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dmitriene · 1 year ago

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— i don't care anymore.

summary: feelings accumulated inside of you for years abruptly bursted out. content: re4! leon x fem! agent reader tags: nsfw, smut, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood - death - trauma - nausea - alcohol, confused relationship, receiving fingering, unprotected p in v, marking. (let me know if i forgot something!) authors note: my first smut which includes leon and quite sensitive themes, hope you like it! please enjoy your reading) 🖤 (18+ warning)

«i'm so lost and confused / i don't know what to do»

«where are they now / i don't care anymore»

Bioweapon —

USSTRATCOM — a place that gradually began to feel like a cage in which you found yourself due to your own choice, joining a secret unit on the list of a few more people in order to prevent the spread of bioweapons, devoting not only your body and mind to this cause — but also your life.

Contact —

Leon Scott Kennedy — the first person who took a step towards you and the first acquaintance that significantly smoothed everything that happens around you — to be honest, an awkward temporary contact with a fair haired man even pleased you, because your rare meetings and short dialogues made your thoughts switch to a slight smile playing around the corners of his lips as he jokes about an upcoming mission or discusses how he would like to go on vacation, and you, to be honest, too.

Zombies —

A defocused look and a veil before the eyes — not yours, but a rebellious creature in front of you, a twisted body and indistinct sounds that came from the mouth of an incomprehensible creature while its ragged movements and crooked legs carried it towards you in desperate attempts to get to you, only for your fingers to pull the gun trigger and fill the space with the sounds of gunshots, the bullets ripping through layers of already rotting flesh only to riddle the body of a creature that faintly reminded you of its human appearance, until it finally fell to the ground.

Blood —

Crimson thick liquid — it oozes like rubies from a limp body in scarlet streams along the floor and down to your feet, and you feel how strong and fast your heart beats arrhythmically, dispersing the blood through your own body with a loud noise from an overabundance of the body, forcing the whole body to break through weak pulsation, you don’t even have time to comprehend what is happening, as a heavy and itchy load immediately falls on your entire body, starting to feel cold sweat that collected in small drops on your skin, forcing your hands to automatically start trying to convulsively brush off the unpleasant discharge.

Nausea —

Unbearable pressure on the cranium — which seemed to have an impact on you from all sides, as soon as you look away from the corpse, your head starts to spin and your breath spirals in earnest, a disgusting lump forms in your throat and it seemed as if all space was leaving under your feet, and any matter around dissolving, followed by a vile, indescribable feeling that forced the body to strain to its maximum limit.

Panic —

An overwhelming feeling that sharply wedges everything around and is very blurry — you try to focus on the environment around you and you suddenly feel that you have nothing to breathe, in an instant you seem to be deprived of any access to oxygen, which, it would seem, should have been enough, your mouth opens in panic and in a futile attempt to swallow more air, but everything turns out to be in vain.

Comfort —

A sharp feeling of psychophysical pleasure and the opportunity to breathe — the necessary warmth began to spread through the body following the sensation of someone's arms ringed around you, someone's strong figure embraces you in an understanding embrace, as if only wanting to divert your thoughts from everything that previously worried you, and then a heavy hand lies on your back and begins to slowly draw ornate patterns with his fingertips

— «Shh.. everything is fine..»

the velveteen tone of voice helps to recognize in whose hands you are and the heart finally stops abnormally rushing around the chest, your breathing gradually returns to normal and in a matter of a moment the lump rolls back from a simple realization — you are in the safest possible place at the moment.

Monastery —

The long awaited feeling that falls on your shoulders and covers you with apathy like a blanket — a successfully completed mission safely returned you for some time to your usual state of affairs, being in the comfortable environment of your monastery and inspiring peace of mind that affects better than any medicine that helps excess weight and thoughts vanish from your body like something superfluous.

Alcohol —

Astringent and bitter taste that recreates a burning sensation in the mouth and further down the throat — an uncounted sip of ruby liquid makes the body perform an incredible somersault, thoughts turn into porridge and eyes get wet over an unpleasant veil that your obscuring gaze, because it is in such an environment that memories overtake you.

Aggression —

Discontent seething through the veins with hot blood, covering everything in front of you — your eyebrows frown after the hope that a few sips of alcohol will help you calm down and cope with painful thoughts, a glass of tart liquid is instantly emptied, your heart is convulsively knocking on your chest and blood walks all over your body with a familiar noise, and then you can’t stand it, with all your strength you hit the glass on the table, breaking the glass to smithereens, while your fingers instinctively clench around the fragments in an attempt to forget, injuring yourself on thin glass.

Return —

A confusing sensation of fussiness and unbearable tension — an unusual sudden fussiness and tight clenching of the lips until the pinkish skin turns white, new and uncomfortable feelings that arose somewhere on the internal soil due to the meeting with the long straight corridor that led to the oval office, provoking uncomfortable bubbling and noticeable lack of air to re-form deep inside, while the mind screamed endlessly that there was no place for weakness and your own discomfort, so the fingers had to slide along the bridge of the nose in an attempt to get out of the viscous shackles of an unpleasant foreboding.

Disruption —

Acute anxiety and inability to focus on the environment — as soon as you cross the threshold of the door out of the office on cottony legs, you already unconsciously rush towards any free room to lie down there until you come to your senses, until your vision swims worse than the raging sea waves followed by a sharp movement of your hand that pulls some unknown door handle for you to roll over the threshold and lock yourself between four walls, leaning back against a wooden surface and taking in air into the lungs.

Need —

Feeling unable to cope with what is happening on your own — fingers smear transparent drops of tears on your face before lifting your head and only then perceive the surrounding picture, in your most vulnerable and hopeless position you locked yourself in an unknown office with a man whom you had already allowed to probe your weakness — Leon Scott Kennedy, you know nothing about him except his name and pair of blue eyes that look at you in pure surprise, and you feel even worse from the realization that if he were to pull you to him again now, you would gladly give in to this impulse, but instead you stand with your back to him and tremblingly reach for the door handle.

Consolation —

A warm, honey like feeling that you succumb to and let yourself feel weaker than usual — only to hear an already completely unimportant document slap on the table before footsteps echo against your eardrums and you feel close contact with his warm chest before strong arm shamelessly wrap around your waist line, carefully and torturously slow forcing you, like a feather, to turn to face him, only to bury your face somewhere in his chest and at the same moment endless and unintelligible sobs pour from your lips, and the tongue unties itself, as soon as his voice with warm breath touches the shell of your ear

— «Shh, sweetheart, i got you.. i got you»

your voice is hoarse and torn after another sob, and you don’t care at what moment a gentle appeal sweetly slipped from his lips

— « I-I'm.. I-I can't take it, Leon.. I'm»

— «I know.. i know»

Attraction —

A blind reaction to the inability to think concretely — a ridiculous desire to remain in caring hands and sink into an unexpected need to feel his presence closer, to force all the disgusting memories to burn out of your head as your head slowly lifts up to meet his gaze with your tear stained eyes, and his hand is incredibly tender as he caresses your cheek and his thumb carefully traces a line under your eyes, collecting tears and watching your eyelashes quiver at the sudden feeling of embarrassment that has blossomed inside you and revealed a pinkish blush on your cheeks.

Awareness —

A complete understanding and acceptance of what is happening, penetrating the spine, an awareness of a need that rises above everything else — his head slowly lowers to face you, and a finger slides from your cheek to your chin to gently lift it, you catch a small quiver of his eyelashes before his warm lips touch yours in an uncertain kiss, and you don’t even have time to comprehend what is happening and the seething heat inside, which made your heart contract and beat not because of an unpleasant lump of feelings, but something warmer, and he pulls away with a half lidded eyes in order to cover half of his face with his hand, squeezing out

— «I'm sorry.. i shouldn't do this, probably, i should - »

he does not finish, because the realization hits you with pressure and you give in to the need, dropping your lips to his again.

Passion —

A strong impulse that is accompanied by an irresistible attraction to someone — something that makes you find yourself in his arms, seasoning your back against a cool wall, while his warm tongue greedily explored all the depths of your mouth and your sweet lips, pulling charming moans and needy whining to his ears — he is ready to give in to your every desire, drawing a path of kisses from your lips to your neck to paint it with bright buds of scarlet traces, a warm hand carefully pulls off your blouse to throw it behind your back, needing to touch your seductive flesh, teasingly swiping his tongue up your collarbones as his free hand gently yanks off your bra, making you whine

— «Please, hmn.. L-Leon..»

his voice is lower than usual, demonstrating a reciprocal need for contact as his tongue touches your chest and lightly brushes your nipples with his teeth, causing your spine to intuitively arch and your fingers to sink into his shoulders

— «Mm, sweetheart, just a little bit, want to taste every part of your delicious body..»

Lust —

The need for voluptuousness, sensual sexual desire from which all sorts of sensible thoughts float — the only thing that left room for thinking was how to cover every part of your body with his marks in order to squeeze out more moans and sweet sobs from you, and it comes out when he gives you what you wished for a long time, wriggling in his arms for closer contact.

his hand slid freely up your thigh, making your legs flinch around his waist, while his hand teasingly lay on your pubic tubercle hidden behind the thin, soaked fabric of your panties to run his fingers along your sensitive spot, listening to how his name slides from your swollen lips

— «L-Leon!»

he hums, turns his attention back to your face and in a quivering kiss covers your lips again until his fingers finally begin to make jagged and erratic patterns over the small pea of your clit, smiling into your lips as your back arches sharply and your head rises back, and he seizes this moment to slip outside of your underwear and pull the panties down, leaving them hanging from your leg while his fingers spread your labia minora to plunge one finger into your wet crotch, swiping and repeating fictitious movements in and out , until your hips begin to buck up intuitively, with every opportunity to move towards his caresses — and a smirk blooms on his lips, he adds another finger and watches your face writhe with an overabundance of feelings.

Euphoria —

An overwhelming sense of bliss — trembling into every cell of your body, making you tremble in his firm arms and sink your head into his shoulder as the walls of your cunt clenched and unclenched around his fingers until the sweet sensation of orgasm slowly subsided, allowing him to take his fingers out and bring them up to his lips, licking your juices utterly greedily, watching your cheeks redden shamefacedly at the sight of him savoring you on his fingers before sinking back into your joint kiss, letting you taste that strange taste on the tip of your tongue before moaning into his lips with not a request, but a sincere need

— «N-need.. need you..»

a low laugh sounds extremely languid, vibrating off his chest and allowing you to feel it to the fullest in connection with you being in his hands, while his whisper caressed your ear, swiping a wet strip along your ear lobe, drawing a sob out of you

— «Need what, hun? You need to talk properly, hm?»

the challenge in the tone of his voice makes you flinch, the desire to feel his cock deep inside of your cunt covered everything with a veil and pressure in the lower abdomen, provoking your tongue to untie enough to squeeze out embarrassedly

— «Need your c-cock.. inside, please.»

a satisfied smile stretches along the line of his lips so that he again covers her lips with his, soft and hot, weaving his fingers into strands of your hair and running between them with his fingers, while his relatively cottony legs from his own arousal lead him to a table nearby, Leon lays you on lightly cool surface before parting your lips and finally freeing himself from the stuffy layers of clothing.

Frenzy —

An extreme degree of mental arousal, a violent loss of self-control — a surge that makes him, with impatient and sharp movements, pull off his t-shirt and throw it aside, only to go down with his hand to the belt of his trousers, tangling his fingers in the buckle and deftly releasing it to lower the interfering fabric into floor, and all he needs is one quick glance at your glossy eyes that are following the movement of his hands and how he was getting close to the elastic of his boxers as if he play's with a cat, with you.

the nervous lump finds its way down your throat as you watch as Leon releases the rubber band and lets his cock slide out freely, causing him to shudder in contact with the cool air, revealing to you a view of his slightly swollen cock dripping with precum, his footsteps in your direction measured and feel like an eternity, until you feel his hands smoothly spread your legs, running his tongue over his lips at the sight of your shiny with arousal cunt, and the spine arches by itself as your hips thrust into his touch, and you hide your reddened face in your hands, suddenly feeling his lips on the skin of your neck, shuddering from his hot breath and sensual whisper

— «Don't hide your pretty face, darling»

he adjoins his sharp cheekbone to your neck and then leaves a smeared bite, leading a path of crimson hickeys and butterfly kisses to the line of your sharp collarbones and teasing them with his teeth, awakening in you an unbearable heat from the accumulated arousal that provokes you to reach down with your hand, groping for his cock and running a finger along his urethra, smearing precum all over it and getting out Leon's sharp growl, which is then covered by his deep voice

— «You want this so much, aren't you, needy thing?»

his tone of voice completely obscures your mind and ability to think concretely, so you foolishly nod your head and whine from a quivering kiss on the top of your head before he starting to act, slowly pushing his crimson head inside your cunt, marveling at the ultimate narrowness

— «F-fuckgh, sweet thing, you are so tight»

his movements are slow and measured, full of exhilarating excitement, before he picks up the pace and begins to move more boldly, pressing his hips against your buttocks, on which his large and slightly rough hands rested, as his cock plunged into your hot insides with each time faster and faster, watching with eyes covered with lust as your cunt sucks his cock into you all the way and shrinking as if refusing to let go, and his pace became almost animal, pulling out loud and hoarse moans from the depths of your throat, covering your mouth with his hand and whispering softly into your ear, while he slowly put your legs on his shoulders

— «Shh, sweetheart, don't want anyone to know what we're doing here, aren't you?»

and you nod dumbly again, feeling your legs rest on his shoulders as he rams into you from a completely different angle, hitting your kervix and enjoying your muffled moans and whimpers as you desperately try to mutter about the intense pressure in your stomach

— «Need t' cum.. pleaseleonwanttocum!»

he answers you with a deep growl before looking down at you and freeing your lips from his palm, replacing it with his lips to drown out your further cries of pleasure, whispering

— «Cum.. cum for me, let yourself go, yeah?»

and you writhing, moaning into his lips as he kisses you endlessly despite the catastrophic lack of air, while you ring his neck with your hands and let yourself arch, stretching like a string into a frenzy, while your knees convulsively trembled, and all the erratic moans driven by the wave of orgasm get taller, matching his by how much your cunt clenched around his cock.

— «S-shit, doll, not going to last m-much!»

you both moan obscenely loudly in unison, trying to drown out all sounds as much as possible, while your body convulses pleasure like an electric shock, he licks your swollen lips while your eyes roll back in ecstasy for a few moments, feeling Leon crush your thighs with rapture , feeling his orgasmic discharge approaching, he thrusts into your hot and dripping cunt one last time, and then ejaculates, staining the walls of your cunt with his hot ropes of cum before going limp and wrapping his strong arms around your body, pulling you closer.

Bliss —

A feeling of supreme pleasure, joyful and comforting — what you feel at last again in a long time, feeling him gently trace his thumb over the marks he covered your now limp body before pulling his cock out of you and kissing your cheek, hearing you whimper softly before snuggling closer to him from being so tired and wanting to stay in this trembling moment - so he gently strokes your back, lifting your chin to look at your tired sleepy eyes, which makes him mumble softly

— «How are you feeling now, hun?»

your lips curl into a warm, sleepy smile before nuzzling into his chest and muttering, hugging him as tightly as you can, clinging to your current situation

— «Good.. never felt so good before..»

those were the last words from you before you let fatigue and exhaustion get the best of you and pass out in his arms and gentle presence.

© dmitriene - my masterlist please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

#leon scott kennedy #resident evil leon #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy re4 #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy hurt/comfort #leon kennedy comfort #[ ✒️july writing ]

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stillhavetodothat · 2 years ago

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Replaying Nancy Drew without Cheating - Part 10: Curse of Blackmoor Manor

Bruuuhhhh. This is the best project I have ever embarked on and I will tell you why. Never have I ever appreciated the gameplay and storytelling of Nancy Drew games this much before now, which is saying something, since I have always been a massive fan. Constantly switching between the game and Gameboomers ruins the immersion, and if there is ever a game you want to be immersed in, it’s this one. Still to this day, I think this is my number 1 Nancy game of all time. There are still over 20 more to go, including some I’ve never played before, so there is always time for me to change my mind. But goddamn, this is good.

The Curse of Blackmoor Manor is a MASTERPIECE. The backstory is rich and nicely tied together, and the gameplay is complex. The fact that Her made this entire family tree and a (more often than not, tragic) backstory for each person in it was awesome. And of course, the setting is super spooky. I got goosebumps multiple times even when I knew a scare was coming. I also love that the game relied less on dialogue than most other games, and really emphasized puzzles and exploring. Never even realized how much I enjoyed this aspect of the game - I like being shown and not told.

Surprisingly, I was NOT tempted to cheat in this game, despite it being one of the hardest games of the series, at least in my memory. I got frustrated at Alan’s ghost game, because there was one I kept missing in the hallway by the kitchen (which I believe was also the same one I missed every single time in prior plays before ultimately looking up the solution). Other than that, it is a very satisfying game and I had a very smooth playthrough, and it will have me humming “Brigitte” nonstop for likely the next month, much to my fiance’s chagrin.

Here are some of my thoughts:

1. I totally forgot how many random scenes there are in this game that aren’t triggered every time you play. I was waiting and waiting to see the lady in black floating down the hallway in the middle of the night, or to see Mrs. Drake putting a pendant over Linda’s doorframe, but instead I got the dream where the crests were flashing and a disembodied voice says, with a little too much cheer, “How bout we just shake this stuff off and go to the mall?” That was so wildly unsettling, and I had never seen it before with any playthrough. The dream with all the distorted portraits above Nancy’s bed with the sinister chuckling in the background is SO creepy and felt too much like a fever dream I would have if I came down with the flu on the moor.

2. I thought this before and I still think it now - how is a weak ass glowstick seriously the best source of portable light in the entire wretched mansion??

3. We should have been able to go into Mrs. Drake’s room. Robbed.

4. Kudos to the developers for including elements of cults, astronomy, and alchemy all in one game. The vibes were ~immaculate~.

5. Nigel Mookerjee had the most punchable face I’ve seen in a while. Almost as much as Shorty. I was so excited to terrorize him by moving the statue in the library that I ended up doing it WAY before I found the forge and even knew what I needed to do with that puzzle. I got it through a lot of trial and error. I just couldn’t wait to hear his screams.

6. I loathe Jane. It’s surprising I love this game so much, because I hate every single one of the characters (with the exception, of course, of LouLou, and Tommy at the pub). As the eldest child in my entire family, on both sides, I found her incessant need to latch onto me and have me constantly entertaining her completely triggering. As a kid, when the cage falls on top of her in the forge at the very end, I remember being disappointed that I actually had to help her out and couldn’t just let her suffocate in there. I also wish Nancy would have told Jane that Brady “Total Hottie” Armstrong effectively tried to kill Maya and is a terrible, terrible person, just to ruin that crush for her.

7. You probably think I’m a bad person based on 5 and 6. I’m sorry to tell you that you are right.

8. I want to live in a world where a few weeks of a hair growth product yields THESE sorts of results. No one would ever go bald! Everyone would have a lucious head of hair! Hairlines would be all the way down to eyebrows!

9. The fact that this game was chock-full of puzzles and we had to do almost NO chores is so amazingly rare. After all the vegetable picking, horse and chicken feeding, chicken coop fixing, and egg collecting of SHA, it was nice to have a little break from being everyone’s bitch. I can forgive Mrs. Drake for making us organize her stupid succulents in a box. The alchemy puzzle was super fun, playing against Betty was super fun, finding the secret slide was fun as HECK, even figuring out the moving rooms (like, REALLY trying to figure it out rather than panicking and looking up the walkthrough) was fun(ish) too.

9a. If I could change one thing puzzle-wise, it would be the fact that we had to re-do the dragon hands/goblin swivels every time we wanted to get into a secret passageway. Very repetitive, which is never my cup of tea. Who would have thought, though, that the combinations would be so burned into my mind from childhood that I’d be able to open both just from muscle memory each time?

10. I want to know whose idea it was to print out these portraits (and spend good money to have them framed) of Hugh looking like a sweet puppy dog and Linda looking like the most unpleasant person in the world? Are these really the moments we want to remember?

11. Finally, I think this is the first game where I found an Easter egg (the teeth!!). Is it the first one with an Easter egg at all? No, but for some reason it is the first one I have gotten throughout this playthrough. For some reason, when I think of Easter eggs in videogames, I always think of this particular Easter egg. The Easter egg of Easter eggs, if you will.

I kind of feel that moving on to the Secret of the Old Clock is going to feel like a major downgrade after this, just like playing most other games would feel like a downgrade. However, I will perservere, even when I am inevitably pulling my hair out trying to get par on Josiah’s golf course! 1930, Nancy saying “horsefeathers,” and never getting tipped on a telegram, here I come!

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #nancy drew pc games #her interactive #curse of blackmoor manor #clue crew #pc gaming

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toastess-with-the-mostess · 7 months ago

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Let's Rewind! Toast watches Voltron: Defender of The Universe (1984)

Season 1, Episode 45: One Princess to Another Season 1, Episode 46: The Mighty Space Mouse

Episode 45: One Princess to Another

Starting today's episode on Pollux I see where the hell is Romelle and why are the guards only talking to Bandor when he's A BABY

Never mind she ran off with Sven to stop doom from rebuilding their army and attacking their planet again At least she left a note that he could follow

I love how Lotor and the other people behind him gasp when Zarkon says he's gonna make himself the best king to have ever ruled with that plan Like guys, he's said crazier things than that

Also, with the way Zarkon spoke about him conquering the universe it sounded like Arus was the only stronghold left that he hasn't conquered which a bit weird to me

"I think the robeasts are having some kind of contest" "Yes they're trying to figure out which one is the ugliest!" "That's not funny Sven" YES IT IS ROMELLE

why does the winning robeast have such a cherry red colored head compared to literally the rest of its green colored body

God Romelle's outfit looks SO GOOD ugh I need to find someone who I can pay to make it for me, such a vibe Or y'know I can make it myself, but I'm lazy

Oh woah we only just now got to see Arus and even then nobody spoke but Sven when he called in, that never happens

SVEN WHERE DID YOU GET THE ROBEAST COSTUME Now I just imagine him making it in the middle of the night before this whole plan was made

Amazing we finally get some dialogue from the lion team, not for long though 'cause it's back to Sven

"Why didn't I think of this fantastic plan before my father did" Because you're a fucking idiot Lotor, get with the program

Not Sven bitch slapping a guard, go king you can do no wrong

Sven yelled at enough people in the cockpit to convince them to go to the engine room he just blew up, but I guess the producers either forgot or thought nobody would notice if they just,,,, pretended those guards were new ones as they were running out so they could "catch" Sven being there

Sven: (guns down the entire room to destroy all the controls and then does it AGAIN when he's just about to leave) Uhh, A bit trigger-happy huh Sven

Late episode launch sequence means business

I was gonna say, is it really a robeast if it's just a ship that outmaneuvering the team, but it really is one in the form of a spider

that robeast just stood there as voltron pierced through it,,, not much of a fight

SVEMELLE MY BELOVED THEY'RE SO CUTE

man this episode had nothing to do with both princesses, just Romelle, but I will never complain about seeing more screen time of her

/episode end

Episode 46: The Mighty Space Mouse

We open with Pidge bitching about the Garrison not doing their jobs by refusing to send reinforcements to Arus, I love this episode already #fucktheGG2k24

I dont think the mice have ever bothered me, it's obvious they're comedic relief but they're training to help fight against enemies so they're kinda useful! Also they found a sleeping Kova (Koba?) and Cheesy immediately stabbed him with a tooth pick and when that didn't work HE FUCKING STONED THE CAT SO IT'D STAB THE TOOTH PICK FURTHER INTO HIS TAIL, RUTHLESS

christ does that cat have no neck?? it was FAT

cheesy is just braving this cat along man, where are his wife and kids?? BEHIND ROCKS THAT'S WHERE unappreciated 😤

Nanny putting Hunk on a diet is foul, like I know it's a fat joke, and that man is NOT fat but I do agree maybe a diet is good because all we've seen on him is that as long as it's food he doesn't care what he's shoving in his mouth

ah the other mice went to get help from the team since Cheesy was getting cornered by Kova, HOWEVER HE DOESNT NEED HELP HE FUCKING STABBED THE CAT IN THE EYE AND CHASED HIM OFF HIMSELF EVEN THOUGH HE WAS AFRAID I LOVE HIM HE'S SO COOL

Keith giving Cheesy praise is so wholesome, i love this keith he's a sweetheart through and through

"let [lotor] stand by and watch a job done right!" get his ass zarkon, i want to see lotor verbally abused MORE

Allura and Pidge were arguing about what the mice should do, allura is on the other three's side where they're too distracted to train while pidge agreed with cheesy that they need to be ready for kova

The transition to them agreed was weird because allura was finally like "train to stand up to kova first!" as if she wasn't the one arguing against that sdoivns

omg everyone is so supportive of the mice training, keith was there first giving them moral support and now hunk and lance are watching them do cardio i love this team they're having so much fun just being themselves

PIDGE BUILT THEM A MOUSE SHIP THATS ADORABLE I know in future comics and tv shows (and in the next season prob) they made pidge the genius but he just seems to like to tinker instead of being the defacto smarty pants and i love that a lot

DID LANCE HELP PIDGE BUILD IT, HE KNEW THE NAME (X-47) AND SAID IT WAS STABLE AND FOOL PROOF lance is forever pidge's big brother in this goddamn show nobody can tell me fuckin OTHERWISE

test flight 1 failed but they're still tryin

oh great,,, coran's here, at least he has plot relevant quake information yay launch sequence!

i love when the show reuses scenes, we just saw the team land on this open fault line and then immediately after hunk races out of inside it as it was closing in on him we see the same scene again LMAO i get it's so save money but it's so silly to me and very fun

"from down under! you can feel it!" pidge was that a down Under by Men At Work reference?

of course keith is the only one who doesnt get caught by chains also he's cutting the team loose with the ion knives but you can very obviously tell its just his one and the rest are color coded for the other lions lMAO

voltron formation time, we're at like maybe 1/4 more than halfway of the episode though? i wonder what makes the fight take so long

Voltron is tied up and trapped but what's this?? THE MICE COME IN WITH THEIR SHIP AND FIRE A CANON BALL AT HAGGAR AND BREAK HER CRYSTAL BALL HOLY SHIT

alright excitement short lived because cheesy is having a mufasa moment at the edge of a cliff with kova as scar

is voltron being tied up and cut apart fucking redone in voltron force?? you've gotta be kidding me this is the third goddamn time it's happened

THE MOUSE SHIP FLIES AND CHEESY IS SAVED AFTER SLIPPING OFF THE CLIFF

im sorry since when did "magnum energy fusion" exist?? they just melted off the goddamn chains like that! obvs voltron always wins and is overpowered as hell but I NEED THE WEAPONS LIST WHERE IS MY 30TH ANNIVERSARY BOOK

oh that is a SICK design for a robeast, very very cool, it looks like a mutated scorpion that has extra legs underneath

robeast defeated, haggar thought that bringing up the surprise attack from the mice would make zarkon soften up but he just got on her ass more LMAOO

/episode end

#voltron #voltron dotu #voltron defender of the universe #80s voltron #let's rewind!#toast talks #yes finally back to this shush #i was struggle bussing HARD #also i have the dvds for these things and im finally usin em #i get subtitles at fucking LAST #dunno why the gif is like that #i prommy its yellow lion whenever you watch it the gif is just broken

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buttclench-ryugazaki · 2 years ago

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tgaa 1 + 2 final rambling notes

the neutral/negative:

did not like some of the solutions in the cross examination phase because i could easily predict what the prosecution's damning rebuttal would be, meaning the contradiction felt weak even as i presented it. and that will happen in every single aa game without fail, i just felt like it happened too frequently to me, personally. it works for 1-3 where defending an obviously guilty client is supposed to feel shitty and like you're going insane that he isn't being caught, but not so much when you wanna feel smart and triumphant (before immediately getting knocked down again) y'know

dance of deduction phases are stylistically very cool but far, far too easy. i never failed one once because all it is is playing i-spy with 360 degree camera movement and a limited number of possible answers. i enjoy sholmes being insane, but it gets pretty tiresome after a while because there is no challenge whatsoever

cross examining multiple witnesses and pressing ones based on how they react to others: a mechanic that apparently rolled over from PL vs PW. i thought there would be more of a challenge here. the sound cue is VERY OBVIOUS. i assumed their reactions would be more subtle and you would actively have to search for them (case 1-5 with gregson and milverton whispering amongst themselves is what i'd had in mind), but nope. i also think that not every reaction press should have been moment of plot advancement, as 100% of them are. throw in some red herrings for the player to make them think they've found something important at first and burst their bubble. but DON'T penalize because that would be too frustrating, reward them with funny dialogue at least

jury summation phase: i thought i didn't mind doing them until 2-4/5 came around and i found myself relieved that i didn't have to contend with the jury, which is intentionally supposed to be exasperating in how thoughtless its decision-making is (aside from 2-3 with the magician and scientist jurors who actually have some valuable insight). probably the best of the new gameplay phases mechanically, but i don't think i care for the execution. ryunosuke knows, the prosecution knows, you the player know that you're just stalling for time by making the whole trial go on a tangent. i applaud the way reinforces how desperate it feels to flimsily grasp at straws ("we can't trust shamspeare's testimony because he's stealing gas from his cheapskate landlord and thus a liar") but it does annoy me the player to not directly be working towards getting a greater picture of the mystery

examining evidence is required to advance the plot more frequently than in prior games. before, the player would get some flavor text to give them hints about how the evidence should be presented, but it doesn't necessarily trigger anything in the game's code. it doesn't bother me because because i like to poke and prod, thus i examine (mostly) everything. but for others this could be really frustrating if you know why the evidence is contradictory, without examining. a happy medium would be that examining still updates the description but the evidence itself is viable even if you hadn't examined it (for certain pieces, not all) 5a. at the end of 2-5 when you're supposed to present klint's last will and testament, i presented the asogi sword instead because it told me the will was inside. i forgot to examine it and get the note out first. in classic aa, i think my answer would have been the correct one. that's an example of when i think i should have been given some leeway

they give me "gallery" feature in "extra contents" but it does not lead to a menu of CGs and animated cutscenes? why? dual destinies has that feature. it's a must by the standards any modern visual novel game

positives:

the twists, they're good. not all of them are foreshadowed that well or at all, but i enjoy them regardless. things like professor mikotoba turning out to be sholmes' actual partner and kazuma dad being the professor, because we don't even really learn about kazuma's father until the very moment it's revealed. (i predicted that klint was iris's birth father but not because of any informed reasoning; we didn't know he was married until 2-5 and it's not like both her being born and him dying 10 years ago necessitates a relation). these things can still be set up as future plot points without necessarily foreshadowing who is involved

they don't try to catch you off-guard with plot events like, defending van zieks. it's not just a rehash of turnabout goodbyes. you knew it was going to happen eventually; the reaper of the bailey's reputation as a possible murderer constantly comes up, and you know he must be innocent. it's still a decent twist and a good way to conclude the plot line they introduced so early, but the vibe i get is that they didn't try to act like what they were doing was crazy and unprecedented, because a plot line doesn't have to be for it to be good

they really made the world of this game so much bigger, by setting it in two countries, involving international british-japanese relations and politics, the assassination conspiracy and deeper, given the talk of xenophobia, industrialization, classism, crime, life in the city, corruption within the police and the courts, god there's so much. intentionally or unintentionally, ace attorney has always been about the law itself and how it should be utilized to protect the innocent/find the truth, and how it frequently fails to do just that. aa-verse 1900s britain isn't affected by the dystopian, 99% conviction rate and expedited 3-day trials like 2016 japanifornia, but it does have its own legal issues to contend with and i like how they manifested

pacing the hugeness of this plot over the course of two full games was a good call. we know it's possible to do a full arc in 4 to 5 cases but they said, nah. we're going bigger. and not doing THAT THING!!!! aa games are so aggravating for where they don't reference past games directly, only through vague allusion. game 2 does not dare pretend that it's not a sequel; who would be the poor idiot playing Resolve without having played Adventures? (i did comment about how Resolve still gave me a mostly unskippable tutorial, which is just plain silly) but anyway i do understand why japanese fans were so incensed over game 1 ending on a cliffhanger with no official word of a sequel. the game is feels incomplete without Resolve. they shouldn't have reviewbombed it, because it was a good game, but i understand. it's a duology through and through

the characters. i don't think there's a single one i actively dislike, and if i did i've forgotten them. i was very charmed playing as ryunosuke; he's a mess and master of deadpan like his descendant but perhaps... cuter? more deliberately written as naive and ignorant, naturally because he's not actually a law student. and he's afraid of ghosts and aliens. i enjoy that he's more willing to crack jokes to contrast susato playing the straight man, who is the most serious and informed of all the teen girl assistants. she might even be my favorite, now! aa is such a big franchise with too many characters to count, so it's difficult not to view these characters in comparison to their predecessors. but i think they do a good job making the dna of these characters apparent (kazuma and van zieks both having shades of edgeworth, for example) without making me feel like i'm getting the same archetype and the same guy over and over again

#i think i will leave this untagged

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riddle-me-ri · 2 years ago

Note

Please if you could write a fic on farrell!penguin the one where reader asks him out 🙏🙏 I loved that idea so much 🥺

A/N: Aww, omg of course! I’m not going to lie as I was writing the dialogue for the “holding hands” scenarios I was having such a blast with him and reader, so it’s fun to get to expand upon that for sure! Thanks for requesting!

Trigger Warnings: some strong language but nothing crazy

Word Count: 1.1 k

Reevesverse/ Farrell! Penguin x Reader - Biting the Bullet

Okay, you were gonna do it.

Come what may.

As fun as this flirting game was with Oswald, you just couldn’t do it anymore. Not unless something came out of it.

God, you just had to start catching feelings, huh? This was supposed to be fun! Just a way to make the nights more entertaining, but noooo.

You could no longer ignore the butterflies you got whenever he spoke to you. The way you felt a magnetic pull to be closer to him and near him every chance you got. Not to mention they way he looked at you like no one else had before. He made you feel like the most important, special, precious thing in the world.

You had to see this through, if it ended in rejection, it may hurt but atleast you would be able to move on and not keep living in this emotional limbo.

Usually, you’d go with a group of friends to the Iceberg Lounge, but lately whenever they wanted to go to other clubs, you felt yourself missing the Lounge and seeing Ozzie. You told your friends you were staying in tonight, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Tonight, you had a game plan.

You dressed yourself to the nines. In an outfit that Oz has yet to see you in, one that you know would blow him away. If you get rejected atleast you look fine as hell doing it.

The moment you got into the cab to the Iceberg Lounge, you started to slowly lose some of your nerve you had earlier. The closer you got, the more you started fidgeting, like a ticking bomb that’s been poked and prodded but had yet to explode.

Oswald is notorious for being cruel just as much as he was charming. A silver-tongued devil that isn’t afraid to pull the rug out from anyone to prove a point or get the upperhand.

Surely, you were a different matter though. You were a regular patron, you respected him, you never had any intention to play him. He liked you, he said so himself a few times to you. You just hope he will understand where you’re coming from…

And not make you look like a complete fool in the aftermath.

“Y/N! I was wonderin’ when you were goin’ to get here. Come sit next to me! I just got this bottle open.” Oswald welcomed you, leading you to the upstairs VIP area.

“Hey, Ozzie, how’s your night been?” You asked, truly happy to see him. You both took a seat at couch tucked away in the corner. Oswald started pouring the freshly uncorked bottle of champagne.

“It’s gonna be better now that you’re here, sweetheart!” He nudged your shoulder and gave you a wink.

There he goes…you wonder if he knows that your stomach does somersaults when he does that.

“Aw, shush, you know it’s cruel to tease, Oz!” You jested back, softly pushing him back.

“Sweetheart, you wound me, I’m many things but a tease…never…”

You quirked your eyebrows, Oswald busted out laughing.

“Can’t fool you, huh?” Oz chuckled before taking a sip from his glass.

“Nope, sure can’t.” You beamed proudly. You hope you still had your pride when this is over, when all is said and done, and if he does reject you.

Oz hummed as he put down his glass. He takes a glance to you and you look back at him and offer him a soft smile.

“You look like you got something on your mind, doll. A penny for your thoughts?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You forgot he can read people like a book, he wouldn’t be where he was and be as infamous if he wasn’t.

“What makes you think that?” You asked incredulously, trying to hide your face behind the glass.

Oswald looked at you with a cocked eyebrow and a stern face. “Doll, how long have we known each other? I’d like to think I can tell when you’re thinkin’ of something. I’d like to think you could tell me anything, if you were comfortable of course.” He put his hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Okay, this just got way more difficult than you thought.

“I-I-I am, I mean..comfortable with you, I do feel like I could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge me for it.” You commented.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Oz smiled.

You looked at him, totally cool, calm and collected. You wish you had an inkling of that confidence back into your system like when you first approached him that first night you met him.

“Um, Oswald, I’ve been thinking…”

Oswald’s eyebrows picked up when he heard you say his full name. He’s always insisted you call him Ozzie, he liked the way it sounded when you said it. He had no clue what you were about to say, but he knew it must be important.

“You’re right, we…have known each other for awhile. And to be frank, it’s been some of the most fun I’ve had…in a really long time. I enjoy seeing you.” You swirled the liquid in your glass, watching the way the liquid moves slowly in the container.

“I know we flirt with each other a lot, but lately something’s been scratching at the back of my mind. That…maybe, possibly we could, if you wanted to…” You gulped. “Go on a date with me? Like a proper date, just the two of us?”

Silence hung in the air like a dense cloud, but only for a minute or two before Oswald grinned at you.

“Now doll, I’m supposed to ask you that…” He chuckled.

“Wait what?”

He chuckled some more. “I was gonna ask you the very next moment I caught ya, but you beat me to it.”

The knot in your chest unraveled immediately and was replaced by a gulp of air as you gasped in surprise. You were so busy preparing yourself for the worst, you never thought of what to do for the best.

“Y-You really want to go on a date with me?” You asked, setting your drink down on the table to fully turn around and face him.

Oswald set his glass beside yours, and replaced it with one of your own hands. “Why are you so surprised, sweetheart? I wanted to take you out the third night in a row I saw you.”

You were totally elated, smiling, beaming, absolutely over the moon. Oswald smiled warmly at you, pleased with the excited look on your face. He picked up one of your hands and kissed the back of it, along with the knuckles and the skin in between.

“Now tell me, how do you want ol’ Ozzie to spoil you for the special night?”

#reevesverse penguin x reader #reevesverse oswald cobblepot x reader #farrell penguin x reader #farrell oswald cobblepot x reader #ri writes

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

Text

Foreigner's God | m.m

Matt Murdock x avenger!OFC

Chapter thirty-nine: As It Was

series masterlist

Summary: Matt places Tony’s dreaded letter for Eliza on the dinner table. She struggles with her options – should she read it or not? One thing leads to another and she finds herself back at church, though this time she meets a woman that shares some similarities with her boyfriend. Surely, it’s just a coincidence.

Warnings: Angst, talk about sexual assault and sexism, slight politics (?), mentions of violence and blood, Sad Catholic Matthew™️, mentions of drug addiction, Tony Stark, religious topics, SMUT (MINORS DNI), S.M.S (soft morning sex), fingering, handjob, breeding kink, cock warming (?), choking, foreshadowing and S3 spoilers, childhood trauma, watch me make shit up about mathematical equations

a/n: I’m upset with the world, so I incorporated my feelings about how unfair the world is for us women and that no matter what we do, fighting will always feel like it’s useless, even though we all do our best to get somewhere in society. It makes me hate who I am sometimes, the sex I was born with and what I identify as. I hate the sexism this world is built upon and it’s hurt me in the medical sense in more ways than one lately, so some of the dialogue came from the anger I feel deep inside, and I thought maybe some of you can relate as well.

ANYWAY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! I’m officially no longer a teenager. Entering my twenties with no money, no mental stability, an obsession with 40+ Dilfs and ofc back pain. I wrote the smut in this as a little gift to myself. The rest is just… me being an angry woman, but we have every right to be.

Here’s to my 20s! 🥂 Let this year finally be the year everything turns out for the better (and by God let me finally graduate and start a new life somewhere far away from home with a cat, my mutuals and my laptop so I can continue doing what I love — writing) That’s all I wish for. And, well, this man… I wish for this man too… Or someone like him who’ll just love me, no matter how complicated I am… he’d get it. I know he’d get it…

18+ MINORS DNI

(not my gif)

She was rudely forced awake by a loud thud. Alarmed, she shot up and out of bed, searching for something to defend herself with. The bedside lamp seemed like a useless weapon, so she stepped forward with her hands extended instead. It was still dark except for the Billboard illuminating the living room in a soft yellow.

The thud came from the stairs and moved over to the couch. She sighed, lowering her fists.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Her hair was still damp from the shower, so she couldn’t have slept for long. Or she did before she showered and then woke up, showered, and went back to bed. Time was a blur to him.

Eliza stood at the door, crossing her arms. She cocked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” she simply said.

She could see the blood on his face and a hole in his suit – another one. He needed to get that fixed or he would get himself seriously injured soon enough.

He groaned when he settled down into the leather, holding his ribs.

She was by his side in seconds, tearing the mask off his face and checking the cut on his lip as well as the one on his cheek, probably made by a dull, dirty knife. It was bleeding profusely. “What happened?” she asked.

“Human trafficking ring,” he stated.

She removed his gloves.

Her eyes softened. The blood on the suit wasn’t his, he had the cracked knuckles to prove it. His ribs were bruised, but other than that he seemed fine. It was his psyche that took the toll.

Without a word, Eliza patted into the kitchen and got a bowl of water, disinfectant, the first-aid kit, and a pack of frozen peas. She tossed the latter in his lap, then kneeled next to his spread thighs and started to clean his knuckles.

He was deathly quiet, his jaw clenched and his lip quivering slightly.

She wasn’t the only one with trauma, she sometimes forgot that. That was why he picked up on the distress call so easily. It triggered something in him and he had felt the urge to help, to prevent what happened to her from happening to anyone else again.

“How hard did you beat them?” she dared to ask.

Matt shrugged. “Just a little.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah, well, they deserved it.”

“Matty…” she bandaged his knuckles, rubbing his thigh. “You’re hurt, not just physically but emotionally. I need you to talk to me.”

“They tried to sell young women overseas. They touched them, I couldn’t…” he bit back a growl. “It could have been you. It could have been the kid from two days ago. It could have been Karen or- or Claire or any other young woman or girl out there. These guys are everywhere, Eliza,” he said, “and after what I saw that it did to you, the kind of person that Viktor Volkov is, I just couldn’t help myself. I saw red. I was so angry, Liz… I scared myself.”

Finally, his resolve broke. The adrenaline faded. He fidgeted with his fingers in his lap and she sat down next to him on the sofa. His bottom lip turned down and just like that, he fell apart. He fell into her arms and he cried like a lost boy, scared, angry, and at his wit’s end. She held him tightly to her chest, one arm over his broad shoulders, the other around his head. He clung to her sleep shirt, the tears from his eyes dripping down onto her bare thighs. They were cold, just like his hands, but she didn’t care.

She rubbed her nose in his hair which smelled of sweat and some other man’s blood. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Her lips pressed gentle kisses against his scalp.

He only cried harder at her gentle caress.

“Why is God so unfair?” he sobbed. “Why does he keep doing this? What did we ever do to him?”

“I wish I could answer that, but I can’t. I don’t know how God works. Father Lantom might-“

“No, I asked him.” Matt tore out of her grasp, getting up with a hand on his bruised ribs. His eyes were wild as the yellow light danced in them. “He doesn’t know shit,” he said. “He’s just making excuses so I won’t keep questioning something he doesn’t understand either. I can’t hear it anymore. I just want to know if my faith in God is misplaced, or if what I’m doing is wrong… I can’t keep living like this.”

“Matt, please, sit down.”

He sniffled. “I shouldn’t have gone out there tonight. I was so close. And you’re right, I wouldn’t forgive myself for that, but for a split second… No, it was longer than that. It was more than just a split second. I thought about killing them one by one.”

“I know you, Matthew. You would never do that.”

“No, right now you don’t. I have no idea what came over me, but the Devil… I think I do have him in me, deep down, and he wanted me to kill these guys for how much they traumatized these girls. They were eighteen, at best. What’s next? Fifteen-year-olds? Five-year-olds?”

She swallowed. If she had been there, she would have struggled with the same moral conflict, except that she was already a killer, and he wasn’t.

“It’s dangerous for us women out there,” she tried to explain to him without crying. “Millions of us have fallen victim to sexual violence. No matter what you do, you can’t stop it. This is a man’s world and existing as a woman in such a world is a death sentence. Let it be through rape, domestic violence, or a botched abortion because the Supreme Court decides to overturn Roe v. Wade. Our bodies have never been ours, Matthew, and human trafficking happens more often than we think. The numbers are endless.

“So we hold our keys between our fingers when we walk alone at night, carry maze, go to self-defense classes, take the more lit routes home from work, and we keep our drinks covered so we don’t get spiked and raped in a dark alleyway behind the bar. We have to get used to the fact that we’re not welcome in this world. That’s what mothers teach their daughters and it’s sad, but society is centuries old, and changing the way the world works isn’t so easy. You’re doing your part and that’s enough. We all have to do something, even if it’s just speak up, and by fighting these guys you’re doing a good job. You’re doing everything you can, but it can never be enough.“

“Then why aren’t you fucking furious right now?” he asked.

She merely shrugged, “Because I’m used to it. We all are. So we taught ourselves how to hide our anger and reserve it for situations where we can be in control and speak up safely.”

Walking up to him, Eliza took his hand and placed it on her chest. “Feel my heart,” she told him. “What does it tell you?”

He paused. “That you’re scared, and angry, and you’re tired.”

“That’s because I am. Every time I hear stories like the one you just told me or are similar to what I went through, what Natasha went through, what every woman I know has been through, I get scared. I get scared and angry and I’m tired. I don’t show my fear openly because that’s what these men thrive off. I’m not giving them what they want. Most of us don’t. Most of the time, if we speak up, we get hurt, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try to fight back anyway. We just do it in our own ways. For most women, violence just isn’t the answer. I can defend myself,” she said, “Others can’t. And that’s just how the world works. It’s cruel, it’s vile, but if I let every man who ever tried to hurt me enrage me, I’d be in jail for serial murder right now.”

“But it’s not fair, Eliza. You shouldn’t have to…”

“I know it’s not fair, but I can’t keep crying over how fucked up society is. It’s just not worth it. This problem is gonna follow me until I’m old and wrinkly. My generation won’t be able to see a brighter world, but those who come after me might, so that’s why we do this. That’s why we fight for justice. That’s why you fight for justice, and I don’t mean just with your fists but in front of a judge and a jury as well. I’m a woman and I’m angry, but I have to go about this differently because I am a woman. I’m a woman first, and only then am I a mutant. I have to find a way out of how unfair this world works by slithering myself through the shortcuts of the system. That’s something you can never understand, Matthew, but that’s okay.” She pulled his hand even closer, her heartbeat embedded in his palm.

“You understand your privilege and you try to do something against it,” she said. “Other men just don’t see it the same way. It’s men like that we as women have to stand up against, but we can’t do that alone. There are ways for women to stand up, but our lives are different from yours. That’s just the way it is, and I’m trying too, but it’s not enough. Nothing’s enough. It can’t be. So it’s not on you, it’s on those who want the world to continue working this way. It’s not your fault or your responsibility, Matt. Realize that.”

His hand curled around her shirt. “Do I scare you?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“I’d never hurt you, I hope you know that. I’d never raise my hand against you and I’d never… God, I would never hurt you like that. Never, okay?”

“Jesus, Matt, I know that. I’m not scared of you, far from it.”

He nodded. “But you’d tell me if you were?”

Taking his hand and bringing his knuckles to her lips, she kissed them and said, “I promise.”

“Good.” Matt wiped his tears and hugged her to his chest instead. “Thank you,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry for everything. For making this about my anger when it’s your turn to be angry, not mine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “We can both be angry. There’s no rule on that. Those who aren’t angry yet should be.”

He couldn’t change the way the world works.

With another kiss to her forehead, he let go of her. “Alright, I’m gonna take a quick shower and then join you in bed. It’s late. We have work tomorrow,” he said.

She met his lips halfway. “Okay.”

Tossing and turning, she found no peace while the water in the bathroom next door pattered against the tiles. The sound was supposed to be soothing, but she couldn’t focus. She was wide awake.

Human trafficking ring. She had been foolish to believe her world would remain free of triggers. She thought back to a time when she had been held and manipulated for the twisted purposes of a man with too much power. Hydra stole young girls too, turned them into trained assassins, and abused them however they wanted until they were broken beyond repair. She was one of those girls. Though Eliza decided to get better. She admitted she needed help and she went ahead and got it. The children with her in the White Room didn’t even survive initiation.

She should hold a funeral or a vigil for all the lost souls instead of for the man who almost made her one of those lost souls. She should pray for the innocent men and women they pulled out of the new White Room, those who were carted away to safety by SHIELD after they stormed the base and found their unconscious bodies, no longer controlled by Hydra’s agenda. But the experiments made them dangerous, so normal life wasn’t in the cards for them. If anything, they would eventually die from the extent of damage that was done to their brains. The people whose eyes she stared into had been long gone, not a single trace of their souls left behind.

If she had known all of this earlier, she could have saved so many lives. It was her fault. She felt as if it were, at least. That wasn’t the case, but she needed someone to blame and since she couldn’t actively yell at Viktor, she had to use herself. Bad things don’t just happen - she needed a reason and if blaming herself was what it took, she would do that. She gambled with innocent lives. What happened wasn’t fair, but she could have gone about this a lot differently, and as she lay there in silence, Matt next door, the guilt started to eat away at her again.

With a groan, Eliza rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom. His head leaned against the wall, the hot water running down his back. Some blood residue stained the white tiles red, but he seemed okay.

Desperate to be held, she let the dress shirt fall to the floor, pushed the door aside, and stepped in. The hot, humid air opened her pores. She wrapped her arms around his middle; Matt jolted in surprise, the water lulling his senses to the point he hadn’t heard her coming, but he recognized her heartbeat and he eased as soon as her chest pressed to his back.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Right now, I’m not. I might be again in five minutes. Can you just… hold me until then?”

Matt turned around to take her in his arms. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

“Can you at least tell me what this is about?” He changed the angle of the shower head so it wouldn’t spray her face.

A tear joined the water on her skin and ran down her shoulder. He caught it with his index finger.

“I don’t want to bury my father,” Eliza whispered. He hadn’t heard her so broken in a while. “I just want to forget all of this ever happened. I want to forget that he was ever alive in the first place. Maybe then I’d feel better about the whole thing.”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It’d be more for symbolism anyway. We can do it when you’re ready.”

She shrugged. “I just think I’ll never be ready for that.”

“But I think it’d help you,” Matt said. He took the shampoo bottle off the wall, not caring that she had already showered, and started massaging her scalp with the scentless soap he always used.

She melted into his touch, her hands holding onto his waist. Her heartbeat slowed significantly, muscles relaxing in the comforting heat of the shower.

“Tell you what,” he put the bottle down to rinse her now white hair with water, “You’ll join me for Sunday mass and we can talk to Father Lantom. We can discuss your possibilities and I… well, I can try and make peace with God. Sunday mass always helps. It used to, anyway. I could use it.”

“Church?” Eliza raised her eyebrows. “Do you think that’s such a great idea?”

“Just try, please. For me.”

“For you, I’d even walk through hell and back. So I’ll come, but I can’t make any promises regarding my habit of asking too many questions.”

Matt chuckled, pressing a kiss to her closed eyelids. “I’m well aware that you can’t shut your mouth,” he said. “I’m used to it. Father Lantom doesn’t care ‘cause he’s used to me, so there’s no one you have to impress, not even God himself. Just come,” he told her, “and you’ll see that it’s not so bad.”

The shampoo ran down her body and into the drain. From the texture of her hair, he could tell that most of it had washed out, so he turned back to the wall and grabbed his conditioner. He slowly massaged it into the lower half of her hair and the split ends.

Moments like these reminded her why she was trying to get better in the first place. The support group meetings, therapy, the pills, and everything else - she didn’t just do it for herself; she was doing it for him. Running herself into the ground was no option with her whole life ahead of her.

The conditioner didn’t get into her eyes, although she liked to claim it did when her eyes started to burn with excess tears. They knocked on the door to her consciousness, but she wouldn’t let them through.

Matt’s hands were her death sentence.

He was about to pull her hair under the running water, but instead, she wrapped her arms tightly around him and sobbed into his chest. He put the bottle down instantly, holding her upright before she could fall to the floor. It was slippery inside the shower and she was way too weak on the knees to hold herself up.

He shouldn’t have left her. Her mind always played cruel tricks on her when she was alone.

They stayed like this until the water ran cold and Eliza had no more tears to shed. Matt washed the remaining conditioner out of her hair, then helped her out of the shower and dried her off, even adding a moisturizer to her dry skin and brushing her teeth a second time. She appreciated his small acts of kindness, which made her feel a little more alive in the wake of things. She rubbed her tired, dried-out eyes, back leaning into his chest as he hugged her from behind, brushing his teeth once he had finished with hers.

She opened her mouth, but instead of words she only whimpered. Not wanting to cry again, she buried her face in his bicep, feeling his pulse, and weirdly enough, it helped.

He cradled her head. “C’mon,” he said, setting his toothbrush down on the sink, “Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

He always ended up taking care of her after she took care of him. One of them would always break and need the other, and sometimes it would be the both of them and then they needed to be strong for each other at the same time. But they could master this too, after having mastered so much worse before.

Matt slipped behind her in bed, hugging his arms around her and functioning as the perfect big spoon to her little one. His hand rested on her heart, the other on her stomach.

“You feeling better now?”

Eliza stroked a hand through his still-wet hair. “A little,” she said. “But it’s gonna take a moment. I think I just need some sleep.”

“Okay.” He hugged her tighter, allowing only enough space to breathe. “Good night, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m here if you need me.”

She sniffled, wrapping her arms around his. They became one. “Good night, Matthew.”

A question kept circulating in her head. He had long started snoring softly into her ear, signaling he was passed out for good, but she couldn’t stop thinking.

What if she had been there with him tonight? Would things have turned out differently? Could it have filled her with pride and euphoria and stopped criminals from hurting young women? She could have made amends. She could have done something good, set a sign for the little girls and women who suffered as she did. She could do something good, help them, and be a better person.

But she hadn’t been there. She wanted to have been there.

She fell asleep eventually, about two hours before their alarm was set to go off, so she was the last one to wake up. No nightmares meant she would wake up feeling a lot better, maybe not alright, but okay enough to move on about her day.

She had to fight, she knew she did, and bad days were part of her recovery too. They were normal. There was nothing wrong with her, and the crying didn’t make her weak. She just needed to find her path again, which was hard when she was swaying like a drunk trying to walk the line, but at least she hadn’t fallen off the deep end yet.

Matt, still drowsy from sleep, rubbed his hand up and down her sides, feeling her hot skin under her clothes and the remaining hickeys he had left.

Pressing back into him, her suspicions were proven right.

“Good morning,” she slurred, bucking her hips into his. “Someone’s excited to see me.”

He pressed lazy kisses on her exposed neck, moving the collar of the dress shirt aside to gain access to her shoulder blade. He met the movement of her hips, his cock nuzzling into the curve of her ass.

“‘m sorry,” he said. “You just kept wriggling in your sleep and I didn’t want to wake you my moving away ‘cause you were so peaceful.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Matty.”

She reached behind herself, placing a hand on his erection and Matt hissed. She gently rubbed a finger over the small patch of pre-cum that stained his sweatpants.

“Next time,” she told him, “Just do what you gotta do.”

“What?”

He moaned when she crossed the border of his waistband and wrapped a hand around his hard cock.

“Are you telling me I can fuck you in your sleep?” he asked. The prospect made him twitch, her cold hand rubbing up and down his shaft, and her thumb circling his tip again. “Fuck,” he met her strokes, “You’re so good at that. Keep going.”

In return, his arm traveled around her front and he slipped his hand into her panties. He wasn’t surprised to find her soaked already. With a soft chuckle, he found her clit with his fingers and started rubbing circles. She gasped, hips grinding into him from behind. This half-assed version of foreplay was doing it for her, and it wasn’t all too different with him.

“You have my consent to do whatever you want, even when I’m asleep,” she said. He parted her puffy folds and inserted one of his thick fingers, curling it up into her tight walls, massaging them to stretch her out and massage her g-spot for some more added pleasure.

She grabbed the sheets with the hand that wasn’t stroking his cock, her movements getting sloppier. He completely knocked her off her game.

“So I can just…” Matt pulled her panties aside to reveal the rest of her cunt to him. “Do that?” His thumb met her clit as he continued fingering her.

She whimpered, “Uh-huh.”

“And this?”

He added another finger. With her legs pressed together, she was impossibly tight. He dared to scissor them and she cried out, biting down on the pillow under her head. “Fuck, Matthew,” she moaned. “That feels so good.”

“Spread your leg over mine,” he instructed.

She leaned back enough to do as she was told and he used to newfound space to plunge his digits into her cunt. Her nails found his forearm and she dug them in as hard as she could. The intense pleasure had him bite down on her shoulder.

“Don’t you dare stop stroking my cock.”

She wouldn’t dare, although focusing on him got a little harder with the way he made her feel. She exhaled loudly, picking up the pace. Her thumb dragged along his slit, causing him to whimper softly into her ear.

“That’s it, good girl.”

His fingers curled up.

“So wet for me already.”

She threw her head back into his shoulder and he used that to capture her lips with his. They didn’t care much about morning breath, it didn’t matter anyway.

Suddenly, her hand was rudely forced away and Eliza whined loudly in disapproval when his fingers slipped out of her.

He shushed her, gently stroking her hair to the side enough so he could gain more excess to her skin. The dress shirt fell open and he tossed it aside, joining the still not cleaned up clothes pile on the floor. “I’m gonna make you feel so much better,” he said.

He forced her leg back down, crossed on her side now, and she soon felt the tip of his cock rub between her folds to coat himself in her wetness and use that as lube to slowly enter her, her walls welcoming him with a delicious stretch.

She hissed, the uncomfortable burning she often felt reappearing, and she grabbed his hips to still his movements. He was only halfway in, but he paused anyway. One of his hands cupped her breast, the other over her pussy which was still covered by her panties but easily shoved aside by him.

Finally, with some gentle rubs to her clit, she brought her hips back and allowed him to sheath himself inside of her. He split her open, no space between his cock and the walls of her cunt as she clenched tightly around him.

“Okay?” he asked.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, searching for his lips again. “Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

His hand returned to her throat, squeezing around her pulse point. He could feel the cold metal of the necklace that carried his name. She was his now.

He hauled her back to kiss her, hard, and started to thrust his cock into her at a desperate pace, already close to coming undone inside of her from the cruel punishment of her hand. If he had finished before, this could have gone a lot longer, but he had her on the edge too and it was only a matter of time before…

She clenched around him, forcing his hand to stay on her clit with one of hers, encouraging his movement - she grew confident. He liked that.

“Shit!” she cursed when he angled his hips up. “I’m so close,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

Matt tightened his grip around her throat. “Wait for me,” he said.

Her nails dug into his ass, pulling his hips flush against hers. He only had limited space now to thrust, but God was it intense, and with the way she hugged him, he soon felt the orgasm pulsating deep within his stomach.

He rasped into her ear, “Now,” which came just in time because if he had asked her to hold on any longer, she would have disappointed him.

She pulled at his hair when she came, pulling him against her mouth to swallow the sinful cry of his name that laid on her tongue. He moaned into her heat, shoving his tongue down her throat. She matched his volume, bucking into his hand as she fucked herself on his cock to prolong the gentle yet intense orgasm. Her walls shook as did her legs and she shut them further, if that was even possible, not wanting to let him go.

The hold he had on her throat told the same story. He still squeezed long after he came hard inside of her, the smell of them combined in her cunt making him moan involuntarily as he twitched again.

Her breathing came labored, eyes closed, and cheeks red. Strands of his hair fell on her face while hers lay splayed out on the pillow in all directions. Their showers the night before had been useless. They were soaked in sweat and each other’s cum. There was no way they could walk into the office like that and not receive weird stares and traumatize Foggy for life.

“Oh, my God,” Eliza managed to find her voice again. “That was so good. Holy shit!”

“You’re welcome,” he said giddily.

“No, seriously, why didn’t we do that before? An orgasm in the morning actually improved your quality of life throughout the day.”

Matt grunted into her neck. “God, I love how many facts you have in that beautiful brain of yours. It’s sexy.”

“Wait until I’m conscious enough to tell you more sex facts.”

He tried to pull out, his cock starting to soften, but she wouldn’t let him, wanting to feel stuffed, to be filled with him for as long as possible. They had to leave eventually, but for now, he could stay inside of her while his cum trickled down her thigh and made a mess on the sheets.

He chuckled lowly into her ear. “Yeah,” and as he said that, he loosened the grip around her throat. Not even that she would let happen. She held his wrist and brought his hand back to her neck. “Are you okay?” Matt asked, a little worried at how touchy she was, but the sigh she gave was one of contentment and utter relief.

This was all the aftercare she needed, just a moment of solace with him as close as humanly possible. And with her warmth enveloping him whole, he didn’t want to leave either.

“You know we have to leave eventually, right?”

She nodded, snuggling closer against his chest. “Just want to feel you a little longer,” she said.

“Inside of you?” he quipped.

“Inside of me, yes.”

“With my hand around your throat?”

“As close as possible, please.”

How could he say no when she asked so sweetly?

Eliza only broke the connection when she had to pee. They chose to get ready, showering separately to save some time - because let’s face it, they would have fucked again.

She came out of the bathroom with her hair dried and a skirt on. He could hear the missing fabric as she moved, her legs bare and the skirt ending just below her ass. Matt’s fist tightened around the knife he was holding as he cut up a sandwich.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

Her hand brushed his back as she passed by him, reaching for the pill capsule on the cupboard. Not even on her tiptoes could she reach it and he stepped behind her, grabbing the bottle for her. He used the opportunity to trace the soft, flowy skirt she wore and the shirt she had stuffed into the waistband. At least she was wearing underwear.

“It’s short,” he stated.

She stopped in the middle of taking her medication, looking at him through wide, doe eyes. “Is it bad?” she asked.

That wasn’t what he intended to insinuate. If anything, he wanted her to know how feral the outfit made him. She had to keep it for that exact reason, not because he didn’t want her to walk around in a mini skirt that seemed to fit her perfectly. He knew how hard it was to find clothes that completely fit her; she always complained about that.

Matt chuckled in disbelief. “What?”

She struggled with the cap on the container and he took the capsule again, twisting it open with ease. The child-proof caps were going to be her death of her.

“You just… do you not want me to wear something short?”

The tone in her voice suggested she was more than willing to change.

“What? No! I love it. Why would I ever tell you not to wear something?”

“Maybe because you don’t want me to…”

“Sweetheart, if I ever tell you that, please smack me over the head with a frying pan.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right, you’d be the first man not wanting to dictate what his girlfriend wears.”

“Hold up,” he reached for her arms and pulled her into him, “Men actually do that?”

“Are you saying you don’t care if I walk around with my ass hanging out?”

“If you’re comfortable,” he said. It truly didn’t seem to bother him, which made her frown and rethink what the men previously in her life had told her.

Not that she cared about the scumbags she had made acquaintance with, but when Matt asked her what she was wearing, she panicked at first.

As she looked into his honest eyes, she slowly started to realize that she might have been a bit more twisted by society’s views than she thought.

“I have no right to tell you what to wear. Except if it’s a fashion disgrace, but let’s face it, how would I know? That’s Foggy’s job. Who would never tell a woman what to wear either, by the way.”

“But-” she began.

“Ah, no buts. I don’t own you in that way,” he told her. “I own your body and your orgasms when we’re in bed, and I own your heart because I love you, but that’s it. I don’t own your person, and I want you to tell me if I give you the feeling that you have to ask me permission to do the things you want. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

Eliza pulled a strand of hair out of her face. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.”

“Good, now turn around so I can feel how short that skirt is. I need to know how much self-control I need to conjure up today not to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless.”

She evaded his hands once again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Matt clicked his tongue, chuckling after her, then grabbed his glasses to slide them on his face. “Tease,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

While he left the living room to retrieve his suit jacket from the bedroom, Eliza sorted through the envelope on the dinner table. She had already made a pile with bills the day before - too many to count - then unnecessary flyers and advertisements on another.

She raised her eyebrows at yet another notice from his landlord. “Someone’s gotta teach you how to pay your damn bills,” she muttered under her breath. If he heard it, she wasn’t sure, because a snarky remark never came.

She made a mental note to get his bills taken care of first thing in the morning.

Out of the pile in her hand fell an envelope she recognized all too well. The handwriting was still familiar and it carried her name all over it.

She was pretty sure she didn’t take it with her that day. And it hadn’t been there the day before. Either Happy tossed it into the postbox or Matt shoved it into his suit jacket when she wasn’t looking. Either way, she didn’t want to be associated with the letter that even smelled like Tony, not just felt like him.

“Matt,” Eliza called out. “Darling, can you come here for a second?”

He poked his head around the corner, obviously struggling with his tie. “Yeah, bug,” he said. “What’s up?”

She eyed him. The look in his brown eyes was lighter than usual and he had a soft smile resting on his lips. He looked happy, content, and in a state where all sides of his life seemed balanced.

She didn’t want to accuse him of something she was sure had no ill intent behind it. Perhaps this was growth. She learned to accept that certain actions were meant to protect her, and he didn’t exactly lie — he put it there for her to choose a more familiar and regulated environment.

Instead of scolding him like the monster in her head told her to, shut down and run away to protect herself from getting hurt again, she smiled back at him.

“Nothing, I just…” she put the envelopes back down. “I love you,” she said.

He cooed. “I love you too.”

Eliza motioned to his crooked tie. “Need any help with that?”

“Yeah, please. I don’t know why it’s not working today. I can’t focus.”

“We all have bad days.”

She tied the knot with skilled fingers, fixing the black tie so that it sat perfectly in the middle of his collar and chest. She smoothed over his blue dress shirt, removing the wrinkles and tucking it properly into his pants again.

She kissed his cheek. “There,” she said, “all done.”

Matt moved his head so that instead of his stubble, she met his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured into the kiss. “I’d die without you.”

“You definitely would.”

“Hm-hm. I’m glad I found you. And hey,” he caught her chin before she could turn away from him, “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here.”

He knew exactly what she had found. She could see it in his eyes now, the knowing glance, the slight hint of regret in his voice. She kissed him again, trying to ignore the churn of her stomach at the mere thought of opening the letter.

She had to throw it away or she would only break her own heart. But then again, throwing it away would do the same thing. She found herself at a crossroads, the answer unclear, but this wasn’t Matt’s problem to solve, it was hers. She had to figure out another way to work up the courage and read what Tony had to say to her. If she even wanted to, which she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know anything other than the thought alone made her incredibly angry and bitter about everything that he did, and how she acted, too.

“Noted,” she said, smiling into the kiss, and the worry in his touch ceased.

He held her head with gentle hands as he plastered his lips to her forehead one last time, then pulled away. They couldn’t stay in their bubble forever. Life awaited them.

Matt was halfway out the door when Eliza turned around again, shoving the letter into her bag. He listened to the rustling of paper and his lip twirled up.

She rounded the corner. “Keys?” he asked.

She lifted her hand, revealing the silver chain she had taken from the bowl earlier, knowing he’d forget it she let him take them.

“My wallet?”

“Put it in my bag,” she said.

“Ah! You’re a goddess.”

She ruffled his perfectly combed hair like a psychopath as she passed by and told him, “You’d lose your head without me.”

“Unless you buy a guillotine,” he was set out to give the cheekiest answer on their way out, “that’s highly unlikely.”

He didn’t see the smack to his head coming. He only knew when he felt it.

“Shut up, Matthew.”

“Sorry.”

But he wasn’t sorry, not at all, and the way he smirked at her told her that he was purposely being an asshole.

Matt Murdock at his finest was most annoying, but he had never looked better.

The entire day, Eliza kept thinking about the letter. It weighed heavily in her bag. Even as she typed the numbers to Nelson & Murdock’s new financial plan into the Excel table, Tony was the only thing on her mind.

What if he did apologize and cleared everything up in the letter? She wouldn’t know if she didn’t look. But if she looked and he revealed he had lied about even more, where would that leave her? She couldn’t take another setback.

She originally wanted to work for them to learn more about the law, but their numbers looked dire and someone had to sort it out before the debt would swallow them. Eliza was seemingly the only one who knew how. Tony taught her a lot, this was one of those things. He taught her by not teaching her anything because he had a lot of money he just didn’t know how to deal with it, so she taught herself how to do books and everything else so Pepper could focus on being CEO. In that way, Tony prepared her for what life was really like, and it came in handy.

Tony. It was always Tony. In some way, he made her into the person she was. They were both petty, too proud to take a step forward to clean the slate. Except that he did now. He stretched his hand out for her to take and she had to make a decision. If Happy was right and he was a mess, he needed someone to catch him, and that would only work if she read the letter.

The tip of her pencil cracked from where she pressed it into the expense report. She cursed, tossing it aside and getting herself a new one. The screen of the laptop had gone dark and she swiped once to get it back on. Her thoughts kept reeling and the clock progressed. She only then realized how late it was.

The door frame of the conference room creaked with the weight that was applied to it. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The same person who got her two cups of coffee in the past three hours, all made precisely the way she liked it, not even an inch off.

“If I see any more red numbers today,” Eliza said, “I’m sure I’m going to start hallucinating. I might even recite those equations in my sleep like a robot that hasn’t been plugged in. My brain is fried. It’s chicken roast.”

“That bad, huh?” Matt mused. He had his arms crossed, suit jacket discarded in his office. “So bad that you’re a roasted chicken now?”

“You have no idea! How you got by in the past couple of months is a mystery to me. It’s a wonder, even. Like, how did you survive with these many red numbers?”

He smiled innocently. “Luck?”

“You seem to have a shit ton of that,” she agreed. The papers rustled. It was worse than she thought, but she was getting there. “For a second there, even the Excel table considered giving up, and it’s usually an easy tool to create a financial overview. And the red in your printer might be empty now too, but you can’t afford new ink, so I’m gonna have to start coloring by hand ‘cause there’s so much more where that comes from,” she said, the red marker in her hand as an act of demonstration, though, at the same time, she needed something to fidget with. She sighed again, looking into her reflection in his glasses, imagining she could see the brown behind them. “You shouldn’t have let it get this bad, Matt.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry doesn’t help your financial status, but I understand why you guys are the way you are and I wouldn’t want to change that too much, so I’m trying a few strategies that will not ruin Nelson & Murdock’s entire concept.”

“Thanks, sweetheart, appreciate it.”

“Oh, you better. There needs to be a lot of kinky sex after this since you can’t pay me in actual Dollar bills and we have to somehow keep warm once the winter months hit. Can’t do that if you can’t pay your electric bills, so we’re gonna have to fuck a lot more. I’m not freezing to death in your pretty little apartment just because you’re a catholic with a savior complex.”

Matt’s chest rumbled with laughter, her bluntness scratching a humorous itch in his brain. “That can be arranged,” he said, cheeky as ever, and she glared at him, but it was a loving look she gave him.

“Good. That’s all of my conditions for now,” she said, “more to be added.”

“Alright, well, I’m done with my paperwork for the day, and there are no more clients on the horizon for us, only more filing, so can I do anything? I want to help.”

Eliza deadpanned, “Help?”

“Yeah, help. I mean, I’m part of the problem. There has to be something I can do.”

“You can get me a fucking shot of tequila.”

Eliza groaned into her hands. She realized what she said too late, the room had already gone deathly quiet. Matt frowned, she could see his guilt fade into worry, and he went about closing the door to seal the two of them in the room.

What was meant as a joke sounded like truth in her heartbeat or else he wouldn’t have reacted that way.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she said, ruffling her hair for the millionth time that day. “I don’t know what I meant. It’s… I’m just tired, Matt, that’s all. I’m sorry. It was a bad joke.”

He walked up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and started to press his thumb into the tense muscles.

This wasn’t about work, not at all. If anything, working the numbers had distracted her up to this point, but his presence brought out the vulnerability, and suddenly, Tony’s name was the only thing in her mind and the letter screamed at her from where it rested in the side pocket of her bag.

His hands worked their magic on her back and she sighed, leaning further into his touch. With the way she’d been sitting the whole day, his massage helped get rid of some of the pain and inflammation that had settled in her shoulders.

She didn’t want to tell him what was bothering her, but she didn’t need to. Matt kissed the top of her head, finally speaking the words she had been waiting to hear. “Read the letter,” he said. “Go home.”

“Did you put it on the dinner table with all the bills this morning?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Why’d you take it?”

“Because I knew you’d regret it eventually if you left it at the café.”

He was right, she would have. She regretted even considering putting it in the trash. She should have read it from the beginning, ripped the bandaid off, and fixed this. But she couldn’t. She hadn’t been ready before and she still wasn’t, at least not completely, but she saw a point now. She had to open it for several reasons, one of them being closure and she needed it. If there was a way to fix this, she had to know.

Matt leaned in to whisper into her ear, “Read it.” He kissed her. “I’ll tell Foggy and Karen you went home early. You deserve a break for saving our asses anyway.”

Eliza sighed. “That I do.”

“C’mon. I’ll see you later tonight.”

On his way out, she gently called his name. The smile on her lips was audible in the way she spoke. “Matt,” she said.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Thank you.”

He smiled back at her, tapping the door frame. “I love you too.”

She packed her bag and made her way out of the door unnoticed. Though when she stepped into the warm summer evening, she chose not to take the familiar route to Matt’s apartment. She wasn’t sure where she wanted to be, but the four walls of her home weren’t it. She was lost, scared, and overwhelmed. The city stared down at her with dark eyes, its fingers intimidating as it waited for her to make the wrong move so it could swallow her whole.

A glass of tequila. She hated herself for thinking about it, but the bars were already open and she walked past at least a dozen of them on her way through Hell’s Kitchen. She hugged her arms around her stomach, walking faster, hoping the burning in her lungs would keep her fingers from itching and the sweat on her skin from turning clammy.

The giant metal double doors slammed shut behind her. The cold of the interior cooled down the heat of her skin within seconds. The letter dragged her shoulder down. Her head was on fire. At least her destination of escape was quiet and smelled of rosemary and holy water, not alcohol and cigarettes. She could sort her mind there before she returned home.

She met the brown eyes of a small woman across the room at the row of altar candles as she held a burning match in her fingers. She blew it out, surprised to see Eliza standing there.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch you,” she said, scrambling for the door handle. “I should probably come back another time.”

The woman turned to her fully, the black dress she wore reaching to her knees. It had a white collar embroidered with white flowers, a pair of black tights underneath, and flats. Her hair was brown - the shade seemed familiar - short, and curly. Her face seemed familiar, too. There was something about the way her face was cut out that had Eliza wondering if she had met her before.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked. Her voice echoed off the high walls of Clinton Church. Her voice was soft, quiet and most of all, kind.

She hugged her bag tighter to her chest, looking around the colored windows, the stone walls, and the pews. The interior was truly beautiful, the architecture similar to most churches and yet unique in its way. There had to have been a reason her feet carried her there, out of all places. Her relationship with church was complicated, but her intuition seemed to know better.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she took another step forward, her brown eyes sparkling in the candlelight. It was pure brown, bordering on hazel, but unlike Matt, the woman didn’t have any other color prominent in her irises. “I was just lighting a candle for…” she trailed off, chuckling softly. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You seem conflicted.”

Eliza scoffed. “Conflicted is an understatement,” she said.

“Is there a reason you came here?”

“I don’t know, I was walking until I wasn’t and then I somehow ended up here. I… I’m not catholic. I don’t belong here.”

The woman smirked.

That smirk… She tilted her head. The feeling of familiarity nagged at her chest, but not her physical one. Her fingers itched. “If it’s a question of religious belief, most people who come here don’t belong here,” she said.

“Really? Then why do they even come to church if they don’t believe in God?”

“Safety, solace, hope… Who knows.”

“Maybe that’s why my mind went straight to this place. I could really use some hope that isn’t misplaced right about now.”

“You want me to get the Father?” The woman smoothed out her dress as she looked over her shoulder for Paul. “I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Father Lantom’s always been rather good with his words… and young women who are just a little too lost for their own good.”

“Excuse me?” Eliza chuckled in disbelief.

“Oh, nothing. Should I get him for you?”

“Oh, no,” she said, “I’m not here for that. As I said, I don’t know why I’m here, I just am. I kinda regret that decision now.”

She should have found a support group at the community center instead of storming Clinton Church with a craving for alcohol, fueled by the letter of the man she used to see as her father in her bag. He still was, technically. He would always be like a father to her in some way, no matter how badly he hurt her. Her biological father died protecting her, and Tony would have done the same. He protected her from the truth. It was his plan all along.

Eliza meddled with it by trying to ram her head through the door and do it her way. She had been so incredibly reckless. Her chest ached. Perhaps this was her fault, after all, and she had just been too blind and caught up in her pain to see. Classic Tony behavior, the voice in her head told her. It was Happy. He always knew better. He told her from the beginning and she just didn’t listen.

She slipped a hand into her bag, feeling for the envelope. It was still there.

The woman eyed her, fingers crossed before her body. “I’m Maggie,” she introduced herself. “I’m one of the nuns who work at Saint Agnes next door,” she said.

Saint Agness. “The orphanage,” she blurted.

“That’s right.”

“Huh. I’m sorry.” Eliza gnawed at her bottom lip. The silence turned awkward. “I just… you seem familiar,” she said, “but I’ve never been to Saint Agnes before, so I’m not sure why…”

Maggie frowned. If she had been able to see her emotions, she would have seen the clear green of fear. But the powers of an empath had been part of her for a long time before she died and so she knew the signs even without throwing a mutant eye on it. She just didn’t understand why and without reaching into her soul, she couldn’t figure out the truth even if she wanted to. And with Matt and Daredevil, her powers had failed to make the connection too back then, so she doubted it would have been of use anyway.

Sometimes people just look familiar, they don’t have to be.

“You know what, never mind! It’s probably just because my boyfriend grew up at the orphanage that I’m starting to see things. My mistake.”

“What’s your name?” she diverted the topic.

“Eliza,” she answered.

“Nice to meet you, Eliza.”

“You too, sister.”

“Please,” she said, “Call me Maggie.”

“Right, sorry. Maggie, of course.”

“Well, if there’s something you want to talk about with someone who isn’t a priest but knows a thing or two, I can offer an open ear.”

It was a bad idea. The letter wouldn’t turn any better with a nun present.

“This is personal,” said Eliza. “But thanks, anyway.”

Maggie wasn’t about to let that slide though. She saw a young woman in distress, one she had overheard talking to Father Lantom, and she wanted to help. She was family now.

Her hand was back on the cold metal handle. The gentle voice rang out again. “I have coffee,” she told her. “And donuts. Isn’t that what they usually offer at support group meetings?”

“How did you know?” She stopped dead in her tracks, head-turning enough for her ear to listen to Maggie, the rest of her pressed almost entirely to the door.

She chuckled. “I’ve led one or two of those in my time here before we had to stop due to funding issues.”

“You used to lead support group meetings? For what, religious trauma?”

“Post-partum depression,” Maggie stated. “And for addicts like you. Most teenagers came to the orphanage when it was already too late for prevention, but I tried. We eventually opened the group up to the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen. When the numbers rose, so did the participants and eventually, I could no longer offer the resources, so we had to shut down.”

Eliza’s hand dropped from the door and she turned around, defeated. She sighed, Maggie’s eyes soft and knowing on hers. “How much time do you have?” she asked.

“I have the entire night, if need be.”

She had never been to the orphanage before that day. Maggie let her through the hallway with the crucifixes adorning the walls and the unusually high wooden pillars. It was the exact opposite of the cold church walls. It was old, almost ancient, mostly made out of drywall and wood and overall tried to look homely, but in an orphanage, that wasn’t so easy. The children wouldn’t feel at home, not even if the walls were covered with stuffed animals. Losing your parents is not something that leaves you unscarred.

They entered a room. It reminded Eliza of the one in the community center that usually held the support group meetings, except that there were a lot more toys in Saint Agnes than at the community center.

“Josh,” Maggie scolded the lonely boy that was left in the room, cowered in the corner with a book in his hand and a pencil in the other. “You’re supposed to be in your room. What are you doing here so late?”

The boy didn’t move. Only then did she realize the hearing aids lying next to him on the floor, and the book he was leaning over was one on advanced mathematical equations. It was college-level if anything.

“Did you take out your hearing aids again so you wouldn’t have to listen to me?”

Again, she received no answer.

“Unbelievable.”

“He’s deaf?” Eliza asked as Maggie scrambled to get the boy to put his hearing aids back in. He refused.

The nun sighed wearily, agreeing with her. “His parents died in a car crash five months ago.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. His trauma response is to tune out everything and everyone. He’s a smart kid, but he won’t let anyone help him. Here at Saint Agnes, we take all children, disabled or not, but kids like him who are so traumatized are hard to take care of if they don’t want you to. He’s not the first one.”

“I understand what it’s like, so I can’t say I blame these kids,” she said.

“Me neither. It’s tough to be faced with loss at such a young age, where development has barely just started,” Maggie stated. “It’s a lot for a child to carry. Too much, even. Especially for those who are already different than others.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

The boy started scribbling into his textbook again, solving the equation at the top of the page.

“May I?” she asked Maggie.

She nodded, a little confused but willing to take all the help she could get.

Eliza knelt next to the boy, making sure she sat in his eyesight so he wouldn’t get scared. He only shortly glanced at her before he went back to work. She lifted her hands.

“Hi,” she signed.

The hand that held the pencil halted.

“I’m Liz. You’re Josh, right?”

“You know sign language?” Maggie asked behind her.

She nodded. “Everyone deals with trauma differently. Some children turn mute, I taught myself new skills, and Josh does both.”

“Interesting.”

Josh lifted his hand to respond, his movements slow and hesitant. “Are you new?” he signed back.

“I’m a friend of Sister Maggie,” she answered.

A look over his book showed the equation he was stuck on. She offered her hand and he gave her the pencil. With confident strokes, she scribbled down the missing step that had him screw up the results every time he tried.

Josh’s eyes widened in realization. “Thank you,” he told her.

“It’s alright. Sometimes, you don’t get to the core of the equation if you don’t substitute first. Math can be confusing.”

“Math is fun.”

“Math is for smart people.”

“People say I’m smart. I want to be smart.”

Eliza chuckled. “I’m sure you already are. Struggling with such a complex equation doesn’t determine your intelligence. If anything, it underlines. It helps you grow. Math is a valuable skill to have, but so are languages or art, even. Learning skills is supposed to be fun, not driven by the need to prove intelligence. That’s not how this works.”

He gnawed at his cheek, contemplating the question before he set up to move his hands. “Do you know how to solve Polynomials by Radicals?” he signed.

“I’ve tried once, got the basics down but struggled to get to the result,” she answered truthfully.

“Did you get it in the end?”

“I did.”

“Can you teach me?”

Maggie appeared behind them, a hand on her shoulder. She held the hearing aids in the other, offering them to the pouting boy.

“Another day, maybe,” she said, her smile soft yet demanding. She could be strict if she wanted to.

He read her lips, not satisfied with her answer, but when he saw the promise in Eliza’s eyes too, he took his hearing aids back.

“Go to bed! Don’t make me say it twice.”

Josh grabbed his book, jumped to his feet, and left before Maggie could scold him again. She chuckled at his sudden eagerness.

Eliza rose to her feet too, setting her bag down on one of the chairs.

“You’re good with kids,” Maggie noted. She turned on the coffee maker as she set out the donuts she had left. “You want any in the future?”

“I would if I could,” she said.

“You know, there a lot of parentless children at an orphanage…”

She turned the tables instead. “Do you have kids?”

She stopped pouring the coffee. “I have a whole army of them.”

“No, I mean, biologically.”

Two freshly brewed lattes stood on the table now between a plate of donuts and a bowl of sugar. Maggie sat down next to her. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, challenging, trying to read the other’s mind. Eventually, the nun turned away and started pouring sugar into her coffee.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said no.”

“No,” Eliza agreed, “I wouldn’t.”

“I had a baby but I don’t have any children,” she said. “Does that answer suffice you?”

She nodded. “It does.” She valued honesty more than the story behind her words. She seemed uncomfortable enough already, fist clenching around her mug.

“Since this is about you, not about me, why don’t you start talking about what’s bothering you?”

Eliza reached into her bag and retrieved the letter. “Do you have a seal of confession or something?” she questioned.

“Not officially.”

“You promise not to tell anyone?” The level of trust she felt toward the stranger was surreal.

“I don’t have anyone I could tell. My life revolves around this place, and I’m not married either, partly because my position here doesn’t allow me to, in the eyes of God. It’s twisted if you think about it.”

“I don’t blame you, relationships are hard.” She placed the letter in the middle of the table. “A person who used to be very dear to me but broke my heart sent me this letter. I haven’t read it and it’s been a week. It’s been long since we fell out, but he wrote that for me after I disappeared off the face of the earth because I died for thirty minutes, and for my sobriety, making amends is important, but I don’t… I want to read it but I’m scared of what it might entail.”

“You know forgiveness is the eleventh step?” asked Maggie.

“Yeah, this ain’t my first time.”

“And what step are you currently on?”

“I don’t know, two maybe. I have a problem with faith, so I’m kind of considering skipping that.”

“You admitted you need help, great. You don’t want to give yourself over to God, and that’s fine too, but you want to get better, so you have to make amends some other way. Do you want to forgive this person?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Then you have to read it.”

“But how do I do that?”

“With your eyes, preferably.”

“Thank you, I could have made that deduction on my own.”

Maggie shrugged, smirking to herself, and said, “Just keeping things in perspective so that you can realize how pointless your reasoning is.”

She was beyond intrigued now. Eliza inhaled, taking a sip of her coffee before setting it down again and grabbing a donut. Sugar always helped with the cravings a little. “Huh,” she said, “You should have kept doing the support groups. Brutal honesty is better than pity. I like that about you.”

“As someone who has seen the darkest pits of hell and still managed to survive, take it from me: If you waste time making up with the people you love, you’re going to regret it until you’re old, and then, when you finally realize what you’ve done, it’s going to be too late.”

“You speaking from experience?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Who hurt you?”

“It’s not who hurt me,” she said, her brown eyes moving toward the table and locking on it, “It’s about who I hurt. Before I found back to God.”

She nodded. “So I just what, read it and hope for the best?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

It was a question she had no answer to. There was nothing too bad that could come from opening a letter other than emotional wounds being torn open - or worse, possibly healed, and she’d be forced to face Tony again and apologize. That was the worst. It was terrible and embarrassing and she didn’t want to lose another thought about it, but she had to.

She looked up at the crucifix, Jesus nailed to the cross and staring down at her, seemingly with judgy eyes.

A scoff passed her lips. “This is so stupid,” Eliza muttered.

“What is?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t even believe in God and still I feel like he’s scolding me.”

The nun shrugged, getting up to refill Eliza’s mug with some more coffee. “He probably is.”

She scoffed, “Thank you.”

“He’s scolding all of us all the time because we all make bad decisions. It’s human nature. That doesn’t make him hate us. If anything, he’s more than willing to forgive your mistakes if you’re ready to openly deal with them.”

“Who’s to say I made a mistake?”

“You didn’t?” she retorted.

Eliza crossed her arms again, leaving the letter unopened on the table, and leaned back, teeth sunken into the inside of her cheek. “I made mistakes, but not with him,” she said. “He’s the one who lied to me about my past. He’s the one who almost had me arrested and didn’t do anything when the cops were after me for something I didn’t do. He let me run straight into the knife several times. If it hadn’t been for him and his lies, none of the things that happened wouldn’t have happened and the people who got hurt because of me… wouldn’t have had to suffer if he had just told me sooner or talked to me about this like a normal person. And Matt… God, he wouldn’t have had to feel me fucking die. The poor man’s probably traumatized for life.”

She placed the mug back in front of her, her hand lingering on her shoulder just a comforting second longer before she sat back down. Maggie reached for the envelope. She traced the name written on the front and the already cracked lid.

“God,” she began, and when she tried to open the envelope, Eliza didn’t even stop her, “He lets all kinds of things happen to people,” she said. “Good things to bad people, and bad things to good people. Sometimes he even lets bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people. You wanna know why?”

She met her brown eyes with weak desperation. “Yes,” she said, “Please.”

“It’s a question many ask themselves. Why is God so cruel? The truth is, I don’t know, but he lets those things happen because we have to grow somehow. We have to learn for ourselves. If he were to intervene every time an injustice happens in this world, we wouldn’t know how to deal with it ourselves. Only when there is no point to be made when there is no reason in the things that happen to certain people, does he send a sign, his guidance, or even make a miracle happen to stir things in the right direction.

“Is it fair to those who land in the crossfire? No, but we all do eventually. And we get to choose what side we are on, the good or the bad side, which is also something God leaves open for us. Bad things happen for a reason, we just don’t often see it because we are in so much pain,” said Maggie, “We can only see the despair instead of the light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s compelling to fall for it. We ask ‘why me?’ and think there’s an answer. There isn’t. We have to learn how to deal with it and learn from our past. That’s the way God intended us to function as human beings, nothing else. So while there is no real question about the answer to why he does what he does, there is an obvious interpretation I often like to tell the kids that ask me. Do with that as you will, Eliza, but don’t throw away your shot at rekindling the relationship with your family.”

“But my father’s dead. I have no more family,” she said.

“Resurrection, in my opinion, is a lie, so he won’t be coming back anyway. You have to cherish the family you have, blood-related or not. Don’t let yourself be alone, not without exploring all the other possibilities first.”

She slid the envelope toward her.

“I will be checking in on Josh,” Maggie told her, slowly rising from her chair and smoothening out her skirt. “I’ll be back in say, half an hour. Feel free to help yourself to whatever you need while I’m gone, and if you decide to leave, that’s fine too.”

The letter lay open before her now, she only had to pull the yellowish paper out. The door closed behind her and she was left alone in the huge room, the clock ticking on the wall and Jesus continuously staring down at her like a creep.

Eliza rubbed her face, ruffled her hair, and even wiped her sweaty hands on her pants, but she felt no more ready than she did in the beginning.

Her phone pinged. Matt’s name was written underneath the time display.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

If you don’t answer in the next two minutes, I’m coming to look for you.

In the suit.

Seriously, text me.

I’m worried.

She shook her head with a soft smile.

Don’t question me about it but I’m at church, she texted back, I’m okay. Talking to one of the sisters at the orphanage. Will be back soon. Love you.

Unlike him, she managed to put every sentence into one message. It made it easier for his phone to read out in a way that made sense to him.

He responded within seconds.

Don’t ever do that to me again.

I was worried something happened.

Then, after another second, he added, Love you too, with a heart emoji.

The thought of him telling his phone to send a heart emoji had her giggle uncontrollably for the duration in which she texted him back.

You going out tonight? she asked him.

Not until you’re home, he texted. Want to kiss you first.

A second passed by. The speech bubble showed the three dots that suggested he (or his phone) was composing another message.

You sure I don’t have to come?

She shook her head again as if she was talking to him. No, I’m fine. Need to do this alone.

Her fingers halted, one of her nails finding its way into her mouth, biting on it nervously as she wrote, Sister Maggie’s good company. Reminds me of you.

With that, she finally put down the phone, face-down next to her on the table, and she pulled the letter out of the envelope. Talking to Matt had been the last push she needed in the right direction.

There were three pages in total, Tony’s handwriting more graceful than one might suspect. She knew all about it. Eliza often teased him that he wrote as if he were a king in the 1800s. He used to find it funny, though he eventually grow tired of the comparison.

Finally, after a week of gracefully ignoring the heavy truth, she dared to start reading.

Dear Eliza,

I hope you didn’t throw this letter away. If you did, you won’t be reading it anyway, but I’m still going to write it with the off-chance that you’re going to open it before you throw it away.

I hate letters. They’re stupid and a waste of paper, but I didn’t want to make a video and have you look at my face. I know you don’t want to see it, and you don’t want to hear my voice either, so I’m trying this out instead.

I’m sorry. Does that fix anything? No, I know it doesn’t, but I have to say it before I get too proud to say it again. I ruined everything by trying to fix everything. I’ve always done that. I go overboard, I make mistakes and I care too much even when I pretend I don’t.

I realize in my attempt to protect what was dear to me, I destroyed more than I fixed. I screwed up. It wouldn’t have gone this far if I had just told you, and I should have helped you instead of letting you get into the crosshairs. I just thought… I don’t know what exactly I thought, but you always come back. You used to always come back. You were reckless and bratty, but you always came back and so I thought you might realize your mistake and come back to me before it’s too late.

She scoffed. Her mistake? Reading on though, he took back what he said with ease.

It wasn’t your mistake, it was mine. Keeping the truth from you did hurt your already fragile heart. You could go anywhere you wanted, just not home. I pushed you away and thought we could overcome this as we always do, but I was wrong. I lied for so long and about too much, you felt as if I betrayed your trust, which I did, and for that, I have to apologize.

And I missed you. I still miss you. The compound is empty without you, and I miss my protégée making snarky remarks about my work.

This is about as sentimental as I can get. I’m barely holding on here, kid. It’s not the same without you. Pepper and I fell out and Happy’s looks tell me he blames me for what happened. They’re doing their best to hold everything up while I drown in my sorrows and alcohol. I’m sorry, and I don’t say that lightly.

I’m writing this letter to explain why I did it and what your father said to me. I want to give you the truth, but I’m too much of a coward to do it in person, so just read this and hear me out. I want you to understand why I did it and that I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted to protect you. That’s all. Your safety has always been number one on my list of priorities and I failed. I failed, so you turned to someone else, Daredevil, and from what I heard, he saved your life. I’m glad he did. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if you died because of something I screwed up.

I screwed up, but I want to make this right. I want to make you and me right again so you can come home. Because this is your home, and you have a job here, people who love you, so this is a cry for help. I need you here, kid. I can’t keep the memory of the Avengers alive without the glue of this team is by my side. (Even Rhodey keeps questioning me about what happened, but I can’t tell him. He’s only going to curse me to hell.)

Your father came to me shortly after Sokovia happened. He was battered and bruised, and against everything I swore I stood for, I let him in. I heard him out. He brought me your file and told me that Hydra tortured the truth about you out of him and that you’re in imminent danger now. That’s why he needed me to put a lock on the file and keep you in the dark to make sure you don’t go down that road and have Hydra discover you. They would have rebuilt even faster with you by their side, let’s face it because you would have given them the necessary boost. Your blood is a rarity and your powers are unique. They would have torn the world down. You have to understand, I weighed the option and Anton was right. I had to keep you in the dark to protect you, so I locked the file away and made sure every mission we took you on worked the same. I made sure you stayed clueless for the sake of your safety and prevented Hydra from gaining too much power before I gained enough intel to destroy them myself.

I wasn’t in time. Your father went back on the run, keeping in check occasionally, and I kept researching Hydra and following their steps. They disappeared off the face of the earth. I tried my best, but I failed, and if I hadn’t been so focused on keeping you safe, I would have gone about this differently. You could have learned the truth some other way without bursting at the seams, literally, and being overwhelmed by everything. It’s what I tried to prevent by steering you off who you are. I failed and I’m sorry.

So when you and Daredevil teamed up, I panicked. I was in a cold sweat and I tried to salvage it by being cold and lecturing as a father would be, but I think I only fed into your suspicions and pushed you away by displaying a personality change that had nothing to do with Rogers or you. I thought it would get you off Hydra’s scent, but I only enraged you and caused you to look further into it. If I had been honest, so much could have been fixed earlier, but you were so close and I thought I could snatch Hydra from under your nose when you weren’t looking, but I was too late. You did all the work and still, I failed to take the worst off of your shoulders.

The thing with Ross wasn’t planned. I considered disputing it, but I figured with you on the run and this much police presence, Hydra would be extra careful and it would buy you time. It did, but not long enough. Their ball was already rolling.

I admit I was angry at you for what happened with Happy at your apartment, but then I realized it wasn’t your fault, so I stopped being angry at you and redirected it at him for interfering with a plan I made to fix what I already broke. I ruined even more, I get that now. I thought I had it figured out. Turns out, I didn’t.

So I told Rogers, Romanoff, Barton, and the other guy, Wilson I think, I don’t know, about everything and told them to supervise you because I had to make sure nothing else happened. I had to make sure they don’t actually get you. I distracted Ross enough for them to come here and then again to make sure you wouldn’t be caught on your journey to find Hydra. I was very close to failing, but you found your way out, so that made it easier for me to divert his gaze.

I’m glad those guys helped you. I never meant to tell them, but they figured out that I was hiding something about your past back then and so I told them to make sure you had more people in your corner. Natasha wanted to tell you, but honoring your father’s wishes, I forced her to keep quiet. I’m glad you reconciled, but I’m still sorry for how I went about this. Lying to protect you in such a capacity was wrong, not just from me but also from those I pulled into this web of lies. They were your closest friends and family and I almost ruined that.

Be angry at me, but not at them. It wasn’t their fault I made them keep quiet. It was a verbal NDA. They had no other choice.

If you read this, I hope you can see where I’m coming from. My intention was never to hurt you or drive us apart. I only lied to you to make sure you survived. Your father asked me to. After what he told me Hydra did to him to get the answers about you, I had no choice. They learned about where you went after Fury asked you to step in during Loki’s attempt to destroy New York and they saw your face. By asking you to join the Avengers Initiative and train you, I put you in the limelight, for Hydra to find you and concoct a plan long before Sokovia happened.

They never truly died out. We didn’t choke them out. We failed, but I only realized that after Anton came to me, and even then I refused to believe it. I tried my best, but my best wasn’t good enough and I realize now that I went about this all wrong. You’re grown. You’re an adult now. You’re not a child who needs condescending or can’t be trusted with serious information. I’m sorry for that. I promise that, if you decide to come back, I’ll make up for what I did in all the ways I possibly can and I will never underestimate you again.

Now, you probably finished reading the worst part. Moving on to what I also wanted to tell you, I have to warn you, I didn’t keep this from you because I wanted to. Your father put a fail-safe in place in case he ever died. I only got it in the mail the day before you texted Happy, together with a message that I am not at liberty to share with you because he made sure it would self-destruct in a very dramatic way after I read it. And with that, I mean some chemical solution or something. Spyware. Top-notch.

If you flip onto the third page, there is a keycard and a number from the guy that owns the building your father resided in. Things are waiting for you. As his daughter, you’re the one who has a right to all of his belongings, so you use that keycard and get into his excuse for an apartment. Find the rest of your answers he didn’t get to share with you. It was his last wish, as well as it was for me to give it to you. He told me in his message that there are important childhood memories he kept that might interest you, and there is supposed to be a video file there. I don’t know, I never went there. I couldn’t. It’s your right, not mine, and I wanted to be kind enough to let you do this on your own. I have no right to interfere with your life anymore, nor did I ever, if I think about it now.

Do what you want with this. Come back or don’t come back. It’s your choice. I wish for you to forgive me, but let’s face it, chances are you won’t. I wouldn’t blame you. I can’t do that, even though it’ll fatally hurt my pride. I mean, you’re my protégée, confidant, and best Avenger, after all. And you’re my kid, which has to count for so much more. Like any other father figure in your life, I screwed up and traumatized you. That was never my intention. I wanted to be better. I’m sorry, kiddo. Just know that I miss you and would do anything to get you to trust me again, whatever it takes.

You’re my daughter. The closest thing I have to one. I don’t want to lose you again. I love you, Eliza. Please, forgive me and come back to me. That would be nice. Thank you.

Ps: Forget I ever said those three words to you. They gave me the ick. I meant them, but they’re still weird and I hate them. Scratch that.

Sincerely / Yours truly (how the fuck do you sign a letter?),

Tony Stark

(You know who I am, this is just what I do with protocol. Which it isn’t, I just don’t know how else to sign letters. I hate paper. Kills the trees and makes my technology useless.)

Office hours are from one am to one am the following day.

Goodbye,

Tony.

At the end of his name, there was a huge ink stain that looked as if he had pressed down his pen in anger.

The keycard slipped from the envelope together with the number he mentioned. He didn’t lie about that part and she doubted he lied about everything else either. He had never been so vulnerable before, not with her, not with anyone. At least not to Eliza’s knowledge.

The ink smudged, but this time it was because of her. Tears that had formed in her eyes started falling on the paper, ruining some of the sentences with how wet they were. She put it down and she cried into her arms.

She had been so stupid. He screwed up because he wanted the best for her and he still tried to fix it, long after she told him to go to hell, even if it was just in his own twisted way. He thought this was the right approach for someone as complex as her. She had been reckless before and always came back. This time though, she found her true potential and she abandoned everything she knew for a chance at winning.

He knew he should have listened and he apologized. It was all her heart needed, but her soul still ached and she struggled with the huge weight that was forgiving someone she kept telling herself was a bad person just so she could hate him. She didn’t. She never had. He told her he loved her like he would love a daughter and it made her chest bloom and the tears flow harder.

The list of people she had treated badly was sheer endless and Tony didn’t deserve to be on that list. No one did. She needed to fix what she hadn’t done yet, and he was a big part of that. She wasn’t sure how, but she had to. She knew she had to. But her mind was conflicted as was her soul. Only her heart wanted to storm the compound and hug him this instant. She couldn’t bring herself up to running. Eliza sat frozen in place.

She couldn’t control it. The anger and pain inside her chest colored her vision red and suddenly, she saw herself standing in the middle of the room as a yell broke out of her chest and she let everything that was bottled up inside of her release through her already burning palms. The power pulsated in her veins, causing them to grow twice their usual size and it made her sick. She felt so full of energy, she had no control over what she did.

The chairs and the tables landed against the wall in a sudden outburst, the lights flickering, and even the curtains on the windows shook. Jesus shook. Everything shook until the ball of fire had gone and she curled up on the floor, crying even heavier than before.

Maggie entered with a rather shocked expression at the mess. It felt worse than it looked, but she was still flabbergasted at what she witnessed.

“I’m not even going to ask,” she decided before she slowly approached the young woman, her flats making little to no sound, and she knelt behind her to take her into her arms. She was like those scared children that came to her for help, afraid of the world and unknowing of what to do with their lives. She understood that. She had been a lost child once.

The nun hugged her tight to her chest. Eliza didn’t have the strength to fight back. She let her cradle her in her arms like a baby and it felt good. It felt good to have someone hold her that wasn’t her lover. Maggie was the kind of woman you could easily see as a mother figure, not just because she devoted her life to helping children who lost their parents but because she was good. She showed her that religion wasn’t all the same and it didn’t make heartless monsters. If God was real, she was the kind of angel he would send to look over the lost souls, to look over people like her, children like her and Matthew had once been. Maggie was good at heart, and no trauma in the world could change that.

Eventually, her cries died down and she lay in her arms motionless, hiccuping and still shaking.

She stroked through her hair. “I’m sorry,” Maggie murmured. “I know life doesn’t feel fair most of the time. That’s why crying is so important. Mothers need to teach their daughters that crying isn’t simply a feminine trait that makes us weaker like everyone else. If anything, we’re strong for being in touch with our emotions.”

Eliza sat up, wiping her tears with shaky hands. “My mom died when I was born,” she said. “So I wouldn’t know.”

Her eyes softened and she stroked through her hair again. “I’m sorry to hear that, love.”

“As I said, my family is dead.”

“But family isn’t just blood, is it?”

“No…”

“So are you crying because the letter said good things or bad things?” Maggie asked, careful not to press down on any fresh emotional wounds.

She chuckled. “They were good, I suppose.”

“And is that really why you‘re crying? Are those happy tears or is this about something else?”

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” Eliza looked upon the mess she had made, then back at the nun who only smiled gently from where she knelt. “Why aren’t you scared?” she asked.

“Of what?” asked the nun.

“Me. Don’t you have to think I have the devil in me or something?”

“Eh,” she shrugged, “I saw what happened on the news. Unlike everyone else though, I take no pleasure in judging people on what they can or cannot do. I’ve also been around in 2012,” she said, “So I know all about superheroes and mutants and the like. You don’t have the devil in you. He looks much different.”

“Thank you. That, uh, that helped, actually.”

She helped her get back to her feet, smudged makeup and all and offered her a tissue. Eliza got cleaned up quickly, shoving the letter back into her bag.

“You want another coffee?” Maggie offered.

She declined. “No, thank you. I have to get back to my boyfriend before he starts sending the search party.” She gave a weak chuckle at the end and the nun joined in.

“He sounds nice, your boyfriend.”

“He is. He’s a… he’s great, yeah.”

Maggie pointed to the necklace that hung out of her shirt. “He got you that?”

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve got someone to have your back. That’s important.”

Eliza nodded. It truly was.

Maggie scrambled for a piece of paper and a pencil, starting to jot down some numbers before she handed the post-it over to her. “Here,” she said, “That’s my number. If you ever feel the need to talk or just want a cup of coffee, feel free to give me a call.”

A bit confused, she took the offer. “Thank you?” she said. “No one’s ever…”

“You don’t have to, I just thought it might be a good idea to have someone on standby that isn’t your boyfriend, a priest, or a therapist.”

“Sister Maggie, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m just glad you’re doing better.”

With a nod, Eliza headed for the door. Halfway out, she turned back and said, all reservations gone, “You would have made a great mother.”

Maggie was left behind shaking, the girl’s words resting heavily in her brain as she process them. A great mother. The words sounded so foreign yet offered some sort of comfort, a relief to doubts she had carried around for decades.

“What are you doing?” Father Lantom stood in the doorway, watching Eliza walk away in the distance, her bag shoulders, and skirt flowing with the wind. He crossed his arms. “What was that Maggie?” he asked.

“She needed help,” the nun stated as she began to clean up the mess. “I offered it to her. There is nothing wrong with that. It’s my job.”

“Is that really what this is?”

“She’s the closest I can get to my son,” her voice cracked. “Don’t take that away from me, Paul.”

“I’m not trying to. I mean, you’ve always had the choice to go down the block and tell him the truth.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

“Your son… she’s good for him, but snuggling up to her while trying to know more about him is wrong. It feels… immoral. You know Matthew would be angry, but he would never judge.”

She snapped around. “That is not at all what I’m doing! I like that girl,” she said. “She’s broken. She needed a friend. I lend her a helping hand. She’s family now, Paul. I’m not doing this just because she and Matthew are a thing, I’m doing this for her, because she lost her parents and she needs someone. She’s like all the kids here.” She pointed wildly around herself. “God sent her here. I was willing to listen to her, so I see that as a sign. I’m just trying to somehow figure out what the lord wants.”

“Are you sure this isn’t just about Matthew?” asked Paul. “Because God-“

“Oh, I’m sure.“

“Alright, but if this comes back to bite you in the ankle, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Maggie scoffed. She took the last chair and placed it back against the table. “It’s bite you in the ass,” she stated.

“We’re in the house of God. I won’t curse.”

“Jesus won’t judge you for saying the word ass.”

Paul only rolled his eyes at that. The observation he made, “You’re not so different from your son,” was more than accurate.

If anything, Maggie and Matt were one and the same person, and if he learned one thing from listening to the both of them for years, it was that sometimes, behavior is hereditary and there is nothing that can be done about that.

#matt murdock #foreigner's god #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x female!oc #daredevil #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock imagines #foggy nelson #human disaster matt murdock #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #marvel #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #original female character #charlie cox

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savoryscribbles · 3 years ago

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Home is Something You Make

This is a Kaeya fic from someone who doesn't like Kaeya all that much.

Parings: Kaeya x gn!reader, platonic!Kaeya x Rosaria

Content/trigger warnings: you aren't the traveler,pretty sappy ngl, I've realized I suck at dialogue so just, ignore it.

Kaeya doesn't use his house. If you've know him for long enough, this is a fact. However, what isn't as obvious, is Kaeya let's other people use his house, use his bed, bathroom, kitchen, etc.

His friends without homes, the traveler, Klee, Rosaria, anyone who needs it, can crash at his place whenever they need to. That's why he keeps it clean. It's why his master bathroom has collected dust but not his guest bedroom.

He is far to busy to use his own house. More often he's found stumbling into his house at 2am, crashing on the couch because he knows both beds are likely taken.

He meant to tell you of this predicament. But could never find the right time to bring it up. He knew you slept in late, you worked at night anyways. He knew if you were to ever sleep over, you would definitely run into someone that wasn't him. And he would have to awkwardly explain how a 6 foot tall vampire lady was upset you were sleeping in his bed. The bed that has the thick memory foam, and the silk sheets, the one both you and Rosaria are upset Kaeya doesn't use more often.

When he did eventually ask you over for dinner, he made sure everyone was out of the house before hand, much to their surprise.

He cooked you a nice dinner, and put up the front he felt he had to. He never meant to get this far with you actually. Rosaria had suggested he mess around with the hookup scene, telling him it would help relive stress. Only he doesn't think he did it right, because now he's in a relationship, one he doesn't want to get out of. One night stands had a key word, one night only this had lasted far more than that.

He was scared about a lot of things. He was waiting for you to find out his secrets and leave him, like anyone he'd tried to date before. But he didn't want you to leave, so he tried his best to hold that day off as long as he could.

When morning came Kaeya found it hard to get up. On any other day the sun would have bothered him enough to get ready, the dread of the days work enough for him to be on time. But you were next to him, and the annoying sun didn't look so annoying when it rested on your face, and how could anyone feel dread when they're with their love? So instead of getting ready, Kaeya opted to rest against you awhile longer.

Then he checked the time, and oh shit I have 15 minutes to get ready and he rushed out the door, forgetting to tell you about his other guests.

Something he also forgot to mention to said guests, was you. It wasn't like Kaeya was trying to keep you a secret. It's just that, a famous wondering traveler, a coldhearted vampire church lady, and a toddler who loves bombs can be very intimidating. And so he pushed introducing you to them out of his mind.

So both party's were unaware of each other's presence, that was until you had a polearm to your throat.

"Who are you? And why are you in the Calvary Captains house?" Rosaria stated in her usual harsh tone.

This had startled you awake. Not knowing who she was either. "I'm (y/n)? I, who are you?" Was the response you gave in the mists of rubbing sleep from your eyes, not even batting one at the weapon still hugging your throat.

"It doesn't matter who I am. You're in this house when you shouldn't be, so you need to leave." Rosaria didn't actually care who you were, all she knew is you were not on Kaeya's guest list.

"Huh? Kaeya invited me here though? We had dinner last night, and it was late by the time we finished, so he let me stay over." You tried to explain, you didn't know why Sister Rosaria was in Kaeya's house, they could be a couple, they could be friends, she for all you knew, could be raiding his house. However the latter seemed unlikely. She seemed to know she was allowed here, hence why she was questioning why you were here.

"Oh, so you're one of his one night stands? Still, there's no reason you should have stayed this long." Rosaria reluctantly withdrew her weapon, knowing you weren't likely to cause harm.

"Not really? I mean, I'm not sure what me an Kaeya are, but it's definitely not that." You laughed nervously, surely she should know about you if you were anything serious to Kaeya right? "We've gone of a couple dates, he's even been to my house, this is the first time he's invited me over to his though." You finished your explanation as you started to realize just how weird this predicament was.

"Hmph, alright then, but just so you know. If I find out you're lying, I'm not as merciful as the other sisters." She responded, walking out the door.

Kaeya had some explaining to do.

***

Kaeya realized halfway through his day that he forgot to warn you about his friends. So he tried to get home as quickly as possible, or at least before you left for work.

Luckily he made it, barely though. He caught you as you were getting dressed, but not before getting stopped by Rosaria.

"Hey just so you know, there's someone in there claiming they've 'gone on a couple dates with you' I left them alone, but if their lying I'll take care of them." She said from her position on the couch.

"Hm? There's no need, they're telling the truth, I actually need to talk to them, so excuse me." Kaeya responded before quickly walking to his bedroom.

"Oh, hello there. Um, there was a lady, I'm pretty sure she was sister Rosaria? But she put her polearm up to my throat, telling me I didn't belong here? I'm not sure what that was about." You laughed lightly when you saw him.

"I know, I'm sorry, so sorry. I meant to tell you, there's more people who stay here actually." He muttered the last bit. "I was just in a rush this morning."

"I have friends who stay over, they don't exactly, have anywhere else to stay? I'm not sure, it's not my business to pry, but I let them stay whenever they need to. So if we're going to do, this," he gestures towards himself then you, "more often, I should probably warn you about that."

"Ooohh, okay, that's fine, actually that's very sweet of you Kaeya. Just a warning would have been nice, on both ends actually. A Polearm to the throat isn't the most peaceful ways to wake up." You point out with a chuckle, and he joined you.

After the laugher died down he took you in his arms and kissed you before muttering "I'm glad you understand."

***

"Getting sappy huh captain?" Rosaria stated as he closed the door behind you.

"Hm, maybe." He thought pensively.

"This isn't what I meant by a hookup." She retorted back.

"Oh I know, I have a knack for messing things up, though I'm sure you know that." He responded, looking into her eyes.

"They seem... nice, to nice almost. They didn't even bat an eye when I put my spear to their throat." She pointed out before yawning.

"They're like that, not afraid of weapons when they know the confrontation can be handled with words, even if the other party doesn't want to use them." He explained, how he knew is a story for another time.

"Hm respectable. You seem to like them a lot, otherwise you wouldn't have brought them over." She quipped.

"Yeah, they. Yes, they mean a lot to me." Kaeya said.

And he realized his house wasn't a home until you walked in.

#kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin #gensin impact #kaeya alberich #kaeya fluff #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader #rainbowwritings

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anunvalidcritic · 4 years ago

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INVINCIBLE: S1-EP8

(DISCLAIMER: MY OPINION IS MY OWN AND CAN BE DEEMED INVALID TO THOSE WHO DON’T CARE FOR IT.)

It’s the last episode.... Let’s dive in boys, girls, and non-binary folks!!!

WHERE I REALLY COME FROM

Is it just me or did this week go by really fast??? (went by to fuckin’ fast bcuz I fuckin’ forgot!)

alright so we’re starting off by staring at the grass... that’s a pretty calm start..

nvm it’s raining blood

INVINCIBLE looks sick asf

well, I’m glad that was his first reaction

“It’s me Mark, It’s just me.” - OMNI-MAN

BRO VILTRUMITES ARE FUCKIN’ SAVAGES

DEBBIE has always been a baddie

Bro OMNI-MAN’s storyline is fuckin’ amazing

“You love me, you love Mom! I know you do.” - INVINCIBLE MARK

go ahead and that shit out now my dude

“Do you have any idea how long we live? The older we get, the slower we age. Viltrumite DNA is so pure you’re nearly full-blooded. You’ll live for thousands of years. Do you understand what that means? Everyone you know and love will be gone before you even look thirty.” - OMNI-MAN

well damn thanks for dropping this knowledge on us, sir.

ICONIC DIALOGUE

OMNI-MAN - “I do love your mother. But she’s more like a... a pet to me.”

MARK - “A pet?”

OMNI-MAN - “This is the only way, Mark.” *as he reaches for MARK’s shoulder*

MARK - “Don’t touch me!”

NO THIS MOTHERFUCKER DIDN’T!!!!! DID Y’ALL HEAR WHAT HE JUST SAID!!!??!!?!?!?! I CAN’T DO THIS BRO!!!!!!

go off MARK, talk yo shit!

“I don’t give a shit about Viltrum. And I don’t care if I live a fuckin’ million years. This is my home and I won’t let you destroy it!” - INVINCIBLE

Bro, don’t let your daddy beat yo' ass! You are a grown man now.

dude, this title for the last episode is fucking exceptional!

those dudes in the jets are gonna lose their fuckin’ lives

You know, it’s unfortunate that they know that shit is just a distraction for him and not life threating.

He didn’t have to demolish that man like that...

this man is ruthless

“Did seeing that man lose his life distrube you? Did it hurt you?! Well, let’s see how you handle this.” - OMNI-MAN

👁 👄 👁

Don’t you just love it when motherfuckers just stop and stare when they see a disaster happening??

Now I understand that the building is more than likely collapsing on it’s own, but I wouldn’t be surprised if his dad is pushng it from the other side.

They’re really fuckin’ up Chi-Town right...

I could’ve told you that woman wasn’t gonna make it...

as evil as this man is... his character is amazing

I love seeing MARK rage this dude just goes in!

“For the first time in your life, I’m telling you the truth.” - OMNI-MAN

what is he aboour.

THAT WASN’T FUCKIN’ NECCESSARY!!!!!!!!!!!!

... their suits need more than a deep dry cleaning

He didn’t have to swerve MARK like taht!

the clouds look nice...

okay, that’s enough OMNI-MAN!!

I wish they would’ve at least kept ZACHARY QUINTO’s voice because I miss the guy

See, this episode is a prime (pun intended) and I mean a PRIME example of how raising your kids with a good upbringing is important. If MARK was raised the way OMNI-MAN had intended to raise him, then he would’ve been a complete asshole... an extremely strong asshole, but an asshole.

you know this is very triggering... RIP GLENN

“You wanna die for this planet? Fine. What’s seventeen more years? I can always start again... make another kid.” - OMNI-MAN

FLASHBACK

YOUNG MARK = LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL

“Look at Mark. You and I made him. He’s ours. When he feels joy, we feel joy. See that look on his face. How can you see this and not feel the same way. As we get older it’s harder to feel that.” - DEBBIE

GOD! Can Sandra Oh be my fuckin’ mom!?!?!

NOLAN still ain’t shit....

~~~~~~

I like how he had that flashback while he was beating his son to a pulp

homeboy has to get dentures now...

only a narcissist would say some shit like this

“You dad, I’d still have you.” - MARK

that’s fuckin’ heartbreaking....

ik it’s not funny but MARK looks horrible..

looks like OMNI-MAN went back home cryin’

AMBER feelin’ like a complete dick as she should!! (I was rooting for y’all)

how long was he out??

DEBBIE you married an evil motherfucker, but it’s not your fault

Who tf cursed MONSTER GIRL?? She must’ve said or done some foul shit... And who tf fucked up CECIL’s face??

let it out DEBS let it out..

ik tf AMBER just didn’t!! deadass thought it was EVE...

lol the way WILLIAM saved that was hilarious!!

“We can try but it’s literally all anyone is tlking about in the world” - WILLIAM

come on now dude

😆 I could’ve sworn DUPLI-KATE looked asian and not white like EVE. WILLIAM is trifflin’

I was gonna say during the montage clip I knew one of those species looked familiar.

MARK + ALLEN THE ALIEN = BEST BUDS

Mars is gettin’ fucked up from the ground up.

ICONIC DIALOGUE

ALLEN THE ALIEN - “What’s the plan in the meantime?”

INVINCIBLE - “Finish high school, I guess.”

ALLEN THE ALIEN - “Oh, alright good. Sounds good. What is high school?”

_____

I liked the way it ended! It’s unfortunate that we must bid ado to this lovely grotesque show of INVINICBLE, but alas we must in order to move onto greater things and the world beyond. Hopefully, they’ll get confirmed for a second season because I really don’t want them to end on such an extraordinarily high point...

List of Episodes with link :) ~

EP1 - EP2 - EP3 - EP4 - EP5 - EP6 - EP7 - EP8

EDIT: Thank god Amazon has decided to renew the series for not just the second season but a third as well!!!! FUCK YEAH!!

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pokemoneverlastingorchard · 2 years ago

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Download 1/17/23

Link to the blog page that has the download

Technically it’s actually 1/16/23 but after I started uploading the game I got distracted with something else and I forgot about it. So for a full day this build was up and I told nobody about it by accident.

Glitch and oversight fixes:

-The game shouldn’t crash at start up anymore. I don’t know if it was actually doing that for anybody not trying to play the game on debug mode though. But I did fix it.

-I’m going to go insane so I’m just going to say this clearly. I fixed the ladders in Supri Cave. I did it so you’d go diagonally from some of the ladders this time. I swear I have to do this at least once before. I’m positive that the fucking transfer is moving on it’s own. If it moves again, I have this statement as proof that I changed it!

+(?)I started working on the full “dungeon crawler” game, but it was lagging pretty hard and preventing me from getting into the game through debug mode, so I deleted it. (I’m saving a copy of the game with it still there so if I want to I can make it a full game separately from this one at some point.)

Graphics:

-Slightly changed the male player’s hair so certain accessories won’t look weird when wearing them.

-Did other touch-ups for some outfits.

+Made some next-big-build sprites.

Story:

+Wrote more of Kalani’s post-marriage schedule.

Blog:

-Updated the “Your farm” page to include links going to mentioned pages, edited the berries section to be more vague since I’m changing things with the economy of the berries all the time, and I removed the Miltank Barn part of the page and replaced it with a link leading to the separate page talking about the barn.

-Updated the previously outdated Pomona Town page. (Not the screenshots though.)

-Actually added a link to “Your barn” to the directory.

Misc:

-I replaced the floor for the entrance to Caelestis since it was bothering me.

-I changed some dialogue for the request board so it’ll actually tell you what Pokemon people want for trading if you check again. Something that I should’ve done in the first place!

-So when I actually looked for something that will generate a random number of gold I found it. So now the money you earn from your Daycare (on Fridays, if Ollie’s working there) has a much wider range than 9 numbers. You can now get somewhere in between $500 and $30,000.

-I added an event that will trigger if you don’t pick up the Pokedex on day 1. I thought it’d be funny if Kiana would forget to just give it to you, but then I realized that people should have it. So I made Kiana leave you a note in your mailbox every day you don’t grab it, but she would forget about it the next time she’s working because she’d be focused on something else until you finally picked it up from the desk. I think some people got confused on that part so I just made a cutscene that’ll trigger after you get the letter and go to the lab.

+Started an alternative to outfits in case people are still reporting crashes relating to that.

#Remember Me #important #pokemon essentials #pokemon everlasting orchard #pokemon eo #pokemon eo update #pokemon fan game #pokemon fan games

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in-superbloom · 3 years ago

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did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

#anna writes #perhaps she does write after all #alright i'm gonna go hide somewhere now bye #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin fic #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin x oc #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #ashton irwin imagine #5 seconds of summer #5sos imagine #anna writes: rwylm

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appleflavoredkitkats · 4 years ago

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Manipulation of the Most Vulnerable

An Analysis of Fundy’s Dream in Las Nevadas Episode 3

i. INTRODUCTION

This essay is going to be analyzing the entirety of Fundy’s portion in Las Nevadas’ third episode. Like always, do not view this essay as gospel as I am not a flawless human being; I am merely giving my own personal opinions and thoughts about the scene. Additionally, all the people referred to in this essay pertains to the content creators’ fictional counterparts on the Dream SMP.

If you enjoy the essay, or just want to support me in general, reblogging the essay will mean so much to me! I work hard on these essays, so I do hope you get to enjoy them.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: manipulation, mentions of past violence, terrible mental states, possibly c!Quackity critical, insecurities, and self-worth issues

ii. QUACKITY’S BLATANT MANIPULATION AND THE DREAM SEQUENCE

What is a Legacy?

Legacy (ˈle-gə-sē)

“Something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past.”

As we begin discovering one’s purpose in life, naturally, we do anything in our power to fulfil them. But as we begin to do more, to get closer and closer to achieving our sense of purpose in this world, sometimes we have to ask ourselves: Is it enough? How much have I truly changed and impacted through my life’s purpose? Will what I do be deemed worthy enough for people to remember me by? Is this my legacy?

What is a legacy?

If you are a Hamilton fan like me, you might look at that and respond with “it’s planting seeds in a garden we never get to see.” But truly, what is a legacy? Can our legacies simply be defined by everything we’ve achieved in our lifetime no matter how big or small they might be, or is it defined by creating notable shifts in society that people will remember you by for centuries and centuries?

[full essay is under the cut! it’s 7k words :0]

To Quackity, your legacy is what something history remembers you by. Quackity is a very caring man, and at first, he believed he could guarantee his safety through pacifism. But after his conversation with Wilbur, he realized that the only way he can gain peace is through power, and to gain power, one has to be violent. That is the only way he could make a change in the Dream SMP, to guarantee his safety. He has to make as much noise as possible before he can finally lay low and rest.

And if his plans do succeed, if he can finally bring peace in the SMP despite achieving it through very torturous means, then he can have a wondrous legacy people can remember him by. To me, I’m not exactly sure if he prioritizes his safety through gaining power or his legacy more, but either way, a great legacy may be a byproduct of his plans for peace if executed correctly.

If he succeeds in creating a positive legacy for himself, a positive legacy for Las Nevadas, then there is a chance that he may guarantee that other people who join him may have a similar legacy as well.

This is what he promises to Foolish, Purpled, and Fundy. These three, in Quackity’s eyes, are people with the potential of being something, but have stayed on the sidelines for too long. So, knowing that the entire SMP has lacked recognition and respect for these three members, Quackity gives them a misleading ultimatum: Join Quackity and have a chance to finally be highly recognized in the SMP, or deny his request and become nothing.

The truth is, our legacies as human beings don’t have to be defined by how remembered we are if we don’t want it to be that way. But with Quackity’s charm and with how vulnerable Foolish, Purpled, and Fundy are, it’s easy for Quackity to make them believe whatever he tells them to believe.

Fundy’s Low Self-Worth

Out of the three, I think Fundy established his low sense of self-worth for the longest time. Ever since L’Manberg, it’s evident that Fundy didn’t like being infantilized by anyone. Despite this, Fundy is seen to appeal to any bout of recognition he can get. Whether it’d be Quackity giving him more recognition than Wilbur during the Elections, or Schlatt complimenting him on his hard work for Manberg, or him appreciating anyone who claims they want to adopt him, Fundy will easily appeal to recognition and praise. I’d even argue that he dictates his own self-worth depending on how much people give him recognition.

And now, with Fundy being the most isolated and alone he has ever been, he is very much vulnerable to, well, anything, really. If Quackity decides to manipulate Fundy to join Las Nevadas, he doesn’t have to do much. Even the smallest bouts of recognition, the smallest threats, the smallest anything can be enough to push him to do whatever Quackity wants because, again, Fundy is currently at his lowest state possible.

While I’ll discuss more on Quackity’s manipulation tactics later, we can easily denote how little Quackity did to make Fundy feel pressured enough to agree to his request. Fundy’s entire portion was literally thirteen minutes long. As much as Fundy stuttered and protested a bit when Quackity told him he didn’t matter, Fundy was mostly silent during the last few scenes.

Fundy depends on other people to dictate his self-worth, so when he’s the most alone he’s ever been, of COURSE he clings onto the first opportunity he gets to finally be remembered once again. No matter how many times he’s been warned by Phil and his dreams, no matter how much he can protest against Quackity, Fundy realizes that this is the best opportunity he can get to receive even an ounce of recognition.

Even if it is, well, fake. It’s better than nothing, he supposes.

Was the Quackity We Saw Real?

From what I’ve understood, I think that it is heavily implied that Fundy’s dream sequence will become a reality. At 1:16:42 of Quackity’s stream, Dream!Quackity says, “Fundy! My good ol’ friend, how’ve you been?” which is exactly the same thing the real Quackity says in 1:25:57.

Additionally, a lot of Quackity’s word choices in Fundy’s dream sequence make so much more sense if you applied them in real life. This is how I believed the entire dream sequence could be applied to reality: Fundy wakes up in the same home with Quackity outside of his door. They stroll through nature for a while before approaching the remains of L’Manberg. While their conversation about the decorations might’ve been done above the crater, I think that the entire Camarvan scene was set in Eret’s museum, something not too far away from the crater. Afterwards, the last scene takes place they return back to L’Manberg, entering Eret’s abandoned tower.

I’m going to list down everything said that could possibly hint that this dream sequence will happen in real life. There’ll also be some additional notes for certain quotes I’d love to expound on.

“Take a walk with me, take a little walk with me. Don’t you enjoy the fresh air? Don’t you enjoy the beautiful outdoors? I sure do.” - Quackity, 1:16:52-1:17:01

If we substitute the current scenery with where Fundy’s home actually is, I do think it makes a lot more sense as Fundy kind of lives in the middle of the woods.

“What do you mean ‘how am I here’, Fundy? I found you! It’s exactly what I wanted to do- was to find you. And you know- you’re a hard person to find. But I’m glad I found you!” - Quackity, 1:17:16-1:17:27

Fundy has recently built a new house in the middle of the woods and has not told anyone in the SMP about his whereabouts. Again, if you substitute the current scenery with Fundy’s actual home, then what Quackity’s saying makes a lot more sense.

“Fundy, don’t you enjoy the great outdoors? It feels so free! It feels so full of life, full of energy, don’t you think, Fundy?” - Quackity, 1:17:37-1:17:49

Something something, substitute the scenery with the forest Fundy lives in, something something.

“What is this place?”

“Fundy, you should know this place better than anyone. You should know it better than anyone, Fundy, what do you mean ‘what is this place’? You should know it better than anyone else, Fundy. You and me, actually! You don’t remember what this place is, what it means? Come on, don’t tell me you already forgot.” - Fundy and Quackity, 1:18:03-1:18-26

If this was set above the crater, this piece of dialogue also makes sense.

“What is all of this doing here? It was gone, it was blown up-”

“This was home, Fundy, it was home! No, Fundy, it’s always been here, we’ve always been here. You and me, we’ve always been here.” - Fundy and Quackity, 1:19:48-1:20:01

To explain the Camarvan- I do think that there’s a possibility that they entered Eret’s museum and viewed it from there. Additionally, Quackity’s response can still be applied in the real world if you interpret his statements as “Well, it’s blown up, but we still consider this place as home! ‘Home’ still exists, you know?”.

While we can’t fully confirm whether Fundy’s real meeting with Quackity went as it did in the dream, I do think that something would have happened in a similar fashion. After all, we did see Fundy at the end of Foolish’s stream “Las Nevadas - Dream SMP (LORE)” at Las Nevadas. Maybe he was also manipulated and offered the same thing Dream!Quackity offered in real life?

Quackity’s Manipulation

Here comes the juicy bit. If we assume that what Quackity did in Fundy’s dream will also happen in real life, then I will refer to everything in that dream as fact, okay? Now, I think it’s clear to everyone that Quackity is a really good manipulator. He is meticulous with his word choice and can make his statements sound believable through his charm.

I’ll try explaining all the tactics he uses here, then later, I’ll list down everything Quackity says and try to connect it back to different manipulation tactics I’ve mentioned.

The tactic Quackity uses the most is how he uses pronouns. When Quackity refers to himself with the “I” pronoun, he always seems to present as a good friend to Fundy, as Fundy’s savior. This can also be applied when he uses the “we” pronoun as he implies that certain accomplishments were only achieved when Fundy did it WITH Quackity. When he refers to Fundy using the “you” pronoun, he always does it to remind Fundy of certain mishaps and mistakes. As if to say that these awful situations were Fundy’s fault, not Quackity’s. This tactic is mostly used for victims of manipulation to believe that their manipulators are their saviors, that their manipulators can do no wrong. At the same time, they begin to doubt their own selves as their manipulators continuously associate these victims with negative words.

Another tactic Quackity uses is praise and speaking on behalf of Fundy. It doesn’t happen as much as the first tactic, but at certain parts, Quackity seems to be instructing Fundy what he’s feeling. That he doesn’t matter, that he won’t be remembered; you don’t even notice that Fundy barely even spoke in the dream sequence because Quackity mostly spoke on his behalf. Additionally, during the L’Manberg scenes, Quackity continuously praised Fundy. Not only does the constant praise butter Fundy up, but it also preys on Fundy’s insecurities. If Fundy depends on others to dictate his self-worth, then of COURSE Quackity praising Fundy could be easily seen as manipulation as Quackity uses Fundy’s insecurities for his own advantages.

Another tactic Quackity uses is that he constantly brings up their past of working together to make it seem like it’s them versus the rest of the world. Never has Quackity looked like the flawed person in the conversation. Never has Quackity brought up the fact that they’ve fought multiple times in New L’Manberg . Quackity made it seem like that the others were in the wrong, that they were both victims of unfortunate circumstances, but Quackity always remarked that they were able to make it through everything together.

Lastly, this is less frequent, but at certain parts of the sequence, Quackity outright ignores questions uttered by Fundy and changes the subject to talk about something else. Literally just ignored him. Do I even have to explain why Quackity ignoring Fundy could possibly be a manipulation tactic to make Fundy feel more inferior?

Now, there are probably more manipulation tactics I’ve missed, but granted, I am NOT in any way an expert and wouldn’t know the specifics when it comes to gaslighting. Even then, we can all agree that Quackity is, indeed, manipulating Fundy, and to further expound on this, I’m going to list down every single line or action done by Quackity and explain why they could be considered as manipulation.

I do want to mention that, when viewing some of these lines alone, they may not SEEM to be manipulative, but we also have to consider that successful manipulation and gaslighting is a gradual process. A single, harmless-seeming line can be damaging when you view the full scope of things.

“Fundy! My good ol’ friend, how’ve you been?” - Quackity, 1:16:42-1:16:46

A lot of the quotes here are going to follow the first tactic I’ve mentioned where Quackity continuously uses first-person pronouns to make Fundy think positively when it comes to Quackity, but uses second-person pronouns to antagonize Fundy.

“What do you mean ‘how am I here’, Fundy? I found you! It’s exactly what I wanted to do- was to find you. And you know- you’re a hard person to find. But I’m glad I found you! I think that’s the most important thing: that we are here together now. And I am finally speaking to you- I think that’s the greatest thing!” - Quackity, 1:17:16-1:17:35

This, I think, is the first comment from Quackity that screams “SUS.” While we can interpret it in a literal sense, we can also view it in a metaphorical sense. Quackity is claiming that Fundy is hard to find, but despite the difficulty, Quackity found him! Amongst everyone in the SMP, it’s Quackity who is the first to find him! That’s what Quackity wants Fundy to believe: that Quackity is his savior for finding him, that it’s better for Fundy to even be here WITH him. The “greatest thing”, apparently, is Quackity being able to speak to Fundy, and nothing else.

“Fundy, don’t you enjoy the great outdoors? It feels so free! It feels so full of life, full of energy, don’t you think, Fundy?” - Quackity, 1:17:37-1:17:49

While I’m not sure if this counts, I do think Quackity’s insistence that Fundy enjoys the great outdoors kind of implies that Quackity is speaking on behalf of Fundy. Additionally, he doesn’t even let Fundy reply to his question? At the beginning, he repeatedly asks Fundy how he is, but he never gives Fundy an opportunity to reply. Either Fundy seems too dazed out of thought, or Quackity immediately interrupts Fundy and says something else.

Now we get to the “you” pronouns. Quackity repeatedly insists that Fundy should have known better, or Fundy should have had better memory. This adds onto the idea that Quackity attributes positive ideas to himself, but whenever something’s wrong, he blames it on Fundy.

“You’re telling me you don’t remember that place right there? When we had the huge elections? Or how about… Fundy, do you remember when we tried to kill Technoblade and we failed? That’s where I got my scar! What about the festival? Do you remember the festival, Fundy? The balloons and the decorations. I never had anything to do with the decorations, Fundy, I- I just… sat back and watched people do it because I’m not good with decorations but… you know.” - Quackity, 1:18:29-1:19:05

Now, Quackity begins to remind Fundy about their joint past together. While not seemingly manipulative, Quackity is basically trying to remind Fundy that there are multiple instances in the past where they were allies, implying that now, they must still be allies. Quackity is trying to remind Fundy that they worked best when they were together, giving Fundy the impression that Quackity is someone to be trusted. It doesn’t help when later on, we realize that Quackity is doing all this sweet talk only for him to convince Fundy to join Las Nevadas. Additionally, during Quackity’s spiel, he continues to ignore a lot of Fundy’s remarks and questions.

“What about the elections? You were part of the elections, do you remember? You were- you ran for president too!”

“I did! And I got the worst votes. I did not even get close…”

“But you tried and I think that was the most important thing. You ran with Niki and you made the Coconut party.”

“Yeah! We tried.” - Quackity and Fundy, 1:19:14-1:19:36

Quackity’s buttering him up. Most people tend to ignore Fundy and Niki’s party in the elections, and I think this is the first time I’ve seen someone acknowledge it in a positive manner? Again, Fundy thrives when receiving recognition, so complimenting him is an easy way for Quackity to get Fundy to trust him. But of course, he has to keep compliments to a minimum because he doesn’t want Fundy feeling too confident about himself.

“Is that what I think it is? It’s the van, Fundy! Do you remember all the great memories we had in the van?”

“What is all this doing here? This is crazy!”

“No, this is home, Fundy! This is home.”

“What is all of this doing here? It was gone, it was blown up-”

“This was home, Fundy, it was home! No, Fundy, it’s always been here, we’ve always been here. You and me, we’ve always been here.” - Quackity and Fundy, 1:19:41-1:20:02

Quackity is asserting that a lot of good memories were born from the van. Granted, he does acknowledge that they’ve had some arguments in the van later on, but their conversation seemed too… optimistic. Quackity convinces Fundy that they’ve shared a lot of good experiences when they were in the van together even if we KNOW that in NLM, most of the time, they only used the van when they had to discuss an awful issue. But Quackity here is convincing him that them working together in this van was HOME to Fundy. He’s convincing Fundy that he can always find a home in their friendship when we know that’s probably false.

“The amount of times we came here when we were incredibly stressed, but we always- we always figured out a way, I mean, I guess.”

“We always figured out a way, Fundy, we always figured out a way.” - Fundy and Quackity, 1:20:15-1:20:26

And see? The manipulation is working. Fundy’s beginning to look at his past with a positive light because Quackity’s trying to convince him that all the experiences they’ve shared together are great. And Quackity agrees to Fundy’s statement! Again, he’s building up Fundy’s trust in Quackity by convincing him that their moments together in the past were all sunshine and rainbows.

“Oh that brings back memories- I mean, I don’t know if they’re good memories- It’s literally a drug lab, but… yeah, you know-”

“Everything is good memories, Fundy. All the experience and everything we did together. You know I wasn’t here for the start but I was sure part of everything, you know, towards the end, when it was all, you know, just blatantly destroyed. But it’s here now! That’s what matters is that it’s here, and that it’s never actually gone.” - Fundy and Quackity, 1:20:41-1:21:09

And here’s Quackity reaffirming that yes, every experience we had in the past is good, and that we should acknowledge them as good memories. Fundy seemed like he was going to doubt the goodness of his memories, but Quackity immediately interjects, convincing him that it is. He tells Fundy that their moments together is really all that matters. These so-called “good memories” still exist, and Quackity implies that these memories can still live on because their friendship is still as stable as it was in the past. Something something, Quackity convinces Fundy that their friendship is good so he can build trust and get Fundy to do whatever he wants later on, something something.

“Fundy do you remember when- when L’Manberg was destroyed? It was blown up to pieces!”

“Everything was gone. It was done multiple times. Every time it was reb-”

“There was nothing we can do about it. There’s nothing we can do about it- unless you can do something about it.” - Quackity and Fundy, 1:21:22-1:21:41

Now here’s where Quackity begins to ask something from Fundy. Here, Quackity’s seen leading Fundy to Eret’s tower, so you know things are about to go down. Here, Quackity implies Fundy can do something about this cycle of violence, but what Quackity wants Fundy to do seems kind of… vague. He’s leading Fundy on, motivating Fundy he can do something, but not mentioning what he can actually do. This is so that afterwards, when Quackity presents his plan, Fundy may believe that it may help stop the cycle of violence in the SMP. Additionally, Quackity implies that all of this depends on Fundy, so Fundy may feel obligated to accept the plan, but in reality, Quackity may be possibly recruiting Fundy for his own benefit.

“Look, look up! It’s a tower.”

“The amount of battles we’ve fought from up here… down on Dream and Technoblade as well.”

“Yeah, Fundy! You remember that, right?”

“Yeah, I do!”

“Remember all these things we did for our country. It was great!” - Quackity and Fundy, 1:21:52-1:22:13

This is like the millionth time Quackity asks if Fundy remembered a certain “good” experience they had, as if he really wanted Fundy to believe that they were genuinely good memories. And here, we finally see Fundy respond positively, now fully believing that these memories were, indeed, great. It seems like Quackity has finally gotten Fundy to trust him completely by this point.

“But you know what, Fundy? Those memories don’t matter. None of that matters, Fundy. All these structures, all these things we’ve built together- it’s here now, but it’s really gone! And none of it matters, nor will it ever matter. Fundy, if you think about it, YOU don’t matter.” - Quackity, 1:22:18-1:22:46

Here we go, boys. Quackity begins to reveal his true intentions to Fundy. Here, he practically confirms that he doesn’t actually think highly of those past experiences as much as he claimed he did earlier. Again, all of it was a ploy for him to get Fundy to trust him, and now, Quackity begins to reveal his true plans. Additionally, Quackity begins discussing legacies again, or I guess, his perception of what a legacy is. This view on legacies is honestly quite an awful perspective for Fundy as he already has trouble finding a sense of self-worth on his own. Now that Quackity is telling him that he’s nothing unless he does something about it, Fundy’s perception on self-worth will become even more skewed.

“Along with all these structures and everything in ‘em, you’re gonna fade away just like it. Do you see how the sand in the winds slowly deteriorates the structure that we stand upon right now? That’s what’s gonna happen to you, but it’s not gonna be sand and wind, it’s gonna be time, Fundy. It’s gonna be time. You don’t matter, Fundy, that’s what you have to realize. You WON’T matter if you don’t change things up. That’s why you’re in the position that you’re in right now.” - Quackity, 1:22:49-1:23-26

Again with the same legacy talk. As much as we know that Quackity is a master manipulator, I still wonder if he genuinely wants to provide Fundy a real legacy, or is trying to use Fundy to benefit his own legacy. Either way, no matter how genuine Quackity’s concerns are, this perspective on self-worth is still a toxic philosophy for someone like Fundy who needs to learn that self-worth depends on yourself and not some other factors like other people and legacies.

Also, gotta mention that he’s doing the pronoun switch again. He didn’t say “I think you don’t matter,” he says, “YOU don’t matter”. It’s very subtle, but Quackity switching pronouns means he’s trying to emphasize that these horrible things Fundy is experiencing is Fundy’s fault entirely.

“But, you know what? It doesn’t have to be that way, and I can help you. I have big plans, Fundy. I have big plans… and, you know what? As a fellow cabinet member, I wanna bring you in on these plans because I know the experience you have. I know what you’ve been through because I’ve been through it as well. You can change things and be something. You don’t have to end up like this structure: alone, destroyed, nothing else to it. Fundy, Fundy, all you have to do is join me. Join me in my projects. I’ll give you the tools to succeed. I’ll give you the tools to finally be someone because you’re nobody right now. Nothing’s gonna happen if you let time take you away, Fundy. I can help you be someone. You can join me, Fundy. You can join me in the things that I’m doing. And I know you have the capacity to do big things, but the way things are right now, you’re not gonna be anything. You’re never gonna be anything. You’re gonna end up just like this building. You’re gonna end up alone. You’re gonna let time take you away. You’re going to die, and no one is going to remember you… just like it happened in L’Manberg. You understand now what I’m saying Fundy?”

“What do you expect me to do? What do you expect me to do?”

“Take the tools that I’m giving you, Fundy. Take the tools and do something big. I’m offering them to you right now. You can have ‘em. You can be someone else. You can be someone big. Fundy, I’m gonna give you ten seconds to decide.” - Quackity and Fundy, 1:23:46-1:25:31

And this is quite long, but notice the shift in pronouns. When using “you” like in the previous quote, Quackity attributed it with something negative, but now he’s using “I” and he’s attributing it to something positive. He claims that while Fundy might be in a terrible position, Quackity can save him, can help him.

Additionally, Quackity is trying to speak on Fundy’s behalf once more. He claims that he understands, describing what Fundy might possibly feel like in thorough detail. Now that Fundy trusts him, Fundy can’t protest. Sure, he did utter a few murmurs, but by the end of Quackity’s spiel, he somewhat agrees.

And he offers him the misleading ultimatum: join Quackity, or you will be nothing. With the amount of times Quackity has planted that Fundy is the cause of his own demise and the amount of times Quackity poses as a solution to Fundy’s own problems, of COURSE Fundy feels pressured to accept the offer. Even if he was warned by the book, even if Fundy is possibly smarter than what he leads on, Fundy was extremely gaslit to the point where he thinks accepting the offer is the most ideal choice. And that’s what he (presumably) does. He accepts it.

iii. POSSIBLE SYMBOLISMS

Just like Fundy’s first Las Nevadas lore stream, this stream is also littered with possible symbolisms. So, I’ll try my best to explain them all.

Experience Points and Numbers

Now, I want to emphasize that as much as I am a mathematics nerd, I may be calculating this incorrectly. But anyway, Fundy is seen to have two different levels: 3 in the overworld, and 7 in his dream.

Let’s focus on the overworld first:

So, as much as I’d like to dig into the number 3, I do think we have to take note of the EXP more than the level Fundy’s on. To get to the third level, you’d need 27 EXP. To calculate for the remaining, we have to denote that he needs 13 EXP to get to the next level. We have to note down that approximately 15/18 bars are filled, so 15/18 of 13 is approximately 11. I can get more into detail about the extra few bars filled, but trust me, it results in the same number when we round it off anyway, so we don’t need to explain that. Anyway, 11 + 27 = 38. 38 is a very familiar number, don’t you think? It’s the number of potatoes Fundy had in the “Fundy’s Mind” stream!

According to angelnumber.org, the number 38 means the following:

“The combination of these two numbers makes the number 38 a number which signifies joy and optimism, courage, finding creative ways to materialize abundance, reality, etc.

The essence of the number 38 in numerology are different kind of relationships, such as romantic ones, business partnerships, teamwork, cooperation, diplomacy, etc.

Number 38 people have a talent for dealing with people in a caring and creative way. They are born team-workers. They need interaction with other people to fully enjoy their lives. They are usually optimistic and have a gift of inspiring others to action.”

Needing interaction from other people, they say? Interactions that even come from people like business partners? And afterwards, they can materialize abundance, like financial success?

Besides that, if we connect the number 38 to gambling, 38 is very prominent in a game of roulette as in the American style of roulette, there are thirty-eight pockets in one wheel.

Now, what about Fundy’s level in the dream?

We can think of 7 as somewhat of a lucky number when it comes to poker as it connects to the lucky number 7 in slot machines.

If we want to look more into this, we gotta calculate for the EXP. To get to the seventh level, we need 91 EXP. To calculate for the remaining EXP, we have to denote that we need 21 EXP to get to the eighth level. Approximately, 8/18 bars are filled up, so we have to find the 8/18 of 21. 8/18 of 21 = 9.33333, or rounded off, it’s 9. Add 9 to 91, we get the perfect number 100.

According to angelnumber.org, the number 100 means the following:

“The angel number 100 signifies infinite potential, self – determination, isolation, wholeness, self – sufficiency and independence.

People who resonate with this number are very independent and self –sufficient.

They enjoy exploring new things and gaining knowledge. They don’t mind being alone and doing the things they enjoy. This number brings them leadership qualities and openness.”

This is interesting because the meaning here completely contradicts the meaning of the number 38. To me, I feel like this represents how Fundy is able to heal and to overcome his self-worth issues. He may feel like he needs to depend on other people, but in reality, Fundy’s self-worth can completely be honed by himself. This represents a Fundy who is finally able to find the true worth in himself without depending on other people’s input. But for now, this reality remains in Fundy’s head, in Fundy’s dreams, and he needs to find a way to make this become his true reality.

Additionally, going back to the gambling motif, 100 is the highest possible poker chip one can have when gambling. This can direct back to Fundy’s connections to Quackity, the person with the highest authority in Las Nevadas.

Color Symbolism (The Importance of Orange)

I’ve established this in an essay in the past, but orange is an important color to Fundy. If I remember correctly, cc!Fundy’s favorite color is orange, so I’d like to believe that, for Fundy, orange would represent “happiness” or “safety”.

The first time we see orange in his portion is actually outside of his dream: his bed.

And it’s quite interesting because in Fundy’s “Fundy’s Mind” stream, these three beds all used to be orange. From my understanding, these two extra beds were meant to represent two other people Fundy may consider as friends. In the “Fundy’s Mind” stream, Fundy showed that only Ranboo and Niki were online, implying that the two extra beds were for them. If orange is meant to represent happiness, then it's implied he viewed Niki and Ranboo as his source for happiness.

But now, the two beds next to him are white, implying that he lost his sources of happiness. As if he had stopped communicating with Niki and Ranboo entirely.

Other places we see orange are in the dream itself.

Instead of the typical yellow sand desert we expect from Fundy’s dreams, we see a badlands biome. Yes, the name of the sand is “Red Sand”, but I don’t care because it just LOOKS orange, okay? It’s interesting that instead of yellow, the desert poses as Fundy’s favorite color. Orange is a safe color for Fundy, but we also have to remember that this is still a desert. Under the guise of Fundy’s favorite color is something that represents isolation and loneliness - fitting for a stream that’s about manipulation, no?

Additionally, on the way to the ruins of L’Manberg, Fundy and Quackity are guided with blue lanterns.

Blue is orange’s complementary color. We can think of it as orange’s opposite, representing everything that orange does not represent for Fundy. So, if blue can represent something that isn’t happiness and safety, and Quackity is leading Fundy to follow these blue lanterns, then these blue lanterns can be seen as a sign of deceit, of danger. And Fundy follows them anyway.

Entering the Camarvan

This was incredibly subtle, but I find it interesting that Quackity was able to open the Camarvan’s doors when Fundy has mentioned he was never able to do it in his own dreams. This can lead back to the idea that Quackity wants to present himself as someone great, as someone akin to a savior to Fundy. Because if Fundy can’t access the Camarvan in his dreams, and Quackity can, then he might view Quackity as superior in some way. He’s weak, he can’t do anything, but Quackity can, so naturally, he thinks of him as superior.

In the Shadows

This one is the most obvious, but by the end of Fundy’s portion, Quackity is seen slowly inching closer and closer to the shadows. To me, this represents that Fundy isn’t going to be uplifted by Quackity’s offer at all. Quackity is literally dragging him into the shadows even more, which is ironic considering the fact that he stated that he will help Fundy become more recognized. But the metaphor speaks volumes: Quackity is going to pull Fundy into a dark, dark place. His offer isn’t as nice as it sounds, and Fundy needs to be incredibly careful.

Hiding His Inventory

When Fundy wakes, he completely hides his inventory. He does this a lot throughout the stream, and while I don’t want to overanalyze since I know this might just be a cinematic choice, I can’t help but feel like this is a metaphor for Fundy losing himself. We don’t see his hand, we don’t see his inventory, his health or anything, we just see his surroundings, and most importantly, we see Quackity. Only Quackity.

iv. HARKENING BACK TO THE “FUNDY’S MIND” STREAM

As much as we still have many questions about the semantics of Fundy’s dreams, I do think there are a few things from this stream that did clarify certain aspects of the first stream. If not, there are at least certain parallels that we can’t exactly ignore either.

Quackity is the Forewarned “Him”

Do not join him.

Whatever he asks of you.

Do NOT join him.

his plans aren’t as nice as they sound.

his intentions aren’t what you think they are.

he will use you

he will destroy you

everything you ever loved

everyone you ever cared about

do not join him

This one is pretty self-explanatory. At this point, I do want to think that Quackity is, indeed, the “him” being referred to here. I do want to keep my mind open for future possibilities as the Dream SMP is littered with red herrings, but for now, it just makes the most sense that the book is referring to Quackity.

Additionally, from what the book mentions, it seems like Quackity doesn’t genuinely want to help Fundy. To be fair, we can’t fully be sure that Quackity’s intentions are purely evil, but the book does imply that Quackity only views Fundy as another pawn.

The Dangers of Sleeping for Too Long

The signed book in Fundy’s first dream seems to imply that there are consequences to staying in the dream world for too long. In my opinion, Fundy’s dream in Las Nevadas’ third episode shows what might possibly happen if Fundy stays for too long. The more Fundy uncovers the truths about his future, the more he gets exposed to traumatizing experiences like the one he had with Quackity.

Additionally, it’s been hinted by Fundy that when he wakes, he can’t exactly remember what his dream is about, but he can recall the emotions he’s felt while having them. So, if Fundy can only remember what he felt while dreaming, then the dread and horror he felt while witnessing nightmares pass over. The main con of this is that even if Fundy witnesses these future-predicting events in his dream, he won’t be able to avoid them when he wakes because he can’t remember them. So, all his dreams can do is literally traumatize him. No matter how many times it can warn him about Quackity, Fundy won’t even remember them. All he can remember is a sense of dread which only makes him more vulnerable in real life as his mental state worsens.

Hooded Figure

This kind of fits under the symbolism category, but to me, it’s interesting that both the hooded figure in the first dream and Quackity in the most recent dream kind of have the same blocking. Fundy goes outside and a figure waits for him, standing directly across Fundy’s door.

If the hooded figure is Quackity, it is interesting that they chased Fundy as if intending to murder him. Again, another warning for us to not trust Quackity.

v. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR FUNDY?

In the middle of writing this, Fundy decided to do a lore stream where he finally joins Las Nevadas, so we kinda know what’s going to happen. That lore stream was pretty interesting because a lot of the manipulation tactics I’ve mentioned earlier were used by Quackity once more to further convince Fundy to stay in Las Nevadas.

That’s not to say Quackity doesn’t genuinely believe in all the words he’s said to Fundy. I do think Quackity does believe in his statements on legacy and loneliness, but the thing we have to question is whether Quackity genuinely cares about Fundy’s wellbeing wholeheartedly. Because, let me be frank: if Las Nevadas ever gets terrorized, and Fundy’s life would be in danger, I don’t think Quackity would genuinely want to save him. It’s already heavily implied that Fundy is going to be used by Quackity, but I’m genuinely curious as to why. We know Quackity does want him to work there, but what are the specifics? What specific role does he want Fundy to play? Why is he going so far as to give Fundy a plot of land just for him to stay? What does Quackity specifically want from Fundy?

Again, I’m not sure, and all will be revealed in the future, but just know that I do not trust Quackity at all. He may have some true intentions but we know Quackity will do anything as long as it benefits whatever plan he has up his sleeve.

And I have to emphasize that if Fundy ever has a breakdown or experiences a traumatic event, it is NEVER going to be his fault. Because as much as we can say that “Fundy is bringing his own demise,” we have to remember that Quackity is the real mastermind behind anything that happens in Las Nevadas. Believing Fundy or any of Las Nevadas’ coworkers are at fault for something Quackity enabled is exactly what Quackity wants us to believe.

Again, if any of the Las Nevadas members ever have a mental breakdown, or lose a canon life, there’s a good chance that Quackity knew this was going to happen and allowed it to happen in the first place. All coworkers at the moment are victims of Quackity’s manipulation, and we always have to keep that in mind.

vi. CLOSING REMARKS

Like I mentioned earlier, I am not a saint, so please do not view this essay as gospel. If you do enjoy it, feel free to like, reblog, and share it to other people! I’d appreciate any amount of support I get! If you want to discuss this topic further, feel free to message me or reply to this post!

Special thanks to Fundy, Quackity, and everyone else who participated in this lore stream. Additional special thanks to Alyssa for beta reading! :D

#fundy #dream smp #mcyt #quackity critical #long post #dream smp analysis #dsmp analysis

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sweetwatermeloncolors · 2 years ago

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✦GUIDELINES✦

˗ˏˋ ˖ Rules || Character || Verses || Promo ✶

✦ Spanish/Mexican is my first language, so I´m sorry if I misunderstood your message at first or if I typed something incorrectly. I´m still learning and I suffer because of that.

✦ Blogs que hablan español son bienvenidos!

✦ Icons, banners, and other edited stuff were made by me credited like @geluatekurama

✦ I don´t like to be asked about RP or stuff coming from this blog in my principal blog.

✦ I would really appreciate it if we can keep this blog (as well as my other blog) completely away from any drama. I´m sorry, but I tend to be really bad at dealing with drama or problems outside my comfort zone... Still, If I have done something wrong, my ask box and chat are always open.

✦ Personal blogs admitted as I also follow some personal blogs myself.

✦ Do not attempt to control or kill my muses, unless is part of a +18 RP and we have discussed such an option in private. If I say NO, is because is NO.

✦ I´m bad at trying to interact with others, but like I said before, my ask box is always open unless I have some serious matters to attend to, feel free to ask, play, or just speak about a random topic.

✦ Do not ask about my personal life unless I feel like I trust you!

✦ My life is quite busy outside of Tumblr, I just started college so I won't be a fast replier. Sorry if it takes me days to answer one silly or short ask.

✦ Time zones might be different. I write this as I have been asked to RP at night hours like 12pm or 3am...

✦ Just became 18 not long ago, still, some of my muses are minors between the ages of 11-15, which means that even if I'm an adult, and that I don't feel comfortable with using my minor muses on +18 / angsty situations, I will reply you in private that I won´t RP with you.

✦ Even when shipping is not obligatory, if I like the idea of one of my muses dating yours, then I´ll accept it (of course, respecting the age of my and your muses) Crossovers, and platonic friendships and OC-Blogs are also acceptable.

✦ I share verses with some mutuals I have outside this blog, so for more info about the verses I use, the original creators are credited in my verses post.

✦ If you want me to, I´ll tag a post with a trigger warning for any suggested material like murder, gore, suicide, etc. But only for RP threads, I will not reblog any post that actually talks about any of those themes...

✦ I´ll try to read others´ rules before asking and interacting, so I kindly ask you to do the same.

✦ I don't tend to write long threads, so I´m sorry if I just answer/reply with one line of dialogue. I am working with my writing on ingles, so is still difficult for me to find the right words

✦ Any further rules to be stated I will update this promptly.

✦Non-mutuals can still interact. You don't need to follow me so we can start to play.

✦ I may add other muses in the future, but if I do, I would start using them with no icons as it takes me a lot of time to make them. So if you see a new muse in my list with no icon, is ok, you can still interact with them.

✦ I also do fanart and sketches, some pieces I post on my principal blog, but that may change with time.

✦ Also, fanart can be reblogged.

✦Almost forgot to say that I´m not just a RESCUE BOTS RP blog, I'm also in some other fandoms like STATIC SHOCK, TF ARMADA, etc.

EDIT 1- I have edited my rules since I made a mistake. I thought that based on other RP rules would be ok, but it was not... So sorry for the users I bothered, I´ll do my best next time.

#guidelines #(rules are tha rules)#post #the little countess : priscilla pynch #the boy savior : cody burns #the lady lost forever : charlotte wayne|the griffin rock lady #the scientist : frankie greene #baby frog : cece greene #the photographer : george tracker|gyeong-ja #little builder : jimmy tracker|jin-gyu #the protection mind : vigil|vigilante #the metal golem : boulder #the widow mother : madeline pynch #stars for feedom : alexis thi dang #not her ilussion : miranda|mirage #see my reality : dwayne mccall #collection doll : cathy #robotic dog : wi-fido #[💝 in character || sush! they are watching us]#[❣ ooc || no pressure rest a bit]#[🎼 my request | that shines and i love it | another night alone]#[🔔 help you is my job | being nice is my choice]#[🚨 whats the emergency? | wait! what did they did this time now!!?]#[🕯 still looking for them | do you know where they are?]#[⚗ oh! i know the answer | let's experiment]#[🍼 frog plush mine! | little sister rambles | bedtime story please]#[📷 revealing information | training session started | crack some bad jokes dude!]#[🔧 talking with my hands | i need more screws | I have seen them]#[📡 can see and hear everything | initiate containment]#[🎨 the art of nature | take your time kiddo]

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moonbeamoclock · 4 years ago

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jet black (modern!mikasa ackerman x fem! reader)

a/n: goth mikasa lives in my head rent free.

trigger warnings: none, just pining

word count: 1.4k

Y/n and Mikasa had become fast friends their first semester of college despite the two of them being complete opposites. Mikasa was goth, wearing all black with occasional splashes of other dark colors; while y/n bounced around campus like a ball of sunshine opting for pastels and cutesy accessories. They spent so much time together that their styles had begun to slowly melt into each other adding splashes of each other’s aesthetics to their wardrobes.

It’s been a few months since the last time Mikasa dyed her hair it’s jet-black color, and her barely different natural black hair was starting to show through.

They were walking back from the dining hall after lunch one afternoon and Mikasa was huffing yet again about she wishes she could get her hair dyed.

“I just don’t have any money, it sucks. At this point, I’m thinking about just saying ‘fuck it’ and spending the money because I can’t take much more of people seeing my natural hair.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at her best friend being so dramatic and said, “Your natural hair color isn’t even that different than what you dye it, Mika, I don’t know why you’re freaking out about it.”

Mikasa felt her face go hot at the nickname and she tried to force down the butterflies swarming in her stomach.

“Yeah, but still,” she mumbled.

Y/n gasped and gave Mikasa’s shoulder a light shove “Why don’t you just use a box dye? I could do it for you!” she exclaimed excitedly.

The idea of Y/n being so close to her and touching her hair had her turning a blushing mess all over again.

She cleared her throat and pushed the words out of her mouth to hide her embarrassment. “I guess we could do that. We’ll have to go to the store then.”

“Let’s go now! You don’t have any afternoon classes, right? We’ll go to the store and come back dye it!” Y/n said eagerly. “C’mon let’s drop off our stuff in the dorms and then we can go!”

*timeskip: they go to the store to get the hair dye and come back to the dorms*

“Okay, so we should both change into some clothes we don’t care about then we’ll meet in the laundry room because we won’t get in trouble for ruining the sink down there.” y/n laughed walking down the hall to her room. Mikasa nodded and stopped at her own room, unlocking the door.

Once inside, Mikasa let out a nervous exhale. She couldn’t help but feel anxious about having to go downstairs and share such and commit such an intimate act with the person she was crushing on. She knew deep down that it was a horrible idea to develop feelings for her best friend like this especially since she was the only other person besides Eren and Armin who understood her. Just the thought of losing y/n as a friend caused her throat to grow tighter. She took a calming breath and quickly put on her ratty clothes and headed down to the basement.

Down the y/n was already setting up everything they’d need to do Mikasa’s hair. She stood in the basement in an oversized t-shirt and cozy sweatpants, hands covered in cheap plastic gloves shaking the bottle with the solution inside back and forth. Patiently waiting for Mikasa to join her. She let a smile crawl across her face as she thought about the grey-eyed girl. The two of them were polar opposites in every sense of the word, but they complimented each other so well. Y/n found herself constantly wanting to be in her calming presence.

“Hey” Mikasa’s quiet voice came from the doorway of the laundry room breaking y/n out of her little daydream.

“Hey, all set?” she replied.

Mikasa nodded as she sat down in the chair in front of y/n nervously playing with the skin on her fingers.

Y/n took the container of vaseline they had purchased at the store and gathered some of the on her gloved finger. She gently applied some to Mikasa’s hairline and ears before rising off the dirty glove quickly and moving on to the small squeeze bottle filled with dye.

She ran a hand through Mikasa’s hair along her scalp whispering “I’m gonna start, okay?”

The soft words combined with the feeling of y/n hand on her scalp had Mikasa’s eyes fluttering close and a sigh leaving her lips.

They sat in comfortable silence as Y/n worked on her hair, making quick work of covering every strand with the jet black liquid.

Finally finished, she set the now empty bottle on one of the many washing machines and moved to stand in front of Mikasa. Opening her eyes she took a sharp breath in at how close y/n had gotten to her face. With eyes filled with admiration, she watched as she meticulously made sure that each and every hair at the root of her head was covered in dye. A quick glance down at Mikasa’s obvious heart eyes sent y/n’s cheeks aflame. Biting her lip she shyly moved away from her.

“S-so the box says to wait 30 minutes before we wash it out.” y/n stuttered.

“O-okay,” she replied.

*another time skip so we all don’t have to sit through any awkward dialogue*

The timer went off startling both of you out of your quite giggling.

Y/n squealed, jumping down from her spot on one of the dryers “Now we have to wash it! Come over here.. and bring the chair please.”

Now sitting in front of the sink with her head tipped back, and y/n bent somewhat awkwardly over her body to reach her hair; Mikasa started to get that nervous feeling all over again. Y/n turned on the tap angling the faucet away from her head until the water warmed up. Mikasa let out a deep breath and closed her eyes as the warm water hit her skin followed by y/n’s hands slowly massaging the dye out.

“Your hands are gonna be black, you forgot the gloves,” Mikasa mumbled quietly

“It’s okay” y/n responded just as soft “I don’t mind.”

At that Mikasa risked opening her eyes to peak at the girl washing her hair. She was met with a view that should have been considered unflattering but to her, looked like heaven. Y/n’s face was mere inches from her’s, so close in fact that she could feel each puff of air fan across her face. She so desperately wanted to grab ahold of the girl above her and smash their lips together but balled up her fists instead to keep herself from reaching out.

Y/n glanced down, locking eyes with Mikasa who let out a pained whimper. She took a moment to take in the sight before her. Mikasa’s face was so warm that she could feel it just by being so close, her breaths were coming out in short puffs, and her eyes were frantically flicking between y/n eyes and her lips. Finally caving in Mikasa drew in a breath before leaning forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss.

Frozen for a few moments, y/n was knocked out of her daze by the feeling of Mikasa’s hand on the side of her face. She closed her eyes and angled her head to deepen the kiss even further, tightening the grip she had on her wet hair ever so slightly. The burning in both of their chest had them pulling away from each other out of breath only for Mikasa to place a few small quick kisses on y/n’s retreating lips, pulling a laugh from the girl.

“Um, as much as I would love to keep kissing you right now, you’re hair isn’t quite done yet.”

“Oh, yeah...sorry you can…” she trailed off and leaned her head back into the sink so she could finish.

As she scrubbed, both girls were quiet until Mikasa spoke up again, “Just so you know…..I really like you. A lot…like.....more than a best friend.”

A grin broke out across her face, ceasing her ministrations in her hair “Hmmm, that’s good because I really like you too.” she bent down and gave her a peck on the nose. “Now stop distracting me I’m trying to finish!”

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ssa-babygirl · 4 years ago

Text

Out of My League [Part 2]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: 4.5k (ohohohoho i went OVERBOARD with the dialogue here I am sorry for all the useless exposition)

Summary: Most things have changed in the last 10 years, but it’s safe to say that a few things stayed exactly the same. Mixed POV

Warning(s): Mentions of past bullying, mentions of cheating, mentions of kidnapping, general criminal minds stuff, cursing, VERY VERY BRIEF MENTION of a miscarriage and leukemia like it’s one sentence and that’s all

Author’s Note: The moment yall have been waiting for! They grow up so fast!! I’m going on a quick trip this week and then heading back to school a few days later, so the next part may take a little longer, but I’m super excited to write it!!

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

Las Vegas, Nevada, 2004

(Spencer’s POV)

My first case out on the field was not a pleasant one. Well, it rarely is, that’s what happens when you work for the FBI to catch serial killers. For the first couple of weeks at the BAU, I helped them consult on cases, but they weren’t sure I was ready to go out on the field with them. After I got my weapon certification, Gideon told me he wanted me to come along on the next case because I was familiar with the area. There had been a series of child abductions near Vegas, my hometown. I would have been much more nervous about traveling had I not been able to see my mom while I was there. I hadn’t visited her in a while and the guilt was gnawing at me.

The first day was brutal. Hotch made some of us go back to the hotel late at night, but it was hard for us to sleep. JJ hated working cases about children, so she went to have a quick drink at the hotel bar, where she promptly forgot her purse and had to call me from her room to go get it for her. I had no hope of getting any rest that night, so I figured I’d take a walk down the hall and try to clear my head.

There was no sign of the purse at first glance, no small black clutch on the bar like JJ said. But there was a woman cleaning glasses behind the counter, maybe she knew where the purse was.

As I approached the bar, the woman’s features took a familiar shape and triggered a distant memory. Seeing her face again was like coming home after a long drive without a map, squinting through the dark and hoping the headlights would get brighter when finally, you’re pulling onto a road that you know by heart.

I didn’t need to look at her nametag, I already knew who she was, but judging by her polite smile borne solely out of the courtesy required to work in the service industry, she didn’t recognize me. In her defense, I had grown about a foot and a half since the last time she saw me. And I got a freaking haircut.

“Y-Y/N?”

She looked up from her rags and scrunched up her face in confusion.

“Okay, so you definitely know me, and I am so sorry about this, but I can’t quite place it. You look so familiar, though, I just… I meet a lot of people with this job, I’m so sorry, I forgot your name.”

I grinned, she still had that same habit of apologizing every five seconds, “I don’t really have that problem, eidetic memory and all.”

Her eyes widened, “Spencer? Spencer Reid!”

I laughed and nodded.

“You’re so tall now! What has it been, like, 10 years? Oh my goodness, come here.” She awkwardly leaned over the bar and hugged me. She still used the same shampoo.

“How ya been, kid?”

“I’m good! H-How are you?”

“Doing fine, thanks. What brings you back to good ol’ Sin City?”

“I’m here for work.”

“Oh, and what are you doing now?” She leaned on the counter and gazed up with curious eyes, “Helping the doctors at Area 51?”

Good to know she still had jokes, “No actually, I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.”

“Woah, you’re a fed now?”

“Yeah, we’re investigating a series of--”

“Kidnappings. Yeah. Scary shit. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

“You close to catching the guy?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Any of the kids turn up?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We found one boy this morning. He… didn’t make it.”

Her face dropped to a look of worry I hadn’t seen since she took off my blindfold that day on the football field, “Name. I need a name,” her voice grew hoarse.

“I can’t really disclose that information.”

“Spencer, please. Every day my kid comes home from school and asks me if I was watching the news.”

I couldn’t deny the way my heart sank at the news, but I could sure as hell ignore it, “Y-You have kids?”

“One. Little Jamie. His best friend, Robbie, is missing.” Robbie Carter, age five, he’s been missing for the past two weeks. He’s likely dead, but we still haven’t found him.

“Every time someone misses school he gets scared they got taken too. Baby Boy doesn’t understand flu season yet.”

“How old is he?” I had to get her mind off of this. I don’t want to worry her.

“Five. Just started kindergarten. Wanna see a picture?” Seems like I succeeded.

“Sure.”

She whipped out her phone and pulled up a picture of Jamie on his first day of school, backpack far too big for his body. Y/N was posed next to him, the picture too small to show that she was crying ever so slightly.

“Adorable, right?”

I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face, “Cute kid. Looks just like you.”

She looked back at the photo and smiled softly, “Except the eyes. He’s got his dad’s eyes.”

I glanced down at her hand holding the phone and was greeted with a pleasant surprise, “I’m guessing Jamie’s dad isn’t in the picture?”

Offense flickered across her features for a second, her eyebrows twitching and lips pursing, “How’d you know?”

“No ring.”

“You do work for the FBI.”

“Would you mind telling me what happened?”

“You know, you’re supposed to be the one spilling your sorrows to the bartender, not the other way around.”

“You don’t have to tell me, just thought we could catch up, I haven’t seen you in ten years.”

She sighed, returning her phone to the front pocket in her apron, “Remember Kyle Brothers?”

“Oh, do I? Yeah, of course, I remember your high school boyfriend, Y/N. What tipped you off, the eidetic memory, or the fact he used to beat me up after gym class?” It was more like the intense rage and jealousy I had when they got back together after football season ended.

“God, see, I always knew he was an asshole, but it never seemed to faze me, I’m so sorry about that.”

“You did what you could. And you apologize too much.”

“Sor--”

She froze mid-word and made a face as she realized once again that she was about to apologize yet again. I stifled a chuckle, but she laughed and grabbed a rag from the counter to finish cleaning the glasses.

“So Kyle?”

“Yes, Kyle. We broke up again before college, I was going out of state and didn’t wanna do long distance, you know all that. I was in a really bad place during my senior year of college, so after graduation, I decided to move back home for a bit, spend some time with my mom--”

“How is she?”

“She’s great! Moved to D.C. with my dad a while back.”

“I should visit her, Quantico isn’t far.”

She returned a genuine smile, “She would love that.”

“Sorry I interrupted you, keep going.”

“You’re fine. Long story short, moving back home for a few months turned into having a one night stand with my ex. Which turned into us getting engaged nine months later while I’m exhausted and holding my son.”

“Well, that’s a fun birth story for Jamie.”

“Yeah, ‘Happy Birthday, sweetie, your father proposed to me while you were, like, an hour old and then cheated on me six months later.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” She popped the p, “Came home and heard two things: Jamie fussing in his sleep from the playpen and bedsprings squeaking in our room.”

“I’m guessing that you guys were done for good after that?”

“Nice detective work.”

“Technically, I’m a profiler, not a detective, as they typically work in local police departments and I work for the federal government, not a precinct--”

“Jesus, kid, you’re gonna put the poor lil lady to sleep,” I turned around and saw Morgan crossing the lobby to the bar, still in his work clothes.

“If I'm yawning it’s from my double shift, not his rambling. It’s been a while since I heard a good Spencer Reid knowledge dump.”

“You two know each other?” He leaned on the bar and I could sense him turning on the classic Derek Morgan charm.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Uh, Y/N, this is SSA Derek Morgan, we work together, Morgan, this is Y/N L/N, we went to high school together.” The “I had a huge crush on her” was silent.

“Nice to meet you, doll,” he reached out a hand to shake yours. His eyes lingered on you for a bit too long, and I recognized the look in her eyes from the way she talked to Kyle in the halls before our study sessions, and I didn’t like any of that one bit.

Derek turned back to me, “JJ sent you down here a while ago, she’s looking for you.”

I glanced at Y/N and tried to hide the cocktail of emotions in my mind, “I guess I just lost track of time.”

He probably caught onto something because his regular teasing smirk flashed on across his face, “You guess, sure, loverboy, I’ll be in our room. Nice meeting you, Y/N.” He left and she waved, watching him as he left.

“JJ?” She asked, turning back to me.

“Coworker of mine, she left her purse down here and sent me to get it for her.”

“Oh, Blondie from earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“She seemed nice. So pretty!” She reached below the bar and pulled out the small black purse that was left behind about an hour before, holding it up to me and cocking an eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“How long have you two been working together? Long enough to be more than coworkers?”

I laughed uncomfortably, “Uh, n-no, actually this is actually my first case on the field, before this I only really helped the team consult on cases, but this one was urgent and I wanted to visit my mom so they brought me along.”

“Well, send Diana my love.”

“Of course. And if you hear anything from Jamie about another missing kid, give us a call.” I reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, sliding it to her and leaving with a sympathetic smile, wishing I could say more.

(Reader POV)

About a week after you ran into Spencer, you were closely following the story as it unfolded on the news. Another kid had gone missing, the second in two weeks. His name was Drew Olson, he was a year older than Jamie. They didn’t find a body yet, so there was still hope. Robbie hadn’t turned up either, which was the best news you had about him. No other bodies have shown up yet, and the cause of death for the boy they found was starvation, so the guy probably didn’t want to hurt these kids.

Regardless of whether or not the situation was actually dangerous, the school still increased security, since two of the victims were students. The pickup line was heavily monitored by teachers and faculty to make sure all students went home with their parents. You had gotten there a bit later than usual, forcing you to the back of the crowd where you couldn’t see the kids as they came out of the building.

When you finally got up towards the front, there were only a handful of kids left.

And Jamie wasn’t one of them.

Panic started to twist your stomach into knots, but the rational part of your brain clawed at the inside of your skull saying he was just inside, he was waiting in a classroom, he was safe.

You pushed through to the teacher that was keeping track of names on her clipboard. She was younger, just about your age, and wore wire-framed glasses that complimented her dark braids. She gave a warm smile and asked for your child’s name.

“Brothers, Jamie Brothers.”

“Alrighty, let’s see--” she paused as her finger stopped over a name highlighted by a bright green, indicating that the child had been picked up: Jamie Brothers.

“He’s not here.”

“What? What do you mean he’s not here?” The part of your brain that said he was safe fucked right off and left you a shaking mess on the pavement. The teacher reached an arm out and held you by the elbow as your knees buckled beneath you. Other parents’ attention was suddenly directed towards you.

“Ma’am, the sheet says he was picked up already.”

“But by who? Not me! So who the hell took my son?” All eyes were on you as you didn’t even bother to control the volume of your voice.

“Mrs. Brothers, please remain calm, I’m sure there’s been a mistake, I can send someone in to find him inside the school.”

“Please…” You whimpered, unable to find your breath.

...Give us a call…

Spencer’s words echoed in your mind and you knew what you had to do, so you scrambled through your bag for the card you were given the week before. You frantically cursed under your breath as you searched for your wallet. You finally found it, taking it out with your phone so you could call the number on the card. It rang once, twice, three times before an unfamiliar voice crackled through on the other side.

“Agent Hotchner.”

“Are you with the FBI?”

“...Yes, who is this?”

“My name is Y/N L/N, Spencer Reid gave me this number if I knew anything.”

“Do you have information regarding the recent abductions?”

“My son’s been taken.” You could feel the lump in your throat nearly restricting any words from coming out.

“Hold on, ma’am, where are you?”

“I’m at the school, he’s not here. I came to get him and he’s not here, I don’t know what to do!”

“Miss L/N, stay put, we’re on our way.” The call ended with a click and suddenly the world went quiet. There was nothing but the rush of blood pounding in your ears. All you could do was stare blankly at nothing in particular as the phone fell from your hand, hitting the pavement, your knees following quickly behind. You felt the bruises on impact, but you couldn’t care less about how much pain you were in, not when you felt this numb. Your pain didn’t matter anymore, all that mattered was that Jamie was missing and you were powerless to help. The remaining parents surrounded you, all clutching the shoulders of their children, their safe children, the ones they didn’t have to call the fucking FBI to pick up from school today.

When your brain was able to process information again, you noticed the school parking lot had filled with police cars, including two large black SUVs. You squinted through the inappropriately bright sunlight and the bitter tears in your eyes to see a tall man in a dark suit approach you. Behind him, a scrawny young man in a plaid buttondown was following closely.

You recognized him right away this time.

“Spencer,” your voice was barely a whisper as you attempted to stand on your shaking legs. You looked straight past the man in the suit and scrambled over to him. Before you could even reach him, his arms were stretched out to you, enveloping you in a tight hug as soon as you were close enough.

Your heart had to be beating out of your chest, and you were sure he felt it against him. The tears running down your cheeks stained his shirt, soaking him to the skin as he cradled your head against his chest, trying to do whatever he could to make you feel safe again, no matter how scared he was.

The man in the suit was now joined by an older man in a brown jacket and the man you met at the bar the other night, Derek, you think his name was. The suit turned to you and Spencer and introduced himself as Agent Hotchner, the man you spoke to on the phone. He asked you to describe what happened when you arrived, if you saw anyone who looked out of place, if you saw evidence of a struggle. Spencer’s arms never left your frame the whole time you spoke.

“Thank you very much, Miss L/N, I promise we’ll find your son, we have time on our side. Reid, stay with her in the meantime, Morgan, go question the parents, Gideon and I will talk to the monitors and see if they knew who picked Jamie was picked up by.”

“Yes, sir.”

All the men left to complete their tasks except for Spencer, who was supposed to stay put with you. The second you were alone with him once again, your face returned to the spot on his dampened shirt where it had previously been. One of his hands was planted firmly on your upper back, the other stroking your hair between his fingers.

It’s strange, really. Last time you saw him he was just a kid. A brilliant, sweet, small kid. The kid who’s hair you’d fuck with. The kid you held after his bullies hurt him. Then you don’t see him for over a decade and suddenly the roles are reversed. He was tall enough to rest his chin on your head now, which you had mixed feelings about, but you couldn’t deny it calmed you down. Almost as much as his quick yet steady heartbeat drumming right in your ear. The kid was still skinny, but his hugs were still warm.

“You’re alright, we’re gonna find him,” he whispered into your hair, but you had a feeling those words weren’t only for you. After a few minutes, the three other agents returned to where you and Spencer stood, alerting the two of you that the team would be heading back to the police station where you were welcome to wait with them. Derek figured you were too shaken to drive yourself, so he offered to let you ride along with him and Spencer in the SUV, which you did not hesitate to accept.

Once at the station, you were greeted by the blonde from the bar. What was her name again?

“Jennifer Jareau, I’m the press liaison for the team. You can call me JJ.”

She sat with you while Spencer worked with the others on the case. You wanted to be updated whenever progress was made, but she told you that wasn’t totally possible. Regardless of how against the rules it was, she still gave you the profile. The unsub likely worked with children and knew them and faculty well enough to enter the building and take the kids without being noticed. They may be a parent going through a loss, as no evidence of sexual assault or any physical violence was found on the only body save for light ligature marks on the wrists. Due to the relatively nonviolent nature of the crime, the unsub could be a woman. They likely live alone since they are keeping several young boys in their home. Although this likely wasn’t the work of a pedophile, a trafficking ring could not be ruled out yet.

You suddenly understood why the victims’ families aren’t supposed to know the profile. You thought it would make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse. JJ opened up another box of tissues for you, got you water, and offered you snacks, but there was no way you could get anything down. Every sound, every person that passed the window, every buzz of JJ’s phone sent your stomach plummeting down a death drop. You had just calmed yourself down from yet another panic attack when you saw agents strapping on kevlar vests and putting their guns into their holsters.

They knew where the kids were.

(Spencer’s POV)

I wasn’t allowed to see her before we left. I couldn’t tell her where I was going, I couldn’t tell her that Jamie would be okay, I couldn’t tell her anything. I barely spoke to her since we got back to the station, and that was hours ago. Now I-- we just have to leave her there again.

This was my first time going out on the field in this capacity. I’d never had to step out of that SUV with my gun out, ready to shoot anyone who threatened the lives of my team or any hostages they may have. I’d never had to strap on a kevlar vest and worry about the potential bruises that may be left behind by being hit with bullets. I’d never had to worry about not coming back before.

“Don’t be worried. If your hands shake you won’t get a clear shot,” Gideon reminded me in the car, as if I’d be able to get a clear shot with a steady hand anyway.

The unsub was a woman named Harriet Yanonovich. According to hospital records pulled by Garcia, our new tech analyst, her son had recently passed after a short and sudden battle against leukemia. This came shortly after Harriet had a miscarriage that triggered a chemical imbalance, degrading her mental health, which resulted in the trigger, losing her job at the elementary school that the boys had each been taken from. I would have felt bad for her if she hadn’t taken my friend’s son away from her.

But she did, and now I just have to hope she didn’t hurt him.

We arrived at Harriet’s house fairly quickly. Hotch sent Morgan and me around the back, he and Gideon would take the front. As we rounded the back of the house, we discovered that she had a storm cellar under her deck. The doors were closed with a heavy padlock. Morgan aimed his gun to shoot it off the chain.

“Don’t do that. The bullet would ricochet and hit you in the knee.”

He lowered his weapon, “You got a better idea, pretty boy?”

“Yes, actually.” I quietly crept onto the deck, lifting the welcome mat from in front of the sliding glass door into the absolute wreck of a kitchen. Under the mat was a simple looking key.

“She’s a school teacher going through a depressive episode, not a criminal mastermind.”

“Alright then, genius,” he rolled his eyes, “Let’s see if it even works.”

I inserted the key into the lock, hearing a click and turning it with little difficulty. The shackle popped open. I gently removed it from the chains, trying my hardest not to make any noise that would alarm anyone in the cellar. Unwrapping the chains from the handles, I turned back to face Morgan.

“I accept your apology.” I attempted to muster my smuggest smile, but it was hard to mask the dread and worry on my face.

“Yeah, yeah, open up.”

He grabbed one handle and I grabbed the other, sliding the metal doors open and revealing a staircase into a shadowy basement.

“You first.” Morgan nudged my shoulder.

“What? No way! Morgan, this is serious!”

“So go! It’s your girl’s kid!”

He was right. Not about Y/N being my girl, because she wasn’t (though the thought did briefly replace the anxiety in my heart with pure light that I hadn’t felt since I was twelve), but I was still doing this for her. This case wasn’t just a job for me. This was for Y/N. For Jamie. Y/N deserves to see her son again, I owe her that much.

Derek would learn about my fear of the dark much later, but from how fast I jumped down those stairs into that cellar, he’d never been able to tell.

Against the farthest wall, there were four young boys all curled up in a corner. From the limited light, I could see they were all covered in varying levels of filth, the cleanest boy baring the face I had seen on Y/N’s phone screen. The boys all looked terrified, the two dirtiest looking thin and weak against the ties that bound them to a water pipe. I called up to Morgan to come down and lowered my gun.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI, I’m here to help you guys, okay?” The boys all nodded. Morgan helped me untie their wrists.

“Do you know where Mrs. Yanonovich went?”

“She said she was going upstairs, and that we have to be good or else we wouldn’t get any supper,” Jamie piped up.

“How long you been down here, kid?” Morgan asked.

Jamie shrugged, “Couple hours.”

“Did she hurt any of you?” The kids all shook their heads no.

Hotch’s voice crackled over the radio, “We have her in custody, any sign of the kids?”

“Yep, we found them in the cellar. All are alive, but we may need a medic on standby at the station for some of them.”

“Are they hurt?”

“No, just malnourished. Definitely dehydrated.”

Morgan and I led the kids out to the surface, the setting sun creating a glare off of the tin cellar doors. We were greeted by Gideon and police rounding the corner to the backyard. The kids ran out the gate towards the police cars, eager to be home soon.

(Reader POV)

“Okay, I’ll let them know.” JJ hung up and turned back to you, a relieved smile gracing her face. You stood up, desperate to hear the news she had.

“They found the kids, Jamie’s safe.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from lunging at the woman you barely knew, wrapping her in a bear hug as delighted laughs left your lungs. You felt tears of pure relief drip down your cheeks as she squeezed you back, also letting out a deep sigh.

You waited impatiently in the bullpen, anxious to see Jamie unharmed and to give the team your gratitude. When they finally arrived, you saw your son walking hand-in-hand with Spencer and the older agent you believed was named Gideon. Spencer pointed over to you with his free hand and smiled, causing Jamie to drop their hands and sprint into your arms crying “Mommy! Mommy!” You immediately lifted him up and covered his face with kisses. The two of you held onto one another so tight, you were surprised either of you could breathe. Spencer came over to you, smiling with eyes you couldn’t quite recognize.

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“No need, Y/N. I’m glad I could help. I just wish I could have met Jamie here on better terms!”

You adjusted your hold on Jaime to free one hand, stretching it out for Spencer to take it in his own. You squeezed it gently, smiling into those hazel eyes that had somehow never looked warmer before, despite the deep shadows under them.

“Thank you.”

His pursed lips twitched slightly and you noticed the tears brimming his sunken eyes. The poor boy needed sleep and a lot of it soon. He squeezed your hand back, sending shockwaves up your arms straight to your heart, which hadn’t felt this light since you were seventeen years old.

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @rottenearly @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper

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