Junhoe. Although you'd been close friends before the two of you started dating, you had no intention of returning to that stage again. Especially not after that night. He didn't want to see you. What made him think that he could casually ask for you again?

You scoffed, interrupted by the tone of the elevator down the hall, signifying its arrival on your floor. The sound of clumsy footsteps- someone was entering the elevator.

At first, your nose turned up at the idea. Even if it were Junhoe in the elevator, he was the last person you wanted to see. The glint from your left hand, however, said otherwise.

||||||||||

You groaned. Originally, you'd begun a leisurely walk down your building's stairs. The aged elevators took much longer than any standard lift should. But the uncontrolled energy that spurred from your veins caused you to walk faster, even run down.

You exited the staircase panting, but instinctively straightened up, hearing the pitch of the elevator. The doors slid open with a small screech, revealing your neighbor from down the hall. You bowed politely, noticing her platform heels, as she took heavy steps towards the lobby's exit. You shook your head to yourself, chuckling. How could you be so foolish? Was this some kind of TV drama?

"I feel offended," a slightly raspy voice spoke from behind. A tall man closed the door to the stairway, the same one you'd ran your marathon in.

"Every time I asked you to go running with me, you always said no."

You turned, rolling your eyes at the source of the voice. He couldn't supress the laugh that bubbled from his lips. Its been a while since he received the classic eye roll, that you'd respond with everytime he left you speechless.

You headed out of the lobby, sorting your thoughts. You weren't sure what you were expecting when you finally caught him.

"W-wait, (Y/N)." Junhoe was a stuttering mess. He often imagined the day he'd meet you again, but it came a lot earlier than expected.  He couldn't fish the right words out of his mouth.

Junhoe noted the familiar silver band around your finger. He tugged unconsciously at your wrist. Verifying, it was his ring. The one from almost a year ago. He met your eyes and immediately recognized it: sorrow. All of the pain he put you through flashed before him. Junhoe was also reminded of the anger; he'd left you so abruptly, putting in minimal effort for the relationship by ending it. He couldn't blame you for being upset now. Junhoe pulled you closer by your forearms.

"Baby-" His voice cracked; he was about to cry. Your heart lurched at his actions. Junhoe absolutely hated crying in front of you, even more so in public. He wanted you to be the one taken care of. You instinctively reached out to hold him, reaching around his torso and pulling him into you.

You froze. This isn't what you wanted. You didn't have any expectation of recovering your relationship with Junhoe. He had the same as you, a year of school left.

Pulling away, you gazed at the ground. You were embarrassed; you acted so immaturely, getting your hopes up. He had that effect on you. Always bringing you to do things, things you thought completely illogical, but ensuring that you enjoyed it nonetheless.

"June." Despite the somber atmosphere, he couldn't stop the smile that played at his lips with the use of your old nickname for him.

"June, you should start heading home now. It's getting late." You shivered. After leaving your blanket in your apartment, you were were left with a thin sweatshirt and leggings. He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your small frame and adjusted it, making sure you were warm. Junhoe's gaze held so much admiration, you couldn't help but swoon. This time, you didn't beat around the bush.

"June, stop. We're not getting back together, so please..." You trailed off, abhoring how much of an effect he still held on you.

"And why is that?" he inquired calmly, titling his head before grabbing your hand again, fiddling with your ring.

"We're both still in college, but more importantly, you're still in college. You're going to leave me again, Junhoe."

"(Y/N)-"

"You promised you would make me happy, Junhoe. Even if it meant me leaving you."

"(Y/N), it really was my fault. I'll try harder this time. I promise, I'll fix it."

You retracted your wrist from his grip. "But it's not your fault; you can't fix it this time. Your mother was clear with what she wanted."

"If it were another time, I would be dying to come back to you, June.”

“I can't afford to fall for you again," you spoke softly, trailing back into your empty apartment.

- sungkyun

[emmybluefire]

Loss of Those Never Had

WARNING: There is some slight lewdness and beyond this point. Just in statements and sentiment. No pornography though :P

“Is there any way to tell if Dragon eggs are alive or not? Emmy?”

The half elf’s ears percolated upward at that. Her distant haze and overall disinterest in the situation before her melting away. Her cosmic gaze found it’s way one of her deepest friends, Shelby Smith... and her casual “partner” caelin Tautstring. The words bounced around in her head for a moment... her gale blank, as if contemplating. Thoughts ran through her head. Thoughts that rippled down her spine, and caused her heart to sink. They were thoughts she’d rather not be having right now...

“I know humans have a method for discerning the life of chicken eggs. It involves a lot of bright lights though.” Emmy replied. Her friends none the wiser to the sorrow she was beginning to feel.

“She’s right.” caelin interjected, turning his head towards his lover. His tone shameless and uncaring. “Did you lay any from the last time we did it?”

Emmy sighed, rolling her eyes but saying nothing. The more he spoke, the more her muscles twitched. The more her energy surged. She didn’t quite understand why though... Perhaps she was just protective of her friend? Yeah, that had to be it. It couldn’t be anything else.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had to run off and poop eggs.” Shelby giggled, paying far more attention to her lover than her friend. Not that Emmy really minded anymore... no, there was something else eating at her conscious. Something that lingered in the back of her throat, squeezing all life--all love--from it. Though, it dared not rear it’s head forward--out in the open for all to see.

“Well, we can always keep trying.” The man smirked. It was almost as if he thought his gesture sly. Thought it was charming. But Emmy couldn’t help but sneer. “Lead on love! We’ll see what they’re like.” he encouraged, moving off with Shelby. The two lovers paying no mind to the actions or consent of the third wheel behind them.

She didn’t want to do this... she didn’t want to find out the truth. She didn’t want to be belittled in the way she was about to be. She even resisted for a moment, planting her feet in the ground whilst they walked away from her. But... what kind of friend would she be if she didn’t help?

Something within her stirred as she watched the backs of their heads. It was a cold sensation. A gripping sensation that only became more apparent with each step she took. Each fraternization, each sign of affection they offered to each other deepened a pit on her stomach. Each word just another hand squeezing the back of her throat. She cursed herself for having so much knowledge in times like these. In times where she knew she was most vulnerable to hard information... In times like these where she knew all of her hopes were about to be destroyed by the very logic she had always revered.

She stayed quiet though... pushing back all these emotions brewing up within her. Emotions had always clouded her judgement... and she needed that to cast. When they got to the egg shelf, she tried her hardest not to pay attention to the shear quantity of potential children resting here. Of the potential family growing before her very eyes.

With a well hidden hesitation... Emmy lifted her hand. A shimmering blue light pulsing to life within her palm... bright enough to see through shells. It didn’t take long for her to notice the wriggling dark embryo within. The hands around her throat moved up, gripping towards the middle now, choking her up. “Th- there’s an embryo within that one... it seems...” she sighed, pulling her hand away.

Shelby looked to her, her eyes becoming globes of wonder and mystique... the look of a proud mother... and caelin? Well, his eyes were aglow too. Filled with love and affection for Shelby. The look of a proud father... He looked to be nervous as all hell, but she could see it in his eyes. While he was never one to admit it, Emmy knew that deep down... he wanted this. They both wanted this.

“I’ve been with Kale for five years. And in all that time, I’ve never laid a good egg. I- I don’t get it!” Shelby, Sorania... was dumbstruck.

Emmy thinned her lips, those hands on her throat advancing even further. They had almost pushed through. Her eyes watered at the pain... the struggle of holding it all back.

She got it... she hated that she did. She hated having a library in her mind... A library of everything good, and most of all... everything bad. Everything that she kept locked away in a restricted section to be forgotten. Everything that challenged her hope for the things she wanted most in life. Black dragons had never given their power to the dragon soul. They were still fertile. They were still immortal. Though, Sorania’s former consort Kalestraz was not. He was a red. Humans though... humans were ample. And humans can breed with anything titan...

“You don’t get it?” Emmy asked, maintaining a stoic exterior to hide her pain. “It’s... it’s because humans aren’t infertile like most dragons are these days...” she pursed her lips together to prevent them from quivering. Her hand rose to gently grasp the top of her throat in an attempt to relieve the sorrowful pain. “I-...” she sniffled inward. “I know I don’t... have a faith.” she changed the subject. “I don’t believe in miricles... but this... I-Its a blessing.” Each word felt like a spinning dagger escaping her throat. Her sorrow would not have been hard to see now. The little bit of water that had gathered around her eyes threatened to stream outward now despite her detest. Despite the fact that she knew she was being illogical. But it didn’t matter... the resistance in her throat pushed, while her walls stood against them. The siege though... they were so close to falling. Little did she know, they had a secret weapon.

“So... what you’re saying is.” cael stepped up, clearing his throat. “My cum is more powerful than dragon cum?”

That was it... that attempt at a joke. Her walls crumbled down. Her armies faltered. All that was left was the valiant queen left alone to defend herself from the encroaching usurpers. As the queen put up a courageous effort, Emmy’s sorrow was turned into blind anger. She puffed up at the comment, every impulse she had was to obliterate cael from the face of Azeroth. She had the power to do so... but her mind brought her body to a halt. Her soul lashing out where she could not. She felt hot, and rightfully so. Her silhouette became laced with powerful streams of raw arcane energy in ways that could remind one of a supernova.

“Bluefire I- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way!” caelin pleaded. He knew now the error of his mistake, and groveled like a child. Pathetic...

With a sharp breath inward through her nose, she contained herself. What was this she was feeling? Jealousy? Tsk, she thought herself better than this... Pressing in on her temples, she dragged her hands down her face. Had she really almost done that? Had she really wanted to kill someone over an ignorant comment? No... “Jus-” her voice frustrated, and her demeanor snappy. She whipped a knifed hand up to the same level as her head, insuring caelin could see the back of it. “Don’t worry about it...” Her tone was dismissive, as was her gesture. She shook her head and unleashed a scoff. Moving to step away from those who had gotten under her skin.

She payed no mind to their composure. She listened not to their sentiment. It was not wanted... or so she thought. But even though she actively avoided listening... she couldn’t help but make out a few sympathies from behind.

“I have so many children already!” Shelby cried. “Why can’t I let someone else have the gift of giving life? Why is fate so cruel?”

That was a good question... why is fate so cruel? All she had ever wanted in life was to do her job. Was to have a family in a world where she wouldn’t come home one day half-expecting them to have all been slaughtered by hunters and looters. But thanks to the actions of Deathwing... of her late aspect Malygos... she can no longer be confident in that ability. She was naught but fates pawn now... 

No... Fate... was objective. Fate can be forced. It had to be... She’s a dragon. A Thaumaturge capable of manipulating the very fabric of reality. There has to be a way.

She just needs to find it first...

Author’s gratitude: As always. Thank you all again for reading this... eh, Slightly angsty post XD. And thank you to @shelby-smith-sorania for that wonderful RP we had the other night :P It was fun. And please, everyone, have a good day or night wherever you may be :P

[fandomimatrix-blog]

Rick and Mortis

Genre:  Fanfiction

Fandom:  Rick and Morty

Author’s Note:  Based on a joke made by YouTuber Jesse Cox in the Scary Game Squad playthrough of “FAITH”.  This turned out a lot darker than I thought it would.  Oh well.  Open the floodgates, lovelies.

Rick crossed his arms.

“I fail to see how I’m at fa—ult here,” he said.  “Y-You know, a lot of people woul-would be thrilled.”

Beth stared at her father, barely keeping a handle on her emotions.  She could feel the anger straining against its leash, she could feel the enraged tears pricking at her eyes.  But Beth remained steady, staring down a calm-faced Rick Sanchez.

“No, most people would be horrified,” said Beth shakily.  “How...how could you…?”

The words were lost.  Beth was trembling in both suppressed grief and bitter rage.  She’d always tried to excuse Rick for his sins. She’d stood up for him at times when doing so made her look almost delusional.  But this was a whole new level for both of them.  Beth wasn’t sure she even wanted to forgive Rick, let alone had the strength to try.

Rick continued to glare at Beth.  He understood her sorrow.  But at the same time, he thought she was being illogical.

“You told me I could grieve however I wanted,” he said.  “And I did. What’s your problem?”

Beth shook her head.  She could scarcely express her emotions.  Beth had indeed told Rick that any way he chose to deal with the tragedy was perfectly alright.  She knew he wouldn’t cope in the usual way, but this went far beyond her anticipations.

“Yes, I did,” she said.  “But this.  Dad, this is sick.  I don’t understand how you could think this is okay!”

She let herself go for a minute, the anger spilling from her.

“This isn’t one of your stupid experiments,” she said.  “He isn’t one of your stupid experiments.  He is—was—a human being.  How could you not see that?”

Beth balled her hands into fists.  She felt like a toddler screaming at her parent over some imagined slight.  But unlike a toddler, Beth knew every bit of anger—no matter how petty—was justified.  Beth had made up her mind.  She wasn’t going to forgive Rick for this. That ship had sailed along with her trust.

Rick threw up his arms.  

“Why are you being like this?”  he demanded.  “After all your whining about how I ne—ver do anything go—ood for this family, you’re getting mad at me for it? That’s fucking insane!”

Beth took a step forward.  She could feel her fingernails digging into her palms.

“Did you really think I wanted this?”  she said.  “Are you really trying to justify your actions by blaming me?”

Bitter tears poured down her cheeks.  Beth felt like she was beating her fists against a brick wall.  She knew it was foolish to try to reason with Rick.  But shouting at him made her feel slightly better.

Rick spread his hands appealingly.  He knew he could get Beth to see sense.

“I literally brought your de—ad son back to life using the science equivalent of dark magic!”  he said.  “D-Do you think anyone could just do that?  Like just, just pop down to Arby’s and or-order one alive son for five dollars?  I did it for ze—ro dollars and it took me ten minutes.”

Beth pressed her hands to her face.  In the struggle between sadness and anger, the latter was winning.  Rick’s audacity was playing with her already fragile nerves.

“You didn’t bring him back to life,” said Beth.  “You turned him into that...thing.”

She shuddered.  Beth wouldn’t look at the creature huddled in one corner of the room.  She could feel its eyes on her.  They were the eyes of her son, but so very different.  

Rick gestured towards the creature in the corner, his eyebrow raised.

“How is that not bringing him back to life?”  he said.

The undead creature shifted restlessly.  It had been watching the adults for quite some time without making a sound.  The only clue to its presence had been the subtle aroma of decay.  

Beth swallowed a lump in her throat.

“Rick, take that thing and leave my house,” she said.

Rick stared at Beth in disbelief.  He couldn’t believe this was how she chose to repay his kindness.  He’d done this for her.  Maybe a little bit for Jerry and Summer, but mostly for Beth.  He didn’t understand how she could be so ungrateful.

“Beth, come on..,” he started.

But Beth jabbed a finger at the front door.  Her window of tolerance had closed.  She’d given Rick the chance to apologize and he had ignored it.

“Leave,” she said.

The force in her voice offered no chance for debate.

Rick shook out the last few drops from his flask.  

“You tr-try to do something nice and this is how they re—pay you,” he said.  “Let that be a lesson to you, Morty.”

Per Beth’s request, Rick had loaded up his ship and taken off.  He was going to give her a few weeks, maybe a few months.  Eventually Beth would come to her senses and apologize.  Then Rick could return home and their lives could once again readjust.  

“She’ll co—me around,” he said.  “She always does.”

Morty put his hands on the back of Rick’s chair and leaned forward.  A long shower had done him a lot of good.  But that stench of rot remained evident underneath all the flowery soap.  His joints were still stiff from lack of use, making all of his movements very slow and deliberate.

“Are you su...sure?”  he said.  “What if sh...she does-doesn’t?”

He was still having trouble forming sentences.  Given the nature of his resurrection, his speech patterns might never be entirely normal.  It didn’t help that Morty’s brain was moving at twenty-percent less efficiency than that of a wholly living person.

Rick shrugged.  He hadn’t thought that far ahead.  Beth forgiving him had seemed such a foregone conclusion.  But now that Morty mentioned it, Rick remembered the look in Beth’s eyes.  That hadn’t been her normal look of stern disapproval in reaction to him messing up. That had been a look of true rage and betrayal.

“Then we leave,” he said.  “I have a fucking spa—ace ship, Morty.  A spaceship and a portal gun.  We can go wherever we want.”

Morty hung his head.

“So I’ll ne-never see Mo...Mom again?”  he said.

Rick tried to play it off, but he was bothered by the idea.

“Who knows?”  he said.  “Who cares?  We can ex—plore the universe together.  None of that matters.  Nothing matters.”

Rick thought about Beth and Jerry.  With him gone, they might get back together.  He wished he could be there to intervene.  But with the whole universe and many others to explore, Rick knew he was foolish for dwelling on what he’d left behind.

“Wh-Why did you bri..bring me back?”  said Morty.

Rick shook his flask again.  He wouldn’t look Morty in the eye.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “To prove my capabilities?  To make your mom happy?  Because I have a dark sense of humor?  Who even knows with me, Morty?  I’m a riddle.”

Rick put his flask down.  He stared out the windshield into the vast nothingness between planets.

“Don’t you worry,” he said.  “We don’t need anyone.  I don’t need anyone.  We’ll be okay.”

He leaned forward and clutched the steering wheel.

“You can take a nap if you want,” he said.  “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

Morty didn’t need to “sleep” in the traditional sense, but he did need to give his body a rest.  He curled up among the empty bottles and various bits of trash in the ship.  He closed his eyes, feigning an impressive imitation of sleep.  Morty allowed his mind to drift and his thoughts to flow without interruption.  

Rick collapsed over the steering wheel.  He needed a nice long sleep himself.  An actual sleep, complete with his usual surreal dreams. Rick felt as if he hadn’t slept in a thousand years.  It was closer to a thousand days.

“You’ll be alright, Morty,” he said.

Beth might not believe him, especially if she never saw him again.  But Rick knew that—at the very least--Morty was going to be okay.