#I suppose he needed to be humbled at some point for my own sanity

[katyswrites]

i need an explanation to why joe reminds me of the centipede from james and the giant peach in those pics bc it is quite literaly ruining my life

NOW -

[midoriyas-wifey]

HI! I have no idea how this works or anything but I guess I had an idea? I read your post about deku and Kacchan sharing a darling and essentially just dumbing her down lmaoo I don’t know why but I thought it was so cute and wholesome???? I have ✨issues✨ but can you write more of that? Like feeding her and baby talking her and praising as you would a child you know???omg I’m so sorry I’m asking this👁👄👁✌🏾

Darling there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about, I can get much, much nastier than this. Thank you for giving me the excuse I needed to go apeshit. I’m gonna write this in second person this time. We’re on the same wavelength here, let’s get gross

YANDERE!BAKUDEKU X READER

BELOW THE CUT IS EXTREME AND DARK NSFW THEMES! PLEASE MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS! 18+ ONLY! I MEAN IT!

Warnings: tw age play, tw age regression, tw noncon, tw dumbification, tw abuse, tw drugs, mind break, mentions of past abuse, humiliation 

Ok so let me start out by saying that this shit is my jam. I feel a little background info is in order though.

They became obsessed with you, but not only because you were quirkless and the both of them obviously have a… thing about that but also because of how utterly stupid you were, a foolish little thing, in need of guidance and a firm hand for discipline. 

They both viewed you as helpless, unable to care for yourself. You were barely getting by in a bad neighbourhood, you very clearly were either too dumb or too naive and childish to realize the futility of trying to be independent. To be without them. What kind of heroes would they be if they were unwilling to care for such a pitiful, adorable stray such as yourself?

It’s around this point where the both of them realize they have the same end goal. You would never leave them, and they would make sure you didn’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything ever again. They both absolutely relish in your struggles to prove that you don’t need them. You were like a little baby, never learning and seeming incapable of following even the simplest of their directions.

That’s ok though, if there’s anything they enjoy more than your struggles, it’s having absolute power over every single aspect of your life. No- your entire existence. 

They know you’re too stupid to understand that they’re doing what’s best for you; so they don’t feel it necessary to explain their decisions. Not that they’d care about your feelings about it even if they thought you understood what was going on anyways.

When they first took you, turning to sedatives to keep their dumb little baby nice, soft, and compliant was their go-to. Watching your weak form drift in and out of consciousness was enough to have them hunched over you, fucking your plush thighs, maybe even slipping a few fingers in to your warmth.

You had a collar around your neck that chained you to the head board of the (unwillingly) shared bed. 

If you wanted anything, from going potty to asking for a sippy cup of juice before bed, you had to ask your daddies real real nice for it. Every time, no matter how much you dissociated, how much you let yourself regress, and how much you allowed yourself to babble and beg for the simplest of things, disgust would bolt through you, the rising bile unavoidable. 

Bakugou especially had a fondness for feeding you, or rather, over-feeding you. He was insistent that his little baby need all the nutrients they could get, and just to let daddy take care of it. You refused many times, at first turning your head away like a petulant child, before batting away the offered morsel being pushed against your lips. 

You continued to refuse until Bakugou decided to take you over his knee, One firm swat after another until you were a babbling mess; snot and saliva and tears coating your hot and puffy face. Your ass feeling like it’s on fire, no doubt because he used his quirk at some point. You make for an even more pathetic sight than you usually do in Bakugou’s humble opinion. Just how he liked you.

 He then pulls you to his chest, making you straddle his thigh and wriggle in discomfort at the pressure to your burning ass, crooning about how it was all your fault that it came to this, that you had this coming, that if you had just listened to your daddy like good little helpless babies are supposed to-

He doesn’t miss the squirming of arousal from his darling.

Midoriya decides to play good cop by running you a bath in the huge jacuzzi, but you knew him well enough to know that a simple bath is never in the plans. It starts innocent enough, it always does. However, before they can even rinse the suds fully off of you, they have the water in the tub sloshing everywhere from the pounding of their hips into your poor body.

They shamelessly pummel your insides, reaching into places they had no business being. Stuffed up to the gills with their fat dicks, there was nothing left in your mind other than gripping onto whoever -whatever- you could to survive. Climax after climax rips you apart, your whole body buzzing with unbearable pain and pleasure. You were on your way to meet the maker, you just knew it. 

You can tell by their breathing that they’re getting close to their climaxes. You’re blubbering fat tears and wailing for them to pull out, to please not cum inside you, that you can’t take any more. Your mind couldn’t take it if they came inside again. Just hearing your incoherent pleas for mercy had them completely disregarding your pointless protests. 

They wasted no time creaming inside you, your feeble little cries and whimpers of “No!” and “Please stop!” only making them dump their loads more intensely and with far more satisfaction inside you, groaning and growling like smug demons.

“Take it, take it, fucking take it, I know you can baby, we’ll make it fit, your daddies are gonna stuff you so full, we’re just getting started,”

The worst was when they taunted you for your own helplessness, absolutely ruthless and unrelenting in their goal to break you down into an infantile little thing they could coddle and spoil and fuck even more stupid than you already were. So they kept pushing. Pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing AND PUSHING AT YOUR SANITY-

What else could you do except fall apart at the seams?

[minchen0897]

Cold (derogatory) and a Cat

My Secret Santa entry from the Discord Server for @madecunningly I hope you like it!!! Happy holidays!!

Starring: Quinlan Vos, a Cold planet, and Maul

Quinlan had been on this planet for about three Coruscant standard weeks, trying to look into a lead on one or several of the Sith – because apparently the Rule of Two had been put into a dumpster and then used as an illegal bonfire – and he was seriously considering a vacation on Tatooine.

Or to set himself on fire.

Forget the sand or the pain or whatever, at least it would be warm.

He was bundled in five layers of warm clothes, one of the layers being actual thermals, and he still was shivering all day long. Even while he used every trick in the book to keep warm.

(Admittedly, rubbing his hands did not help much when he was wearing thick gloves to protect them.)

He even put on a local cream to keep his face from freezing, but it was still cold.

Yesterday he had very nearly broken a good hand-width of his dreadlocks off, because there had been an accident with a fluid that he does not want to talk about and had indeed forgotten about in the chase that followed, until he had to return to his humble temporary abode for the night to avoid freezing to death. His hair had clinked like icicles clacking against each other when he had moved his head a bit too fast (he thought he had heard something, which probably was also his frozen hair), and curious where the sound came from repeated the motion, nearly breaking off his hair.

Not that it would have mattered much, it’s just hair, but the point he was trying to make is that it was too kriffin cold.

(He also objected to sleeves on a deep personal level, so this really wasn’t his preferred weather, but alas, a Jedi went where a Jedi must go.)

He couldn’t even use the Force to warm himself up, for several reasons: he was on the trail of someone potentially connected to the Sith or a Sith themself, so extreme caution was advised – nobody wants the Sith to go further into hiding then they already were. So low profile it was, and someone on this warmth-forsaken planet not freezing their shebs off was very suspicious. Even the natives were shivering. He also was still feeling the aftereffects of a concussion he had gotten in an unfortunate accident he did not want to go into any further.

It was nothing too bad but trying more finicky things with the Force did not make his head happy.

(People who got concussions often apparently were prone to headaches and migraines. Sometimes Quinlan really, honestly had a deep worry for Obi-wan. That man could take care of himself – although he actually seemed to suck at it – had an uncanny ability to survive everything the galaxy threw at him, but…still.)

In any case, to keep the spiral of mental commentary from spinning out of control, it was fucking cold, Quinlan did not like that, and he was so far not getting anywhere with his supposed lead.

He took a deep breath – or as deep as he could without feeling his lungs were freezing, even while breathing through a scarf and all – and carefully released his frustration and discontent into the Force. They would not help and rather cloud his decisions, anyway.

Somewhere in the distance Quinlan could hear people singing. As far as he knew it was a way to celebrate together before the White Wall hit and everyone would be confined to their homes for at least a week. Historically, before technology got better, it was one last big party before they would leave the other members of their community to whatever the White Wall had held in stock for them. Sort of like one last hurrah before potentially facing down the end. Or at the very least facing separation for a while without means of checking in with their loved ones – as was usual, those who were obscenely rich and could afford the according technology were the exception to this.

The White Wall was not a snowstorm per se, although unsuspecting strangers tended to refer to it as that. It looked in fact rather innocent, simple snow clouds, on most planets not any more harmful than simple rainclouds that brought the rain and then moved on.

But alas, on this particular planet, these particular snow clouds gathered and then brought snowfall for at least a week, without moving on, and it was a regular occurrence that everyone was snowed in by meters of the frozen water posing as innocent little white crystals. It was an interesting weather phenomenon, and also dangerous for uninformed sentients. Which were exceedingly rare because in modern times everyone got warned, so generally there was not too much danger anymore. Those who hosted guests stocked up generously on anything essential that might be needed. So today there was nobody really in danger of freezing to death due to the abundance of snow the White Wall brought. (Quinlan had opinions on that, and most of them were objections to this statement, because he was still freaking cold, but that was probably his frustration speaking.)

The tradition to meet up before the White Wall hit and celebrate with songs and dance and good food and also this one special drink they made for the occasion had stayed and was probably one of the most famous things this planet had to offer, right up there with the weather phenomenon that was the reason for the celebration in the first place.

He turned around a corner, intent to get back to the small inn he stayed at and found himself almost immediately hissed at.

There was a cat. Very fluffy. All that fur probably was needed in this cold. Desperately so, because despite all the fur it still appeared to be shivering.

It also, under all the anger it spouted in the Force, felt quite miserable.

Quinlan felt for the creature.

He knelt and sent gentle waves of calmness at the cat. “Today is just not a good day, isn’t it?”

He would have said horrible, but that would have probably been his frustration talking.

The cat continued hissing, as Quinlan settled down against the wall of a building close to it. Not that the hissing really bothered Quinlan. He steadily continued with exuding calmness. It worried him a bit that despite the hissing and general everything of the cat, it had not moved. Neither to attack nor to run away. Odd.

Maybe the cat couldn’t run? Being hurt would explain why it was so angry and miserable. He had seen a vet clinic only a few blocks over that had open still and could at least check the cat for injuries.

“You don’t look so good,” Quinlan looked at the cat that had stopped hissing quite so loudly. He was not quite sure why he was talking to a cat, but there had been stranger things happening in this galaxy than this. The Force seemed to be supportive and anticipating something.

“How about I bring you to the vet – there is a clinic not too far away – and you get checked out for injuries. And maybe we can find a place for you to stay? The weather forecast said the White Wall would hit tonight, and honestly, nobody deserves to be out in this cold.”

The cat looked a little bit like it wanted to make a face between straight up murder and questioning Quinlan’s sanity. It felt a bit rude that a cat was looking at him like this.

“Come on, inside a house it’s definitely warmer than outside, that has to be a convincing argument.”

The cat took its time, but it got less hissy gradually. Still not in the best of moods – which was perfectly understandable, in Quinlan’s opinion – but the calming presence Quinlan tried his best to exude seemed to do its job.

Once he was sure the cat would not attack him immediately with the intent to kill Quinlan carefully gathered the cat into his arms and began making his way to the vet. The cat was predictably very unhappy, but suprisingly it was not struggling too much. Mostly because moving seemed to hurt it somewhat, Quinlan thought.

The vet, while still open, was running on minimum staff. There was only one vet and one assistant currently on hand; their colleagues had already gone to the celebrations. The two in attendance had, from the looks of it, drawn the short sticks and had been assigned the duty during the following week – or weeks, depending on how much and how long snow would fall – to care for long-term patients or animals that had been brought here because the owners couldn’t take care of them during this time.

Basically, they had to pull double duty in the veterinarian clinic and the animal shelter that apparently was part of it.

Quinlan did not envy them their jobs.

Especially not once the cat seemed to regain some energy and made valiant attempts at scratching the vet and their assistant to death during the health exam. Not that they were bothered by it; they made jokes about thick skin and that was the extent of their reactions to it.

It turned out the cat – actually a male specimen, apparently – was perfectly fine health-wise. Cold and exhausted, but nothing rest and warmth won’t fix.

The assistant rang him up after the exam was over.

“That would make 15 Credits – the fee for our services. Oh! Before I forget about it – will you take him home with you? Or do you want us to keep him here?”

The cat stared at the assistant, ready to take their eyes out.

“I’ll take him home with me, no problem,” Quinlan said. He had a feeling if he left the cat here he would actually commit murder. Aside from that, the vet had said – after Quinlan asked, because small talk was a thing – that the shelter was filled to the brim. And he wouldn’t really have to worry about feeding the cat. His temporary neighbour two rooms from his own rented one had brought two tookas with them, so there would be some kibble available for sure. And if needs really must, he could always share his own food, he supposed. “Thank you for all your help.”

“No problem. It is literally our job,” the assistant chuckled good naturedly. “However, I think you should hurry. It looks like the snow is coming down soon, and nobody wants to be outside when the White Wall hits town.”

The assistant had a good point there. He had a good sense for orientation and the Force to boot, but he honestly didn’t want to be outside still when the snow really came down. There are dares and then there is being an idiot. He very firmly counted himself among the former section.

He said his good-byes, cat under his arm, and made his way back to the inn.

This was really not how he had thought his visit on this planet would go.

-_-_-

Darth Maul, Sith Apprentice and a Lord in his own right, had at one point come to the conclusion that his life sucked.

His life up to his defeat at the hands of Kenobi and subsequent half-existence spoke for that in and of itself.

It was only due to his stubbornness (his desperation, his clinging to life, not that he called it that, because it smelled of weakness he refused to have) and hate for Kenobi that he managed to survive the following years. Admittedly, he had used the Dark Side as a crutch, an aid to his continued survival. Not that his then-Master had allowed him to learn these arts, but when has not being allowed something ever stopped him?

In any case, with everything gone, the whispers and promises of the Dark Side had been constant. Had been there, had not left. Had fed from his anger, made him stronger in return, let him survive in return.

For ten years the Dark Side’s whispers and his own tinkering to gain a lower body-half again where the only noises he took note of.

Then he learned that Count Dooku, that absolute snob, had replaced him, that his master had simply thrown him away (he refused to acknowledge that the actions – or lack thereof – of his former Master had hurt) and Maul swore revenge. On Kenobi, for defeating him; on Dooku for taking his place; on his Master for casting him off like one might throw away a broken toy.

They would pay. All of them.

He had survived, and then he plotted.

Kenobi had to die, and he would do it himself – no matter the cost. Every time the place where his body met the prosthetic cramped, making Maul remember the fresh wound with a shadow of the pain he had lived through, he was reaffirmed in this.

Dooku had to die too. And it had to be humiliating. He had vague memories of other Zabraks, who had been…close…to Maul. He could use their power. Take them from Dathomir. Leave chaos in their wake, as the damned witches on that Force-forsaken planet had given him away like a slave that he had been. (It felt like betrayal – another thought Maul did not want to recognize in himself, unsure were following it would lead, which felt suspiciously weak, and he refused to be that.)

The witches would suffer for what they had done.

It had the added bonus of at least indebting the other Zabraks to him, as he would free them from the Witches.

Once they were on his side, he would train them, and train them well. It would take time, but he had time. He could be patient. (It felt like hunting – another vague memory from the life before he had been given to his Master.)

Besides, it was not like he had nothing to do while training them. He could study the material he would take from the witches, use their Magick to his advantage – as he knew for certain that Palpatine never had an interest in learning Dathomirian Magick, seeing it as beneath him. It would be an ace up his sleeve.

He could also go to other Sith Temples. Learn. Teach. Biding his time.

He had heard Dooku had a thing for rare artifacts, so if he found one it was a possible lure for his replacement.

As for his former Master – death for him was inevitable. Palpatine had not shared all his plans for the Empire he wanted to build – but that he wanted to build one was certain. He had already started with his plans; in fact, one of the early stages had been becoming the Supreme Chancellor.

Knowing about the Empire was enough for Maul to decide where he wanted to begin his revenge against Palpatine.

Every Government can be undermined.

And Palpatine would grasp at straws, and fail to do so rather pathetically, when Maul pulled the Empire away from underneath his feet. Or shattered it into million pieces. He was not sure yet.

Regardless, when Palpatine would see his Empire crumble right in front of his eyes, Maul would strike, and end the wretched life of the wrinkled bastard.

Or maybe torture him first and then end him. He had not quite decided on his primary plan quite yet.

Point was, he had a plan with backup plans regarding Palpatine’s end, and the majority of them involved him building up his own underground empire. (Name still pending.)

And to that extent he visited this damned planet (honestly who would want to live here, it’s too cold) that brought him back to his suffering, because he needed contacts.

And the contacts were not actually the problem. The problem was that he had grown curious when he noticed a Force Artifact in one abandoned building – a ruin, really – far outside any settlement.

So he went to investigate. The Dark Side whispered promises still, but there was something else that spoke of anticipation – good or bad Maul couldn’t tell.

The artifact turned out to be some strange metal, nothing he could identify on the spot, formed like a claw. There were ancient texts, or at least they looked ancient, written all over the cellar room he had found the claw in – both room and claw hidden away behind traps that were almost too easy for him.

He had been too focused on his little hunt in the ruin to notice it right away, but the thing speaking of anticipation had grown and smothered the Dark Side’s whispers into nothingness. In hindsight that had been a glaring sign something was about to go wrong.

But he didn’t notice, and now he paid for it.

Because the moment he touched the claw, he lost consciousness, and once he woke up again still in the cellar, he was a kriffing cat, and the claw was nowhere to be found.

And, because the universe hated him, the ruins had started to rumble ominously, little pieces of rock falling from the ceiling in a clear sign that he should get out of there as fast as possible.

Which he did, of course.

It simply turned out that the traps that had seemed almost too easy for him before were significantly harder to circumvent. Especially when he had not even heard the tiniest slip of a whisper from the dark side, only felt that anticipating something hovering absolutely everywhere, which was somewhat interesting, but also absolutely useless. (He was not a fan.)

Also it turned out the bonus of having non-metal legs (because that was a thing, as a cat he apparently had four functioning flesh limbs) was actually not that much of a bonus at all when weighed against opposable thumbs and said metal legs not needing muscle stamina to run.

Outside the ruins he watched as any option to figure out what was the power behind the claw – and it had to be some power in cooperation with the claw, nothing else would make sense – literally crumbled to the ground, and quickly was covered in snow.

There was, he thought furiously, very little chance of finding the ruins again after the White Wall hit.

So as anyone sensible who also happened to have received some form of training in the powers he had, tried to lift a few rocks off where he suspected the cellar had been. (Apparently, his room orientation was now also shot on accord of being a karking cat.)

Nothing moved.

Maul let out a furious yowl.

Whoever was responsible for this dilemma would pay, he would make sure of it. As soon as he found out who it was anyway. Until then his rage would carry him forwards, as it always did.

He found it disconcerting that no whispers from the Dark Side, no promises, reached his ears after this vow. Only the anticipating silence from the Something Else. It was almost eery.

He paced in the snow for a bit. (Unsurprisingly it was cold.)

He was a cat, had no thumbs, and basically no strength – neither in body nor in the Dark Side – when compared to his actual body.

There was simply no chance of him digging the cellar out. Not without his full set of power.

He cursed and got furious when he only heard himself hissing and yowling. Very angrily, admittedly, but it was just not the same. It simply made him angrier, but without the added benefit of more whispers and promises from the Dark Side.

Which, again, was usually always present and was now suspiciously absent.

Without another option in sight, and unwilling to die in the White Wall, Maul had made his way back to the nearest town.

Which, very frustratingly, had taken an eternity. It had also been miserable because in the midst of his way back it had started to snow, and he was pretty sure he had run in a circle before getting his orientation back.

He had cowered in an alley and made the very first being suffer with his claws (neat) that came too close.

Then the lack of stamina in this useless (aside from the claws) body had made his muscles cramp and he had been reduced to hissing and yowling curses at everyone that came too close.

A few beings tried, but while they didn’t understand his words, at least they got the gist of his message.

Until a Jedi walked into his alley. Because of course there was a Jedi present on this planet, in this town, walking into his alley. He was easily noticeable as a Jedi because the anticipatory something from everywhere seemed to give this person something like a hug.

Strange concept.

And then the Jedi had the audacity to not only ignore his threats and come closer but also sit down next to him.

That absolute bastard would meet a harrowing death at either his hands or his claws. Blood would spill. He would shred the Jedi’s clothes, scratch at their skin until the liquid of their veins-

The Jedi was warm.

The Jedi was warm?

The anticipatory something from before had become smug (rude) and mixed with the something surrounding the Jedi, who then seemed to make the something into – well Maul would guess the equivalent of a warm blanket.

It was one of the stranger things Maul had felt. He knew similar things from the Dark Side, had used it to intimidate people in a bar once because he wanted a booth for himself and they were in the way, so he had sent them cowering.

But this was new. Startling. Strange. But not bad?

How very weird. (But also comfortable.)

The Jedi made a few good points about not freezing to death outside once the White Wall hit, but still, the audacity to simply pick him up and bring him to a vet!

He blamed it on his still cramping muscles that he did not eviscerate the Jedi on the spot. (Never mind that his muscles were somewhat useable once more.)

The vet claimed everything to be alright with him, which, no, he was kriffin cold, this planet was horrible, and also he was a cat and not a Zabrak as he originally should be, but before he could claw the vet’s – or his assistant’s, he wasn’t picky – eyes out, the Jedi had bundled him up and they had left.

He would have to enact rage later.

To his great surprise the Jedi did indeed take him with them to the place they were apparently staying at, and did not randomly drop him in a dumpster.

Maul refused to feel grateful for it. He did not want to think about his success regarding this decision.

Instead, just to spite the Jedi, he aimed to be as much of a menace as he could be without access to his full abilities. For the next few days furniture got scratched up. The Jedi’s food was eaten or made inedible by him. Fur was shed excessively.

The Jedi cursed regularly at him, but never raised a hand. An interesting change to his usual experience with other Users of the Force. Usually there was always violence involved when he met with any of them, be it his former Master or another Jedi.

Not that he wanted to be fair, but the reason behind it might be that in the Jedi’s eyes he was a simple cat.

The thought disgusted him somewhat, as he was not merely a cat. He was more than that but communicating that was hard when he had no thumbs and could only do cat things and noises. He was stuck at angry hissing.

Then, one evening, the Jedi made the grave mistake of leaving their cup of tea on the counter while they went to the ‘fresher. Maul saw a chance and took it.

He sat next to the cup on the counter and waited until the Jedi returned, established eye contact, and pawed the cup over the edge. It fractured into tiny, sharp shards. The ground was covered in rapidly cooling tea.

The Jedi began cursing.

Maul’s work was done, so he leapt from the counter.

Or intended to, because the Jedi – for once without gloves because they had indeed taken a shower – caught him mid-leap with their hands.

“Careful you kriffin menace, there are shards every…where…“ the Jedi petered off into silence.

The something – which Maul assumed could only be the Force the Jedi preferred to use – around the Jedi was thrumming with activity.

And thus Maul hung suspended in the air by two hands for a while.

He didn’t even struggle to get out of the hold. He blamed being distracted by the interesting patterns the Force of the Jedi drew and sung in equal measures.

The eyes of the Jedi were staring unblinking at nothing right above Mauls head, right until they weren’t anymore and instead snapped into focussing right on Maul.

“Fucking shit.”

Well, that was eloquent. Not. But it summarized Mauls situation quite neatly.

“You’re Maul.”

Maul tried his best to frown at the Jedi, but alas, being a cat crossed his plans once more.

“Why are you a cat? No actually, how the fuck are you still alive? We thought you were dead!”

Maul hissed. It was not his fault that Kenobi was incompetent.

“Holy shit, you’re a cat.”

Now he began to struggle in earnest. While the Jedi seemed flabbergasted still, it was only a question of when that would change, and as soon as the Jedi stopped being…shocked, he guessed, they would try to catch him and ‘bring him to justice’ or something ridiculous, and Maul did not want to make that easy for them by simply hanging in their grip like a wet towel.

“No, hold on, wait, I’m not going to murder you! But I could use your help.”

If he could snort derisively, Maul would. Yeah, right. A Jedi wanted his help.

“Okay I know this sounds ridiculous, but – well. I. Uhm. I saw that you have plans for your former Master, which largely end with him being dead, and I want to support that goal.”

Sounded fake but he would hear the Jedi out. For now. Maybe he could get good connections out of this.

“Okay, so hear me out – wait, no, name first, I’m Quinlan. Now hear me out. We’re kinda getting desperate here. The war is going on and on, our men are dying by droves despite our best attempts otherwise, the Jedi are dying equally as fast – not that that interests you, you’re probably happy about that,” Maul was actually not quite sure if he was happy about it, or if he had apathy about it, or if it was more convenience than anything else if it actually was convenience, but that’s nothing he wanted to spend thoughts on, “and we hope that finding the Sith Lord, the Sith Master, and ending them will end the war and spare many people from dying.”

A valid reason for a Jedi he supposed. Now the Jedi – Quinlan – only needed to get to the point.

“You were the Sith Master’s Apprentice. You could tell us about them. What you know about their plans. Which would, in turn, ruin those plans because we – the Jedi – would do our best to stop them. It would align with your goal of making your former Master miserable. I would have to speak to the council but maybe you can be directly involved too, enact your revenge more directly.”

At that Maul clawed at Quinlan’s bare arms, because he was still a cat, and he could not take revenge on Sidious as a cat.

Quinlan flinched satisfyingly.

“Here’s where my counteroffer comes in,” he continues despite the scratches and while still holding Maul up. “The Archives of the Jedi Order are large and filled with knowledge. You would have access to it and I would offer my help to reverse whatever made you into a cat.”

Maul stared at Quinlan.

Quinlan stared back.

“If you are entirely against this deal shake your head, if you are willing to talk details, I don’t know, hiss at me or something.”

Maul stared.

Quinlan frowned.

“Yeah, okay, maybe talk was the wrong verb to use there.” He hummed in thought. “I think I saw an external keyboard for a terminal somewhere in this place. It had a weird layout, but you should be able to type something when I hook it up to my pad.”

Maul stared.

Quinlan stared.

“So?”

Maul hissed.

[sgrayonderii]

faster than starlight

Growing old together was a luxury. Sasusaku AU. 

It makes absolutely no sense that the child in front of him is his daughter, yet as soon as she utters a heartbroken “Papa,” Sasuke knows it to be true.

But he doesn’t have time to concern himself with mismatched memories and unfounded theories. The facts are these: someone has threatened his child and his wife has been kidnapped.

In the aftermath, he is so relieved that he writes off his hazy memories of a child barely reaching his knees as a manifestation of his desperation.

---

During  his regular check ins, Naruto grumbles that he needs to stay in contact more often. The Hokage waves his arms around in a way that is supposed to be threatening and berates him on proper reconnaissance protocol. “And Sakura-chan is lonely with you gone so long!” he adds in at the end of his tirade.

Sasuke scoffs because that idiot is the last person to be talking to him about protocol with his noodle stained shirt and toppling mountains of paperwork. And he can't help but feel a bit insulted by the implication that his self imposed gag order included Sakura.

She is his wife. His beloved partner and his most trusted confidante. Even if it was technically not related to his mission, he keeps contact with her regularly without fail. Sasuke has never been as good as expressing himself as well as he should, but he knows that Sakura in her endless patience found a way to understand him.

---

Sometimes, Kakashi invites him to lunch.

It is always slightly awkward and spent more often than not in silence. Or in uncomfortable one-sided conversation about erotica.

But at the end of every meal, Kakashi claps him on the shoulder, telling him to not be a stranger with a chuckle. But the laugh never quite reaches his eyes.

“Remember you always have a home here.” Kakashi tells him. 

---

At times, Sarada is overjoyed when he comes back. She attaches herself to his side and chatters about nonsensical things that reminds Sasuke of his wife.

But sometimes, Sarada is cold.

She is stand-offish and acts as if he committed another unforgivable sin. She makes snide comments about leaving mama by herself and scathing comments about forgetting his daughter’s face.  

Perhaps this is a rebellious phase? Children grow up fast Sakura tells him.  And who is he to question her?

---

It is subtle, almost unnoticeable. But there are times at home when things are slightly off.

The apartment always seems to be in need of some repair. Every time he seems to even blink, a new piece of technology seems too occupy their living room mantle. And there are no calendars in the house.

In hindsight, he is sure that Sakura is the first to notice. But Sasuke is a boiling frog and he doesn’t realize until it’s too late.

He should have figured from the relief in her eyes whenever he returns home. Or on the quiet nights when she holds his hand so tight as if he will disappear. He should have noticed from the desperation in her kisses. He should have seen it in the falter of her smile.

And then Sakura starts hiding her appearance.

At first, Sakura brushes it off as a bad haircut she is too embarrassed to show others. Then it’s a particularly bad sunburn. After that an allergic reaction to a lotion from Ino gifted her.

He tries to not let it bother him. But with every progressive visit home, the stronger the illusions Sakura wraps herself in. 

He feels like he has not seen his wife in ages.

Until, one day on an unexpected stop home, he catches an unfamiliar middle aged woman in his home. This woman attempts to cast her genjutsu as soon as she notices him but his eyes are quicker. Sasuke dispels the illusion, striding forward until they are face to face.

He reaches out to her but she flinches back. The woman immediately starts apologizing, but Sasuke in between the roaring in his ears and the constricting of his throat, cannot make sense of her ramblings. However in the midst of her panic and his confusion, he does recognize the seal on Sakura’s forehead.

And for him, the pieces finally start falling into place.

So Sasuke asks the question that he has been dreading but never acknowledging, “How long have I been gone?”

---

The further he travels, the more time passes. It is simple physics. It is the law of the universe.

The remnants of Kaguya are far in between and past distant suns. His Rinnegan, his wife theorizes, is like a blackhole connecting two points, compressing space and time in a way that cuts across the cosmos.

Sasuke is a shooting star in the grand scheme of things, where great distances are crossed in a blink of his eye while all he cares about on earth is spinning madly on without him.

He watches as Sakura carefully aligns the hundreds of letters and messages and gifts he sent in the order she receives them.

Sasuke picks up the last correspondence, two weeks ago for him but half a year for Sakura. After a long time when he can finally keep his voice from trembling, he asks “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just didn’t know how to tell you.” Sasuke has never seen Sakura look so ashamed. She covers her face to hide from him but her tears still fall silently. “It would have just caused you more pain.”

“And keeping this from me wouldn’t?!” He is shaking and his Sharingan bleeding. He feels the familiar sting of betrayal. Because of all people, his wife is the person he trusts the most.

But Sakura, despite her tears, speaks calmly. Determined. Resigned. She still does not look at him and he cannot see anything else but her. “If you had known...” she is shaking too now. “If you had known dear, that this would happen every time you go.... Would you still leave?”

And both husband and wife know his answer.

---

A presence like Kaguya’s cannot be tolerated. Even if he cannot watch Sarada grow up. Even if cannot be by Sakura’s side. As long as they are safe in a corner of the universe, Sasuke is willing to sacrifice anything.

It is a habit now to check the date when he returns.

Sometimes only a few weeks have passed. Other times, months have elapsed. But regardless, Sasuke tries to return as much as possible if only for his own sanity. 

Those visits home reinforce what he is fighting for. He wants to protect the place his brother died for. He wants to help Naruto who saved him. He wants a world where Sakura can smile and where Sarada no longer has to fight.  

But most of all, in the darkest most fragile part of his heart, he knows that in reality he just can not bear losing anyone else.  

And eventually, the Seventh Hokage informs him that the last visages of Kaguya are discovered in the depths of a lost faraway planet. The final nail in her coffin.

It breaks his heart to tell his family.

There is no telling when he will return, if he returns at all. And judging by the distance, Sasuke isn’t even sure anyone will be left to return to.

It is a selfish thing for him to ask of her. He should be wishing for her happiness; he should be freeing her from being chained to him. But he asks anyways, because even if it is a lie, Sasuke needs a reason to endure.  A quiet request. A promise.

“Will you wait for me?”

Sasuke desperately wants a home to return to and to him, Sakura has always encompassed that feeling.

---

The next time he returns, his mission is complete and it has been a decade since Sarada’s face has been carved onto the mountain.

Sakura’s hair is gray now and her vision is blurry. She has wrinkles under her eyes and her once strong hands are withered.

They are separated by a lifetime now.

I’m home.

“Sakura, I’m sorry for everything.”

But she still smiles for him like she always does. Like she did when they were young and so hopeful for the future. “Welcome home Sasuke-kun.”

---

Nowadays, Sasuke Uchiha is nothing but ghost story. More legend than man and more cautionary tale than hero.

And nowadays, man slightly younger than the Hokage accompanies Sakura Uchiha.

No one knows where he comes from, just that he appears one day and immediately worms himself into the heart of the Uchiha matriarch.

On the good days, the villagers watch the young man walk side by side with the aging woman. Sakura Uchiha speaks more animatedly than she has in years and the young man smiles tenderly at her as if she is the only person in the world.

Some villagers click their tongues in disapproval. They raise issue with the Hokage about how this swindler is taking advantage of the affections of poor old woman. The old woman’s years of loneliness has made her susceptible to his gold digger’s charms.

Others pity Sakura Uchiha. She is a woman from such a humble background who rose the ranks and accomplished  so much only to be abandoned by the man she loved. Even if it was unorthodox, they wanted the old woman to have a bit of happiness.

But Sarada Uchiha dismisses these rumors and speculations with a sad smile, merely telling her bothersome citizens to leave the couple alone and let them live in peace.

And this man, who comes out of nowhere like a lone meteor, stays by Sakura Uchiha’s side until the end of her days.

A/N: Another sad one, but time dilation has always been one of my favorite physics/sci-fi concepts. Thank you for reading and Happy Holidays!

[randomoranges]

the saga continues!

So Totally OP!

Part 7

 “My nightmare has come true!” I heard Luke say before he fainted. It dawned on me that perhaps this wouldn’t only affect me, but the thought quickly left my head. Instead, the make-up director only smirked wider and then laughed. Just who was this person? Why did I feel as though I should start fearing for my life here at OP?

 -

“Ah I see you’ve acquainted yourself with the new make-up director; Jake. He just seemed to have waltzed in here and I knew that he was perfect for the job. Can someone please tell me why Luke is on the floor?” The director demanded.

 I shuddered; the poor creature had to live with such a foul name. I blame him for not being blessed with a name such as mine.

 “If that cutie-pie over there fainted, I humbly apologize. I must be blamed for that. It seems as though he doesn’t have very fond memories of our last encounter.” Jake told the director. It seemed to me as though those two were long time friends or something. Something to do with the way he grinned at her and the way she simply rolled her eyes at him. I felt so neglected at this point.

 “Taro, get that man up and get ready for scene 38.7. Jake, do your best on him please?” Always shouting orders this one. Had she ever heard of a vacation, holidays, relaxation? Taking a deep breath? The spa???????? How I longed for a spa day…

 “Don’t worry ma’am, I only do the best for the best.” For the first time I saw the director give an honest smile. I didn’t even know that was possible! I thought for sure those muscles must have withered away ages ago. Somehow, I knew there was something more to this relationship. I didn’t think that it was a coincidence that he had just waltzed in. Who was this man? The two of them looked at each other and they seemed to be in their own little world. Luckily, for my sanity, Luke woke up at that precise moment.

 “You’re the guy from the hair salon! That guy who kept on following me everywhere! What are you doing here? Why are you here? If you’re stalking me I’ll bring you to court, I swear! I’ll get a restraining order!”

 I blinked. Now this was a side of Mr. Luke that I had never seen before. People who panicked or stressed out weren’t very pretty. They reminded me too much of little piglets or maybe even Ben the manger. Not a very flattering image to carry around in one’s mind.

 “I really would love to go out on a date with you, but presently my heart has been stolen by my devotion and passion for my work and…” Jake started, but no one in the room was convinced by his little speech or the way he’d put a hand to his heart.

 “We don’t need to know about your lovers, trust me!” Luke interrupted. I really would have liked to know what he was about to say. Who didn’t like a bit of drama and theatrics?

 “People, please, focus! We have a movie to shoot here. Now hop to it!” As quickly as the smile had come, it had vanished. Now it seemed as though I was the big star of some mystery/adventure show like Sherlock Holmes. Today’s Case: The Case of the Relationship between the Nameless Director and the Amorous Make-Up Director.

 “Alright cutie, come with me.” Jake told me and dragged me into his “office”. If he was gay, why would he be calling me cutie? Only three options were possible. Firstly, the gay thing was a ruse. Secondly, he liked both men and women and Luke was a narrow-minded idiot. Thirdly, he had figured out my secret and was Interested in Me. This was too much for my poor and perfect brain to handle. I always knew I was handsome and I never minded the troves of fans who adored me, but it seemed like everyone here wanted me!

 As I sat in his chair, I noticed that he seemed to be eyeing me under a different pair of eyes than if I was a girl. Maybe the director had told him. Maybe he had a keen eye. Maybe I wasn’t a good actor. Who the heck knew at this point? At this point, aliens taking over the studio seemed plausible as well.

 “This might seem like a strange question, but you are a man correct? I mean your extravagant hairstyle and your red painted lips kind of confuse me.” Jake smiled. Something about that smile freaked me out.

 “I’m as much as a man as you are.” I answered.

 So he knew? Was that good? Bad? Would I get fired over this? Was this some fine line in my contract?

  “Don’t worry love, your secret is safe with me and I promise I won’t tell Luke. He is quite handsome don’t you agree?” He winked as if sharing some great gossip with me. I shuddered. Luke? Handsome? EW!

 “Forgive me, but I am not like you. I am not interested in other men that way. People such as me can’t afford to be interested in men.”

 “Well, that’s your loss, truly, but suit yourself. I suppose that just gives me an advantage!” He beamed. “Now, let’s start making some magic happen.”

 I sat on his chair for nearly an hour and thought for sure that I would emerge even more sublime and magnificent that I already was, but the final result was well… unique.

 “This is outrageous! I look exactly like you! I can’t look like you! Your hair isn’t perfect and your styles aren’t like mine. I can’t be beautiful looking like this! What’s the point of living if one cannot be beautiful?” Jake looked a bit amused and when the director returned to check in on us, I thought for sure that for once, she would take my side. After all, she was a person who wanted everything to be perfect. One look at me and she would agree that this wasn’t the perfection that she wanted.

 “Jak, what the hell is that?” She said the moment she walked in and saw it.

 “Don’t you like it?” When she didn’t agree he retorted back. “I think it’s better this way and don’t argue with me. I know what I’m doing.” The director stayed silent for a moment and then she nodded before leaving. The make-up manager smirked and added some finishing touches to my face, while he looked entirely too pleased with himself. Why did this man have such an influence on her? Who was he? Was he a friend or a foe? Should I be trusting him? Was I in danger?

 PREVIOUS: VI CURRENT: VII NEXT: VIII    

[awaywithwords03]

The Last Interview with Peter Watson-Lea

ACCESS TO DOCUMENT PROHIBITTED

I.D NO: 2375-1294-2256_

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 ACCESS TO FILE “PETER WATSON-LEA” GRANTED

 “Below is a transcript of the last recorded interview with Peter Watson-Lea. Recorded on the 24.2.22 at Chester County Medical Hospital by ERR. NAMES REMOVED. It is part of a series of testimonies to provide evidence for the existence and potential danger of the artifact known as the Evelyn Bones.”

 For the tape, my name is Peter Francis Graeme Watson-Lea, I am 42 years old, unmarried, I served in the great war as an artillerist and until recently I worked as an investigative journalist. I have no family to speak of, I was raised by my aunt after my parents were killed in a house fire. Oh, it was freelance, I worked as a freelance journalist. I came to this hospital of my own volition, as what I beheld gave me such disturbance as to make me question my own sanity. Start at the beginning? Yes okay.

 Pause.

 It was about a month ago, the beginning of the new year, I received a tip off from an anonymous source. I can’t remember the words exactly, apart from the last line, but the tip off pointed me in the direction of a place called Burnes College in Yorkshire and told me that there were things there worth looking into, that would be of interest to me and my work. Naturally, I was skeptical… I’m sorry? Oh I did say that didn’t I. The last line of the letter was “Keep your own eyes open, let the truth in.” I just thought it was a strange sentence, “Your own eyes”, as if I was going to be seeing to anyone else’s or…

 Pause.

 The train ride was rather pleasant, as you’d expect for that part of the world. Beautiful rolling green vistas with the occasional blur of purple or black heather with the hills in the distance like the shoulders of grey giants. To my surprise I was met at the station by a man dressed like, I want to say a priest? Or some kind of monk? He wore a long smart coat, like a cassock, with a white silk scarf, embroidered with strange designs thrown over his shoulder. His head was completely shaven and his features were sharp enough to cut glass. He was pleasant to talk to, telling me his name was Prest and that he had been expecting me. When I asked him how he waved the question off with an amiable nature and bade me follow him, promising a hot meal and hospitality, and explaining that all would be clear once we were back at the college.

 I did so, and soon found myself in the passenger seat of a well-kept Austin motor vehicle trundling down narrow country lanes and deep into the moorland. Prest talked freely about the location and where he had grown up, pointing out his old parish and a few pleasant landmarks, but he had precious little to say about the college, aside from the fact that he was a tutor of sorts there. Though in hindsight, tutor is far from the right word. He wasn’t at all uncomfortable with who or what I was and said if anything it was welcoming to have someone come and shed some light upon their little college. “Write all you can!” He declared with gusto, “Write till your lead wears to powder, your nib breaks and all the ink in Europe runs dry! Your insight Mr Watson-Lea is incredibly valuable to us. While you are in our care, every luxury shall be yours, be it food, drink, literature or any other pleasure. We want you at your best.”

 I enquired as to Provost of the College and Prest told me that his name was Provost Penbrooke.

 Pause

 I’m sorry errm, the College? Yes, the College. It’s a funny shaped building, with a strange mix of gothic architecture, some Italian columns and, I dare say some domes. It’s as if the building has been assembled by a blend of multiple architects from multiple generations, all mixed up in a pot, and tipped into a valley. Of course, I was totally lost by the time we reached there, but I remembered the signpost to the nearest town, Tellingham. We pulled up in the drive to this large manor and a pair of strong looking lads, dressed in a similar way to my new companion came down the steps and helped me with my luggage. Of course, by this point you must realise that I could not believe my luck. I am not a wealthy man, and as a former soldier finding a job had been very challenging, especially a freelance one. So, to be treated as a well-to-do sort was extremely humbling.

 “The provost would like to see you immediately.” My host insisted after a brief exchange of words with the two porters and I was escorted hastily up the stone steps and into Burnes College. Inside it was dimly lit by gas lamps and decorated with statues and effigies of strange gods and creatures I didn’t recognize. Creatures with humanoid and yet inhuman limbs with too many fingers and eyes a plenty. Strange fetishes and weapons etched with runes that made my eyes itch and Yhtog mylet. Tredgiy thethleikt…

 TAPE CUTS

 …orry again about that. I find it hard to think about what happened there.

 Hmm? Oh yes it does make me frightened. I don’t think I knew what true fear was until this moment, now on the other side of that terrible venture. But I will brave it, I know that I need to tell you what happened there, and the consequences should I fail…. Doesn’t bare thinking on.

 They led me up a labyrinth of stairs, past lecture halls and creaking shelves teaming with books, of which I had no hope of recognizing. Eventually we began ascending a spiral staircase, all made from carved stone like a castle and hung with portraits, like those one might encounter in rich ancestral homes. We immerged at the top of, what I can only call a tower, though I did not recall seeing one when I arrived. The room had a wonderful, panoramic view made possible by a single piece of curved glass that made the roof of the tower appear as if it was floating above us. It’s colour was tinted a toxic yellow, and it stank of ozone and sweat. Inside it was arranged like a study, with heaps of books on the floor, an ancient looking desk scattered with writing implements, notes and drawers. Lastly staring out of the great window was its lone occupant.

 The provost was bound to a wheelchair and looking out to the distant yellow tinted hills. Well, when I say looking, he was faced toward the view of the outside. He wore a flowing discoloured white gown, that spilled over the wheels of his chair, and upon his head was, what I can only describe as, a bulbous be-jeweled crown. The crystals and shapes upon it, resembled growths like tumors more than decoration and it gave me a queasy feeling to look upon it. Then he looked at me. And the face, oh that face…

 Pause

 What manner of injury had occurred to that man I shall never know, and never want to know. He had sores and boils, that blistered and crusted his entire face from the base of his nose upward. His eyes were completely gone amidst the mass of these red pestilent growths, and yet despite this as his sightless face turned to me, he smiled as if greeting an old friend. “Mr Watson-Lea!” He proclaimed with a voice soured by untellable age and honeyed by false warmth. “My word, it has been a long while that we have been searching for you!” When I asked him what he wanted with me he turned his chair without using his hands and it wheeled toward me as if pushed by some phantom force. “Your heritage my boy.” He replied, “Don’t you recognize your ancestors upon the stairs?”

 I suddenly began to feel very enclosed. Sweat prickled the back of my neck as the idea that I had been drawn into a trap began to close in on me. “The third from the top,” Penbrooke began, “Is Nathaniel Edward Francis Prendergast, born 1762 and died in 1884. The second from the top is James Michael Francis Prendergast, born 1854 died just 4 years ago. He died here in fact, in this very college.” I remind you, my parents were killed in a fire, or at least they were supposed to be. “Your surname, your true surname is Prendergast. The woman who raised you was no more your Aunt than any of us here. She was an abductor, denying you your true destiny.”

 I was too…. Terrified… awestruck… spellbound to speak. So instead, he spoke for me, gliding forward in that sinister manner on that chair and reaching out with his warped gnarled hands. “I will show you the bones, and you will read of them just as your father did and his father before. The translations you will provide, rib by rib, vertebrae by vertebrae will reveal wonders to you.” And like that he produced before me a single white bone. I am no doctor, but I could tell that the bone he held out to me was not human. It was elongated, and twisted like an ancient tree branch, crooked at alien angles. But worst of all was the writing. Runes that were as far removed from letters as could be imagined, covering the bone from tip to haft like the image of dancing figures in some horrific festival.

 And yet

 Pause

 Sorry… I could understand them. They came to life before me and made perfect sense, things aligned in my skull and my understanding of the world deepened, opening beneath me like a bottomless abyss. Black infinite and tarrying and I could feel myself falling. The terror. Oh, the terror was so much, my heart became water and washed my body with a quiver beyond description. I think I must have suffered a fit, for when I came to my senses I was in a bed. Opening my eyes, I was in a darkened room, of stone bricks and low wooden beams, covered with a thin sheet in a four- poster bed. A tiny arched window let a sliver of morning light in through my window and as I pushed myself to sit, I felt a searing agony in my hand and looked down to behold the ruin that you see before you.

 Hmm? Oh yes. For the sake of the tape, my hand has become permanently fused with a quill. It appears to be melted and reshaped to only be able to hold this strange spike that constantly leaks an ink from it. The pain I confess is maddeningly toxic. It burns like a fire under my skin and at the same time, I crave it… I enjoy it…

 Pause

 I’m writing down everything, yes.

 I’m doing it so that the ink doesn’t pool in the gland, for that only adds to the agony. I cannot stand to not be writing now. This is the cursed gift they have given to me, should I not be translating what was on those accursed bones I shpoyt julithyc myatholatrem brekrept yuklimpt a

 THE TAPE MOMENTARILY CUTS BEFORE RESUMING

 Are we recording again? I’m really sorry about…

 THE TAPE CUTS

 …ow much did I translate? I thought you would be more concerned with how I escaped that wretched place! Why do you even want to know what I… Oh God… It’s you… Please, please let me be. I’ll do anything I’ll… Please!!! *Screaming*

 THE TAPE CUTS

 THE FOLLOWING COULD BE HEARD IN THE WHITE NOISE THAT FOLLOWED THE TERMINATION OF THE INTERVIEW

 They’re here…

They’re here…

They’re here…

They have come…

The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones, The bones.

 End

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[kawaiijellymonster]

So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.  

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head. 

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Meet Me at the Chalet || day one.

Eventual pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jenessee Borosi)

Word count: ~5.7k (told you it’d be longer, but I promise they’re not all this long)

Summary (I suck at these): Jenessee goes on a solo vacation after the release of her first novel. She got a little more than she bargained for when she gets snowed in with her biggest celebrity crush.

Warnings: So much freaking fluff, swearing but blink and you’ll miss it, depressing thoughts (future chapter), mental breakdown (future chapter), Tom being Tom

night one. || day one. || day two. ||

The next day, the stillness greeted me. The same feeling I would get waking up on a Saturday afternoon after a blanket of snow coated everything for the very first time. Like the snow froze time, nothing moving or wanting to disturb the serenity. It’s one of those days where getting out of bed is optional. This feeling is exactly what I was wanting while on this vacation.

I could have stayed in bed all day, but my stomach protested pretty quickly after sleep left me. Climbing out of my comfy cocoon, I stretched every muscle, ridding it of any trace of tiredness. Gosh, I haven’t had this heavy of sleep in years! What are these mattresses made of? Magical clouds?

I took in my room. It’s a complete contrast to the lobby. Modern dark gray walls complement the black carpet. White faux fur rugs sit at each side of the King sized bed to contradict the dark. Clean white sheets adorn the bed with black and gray accents on the comforter and in the pillows. The windows and doors are framed with a natural light wood color to bring the modern touches down a notch.

Opening the black-out curtains revealed the floor-to-ceiling windows with the most picturesque view I’ve ever seen. Pine trees are covered with snow, weighing down every branch. The still falling snow is a mixture of tiny cotton balls and glitter. All of the white nearly blind me, my eyes not used to the light yet. But still, my heart swells. Vacation begins.

I quickly throw on the most comfortable outfit I packed: a dark gray cowl neck sweatshirt with black, white, and purple Zubaz. I slightly flinched when I took in my appearance in the bathroom mirror. Leftover make-up flecks were under my eyes. My make-up remover wipes are obviously not doing their job properly… I ran some warm water over my face to get rid of them. Putting my long, wavy hair into a braid was the last thing I did before leaving my solitude.

 As I flipped on the light in the kitchen, I hesitated in the doorway. He wasn’t kidding about “top of the line.” Top notch stainless steel appliances: double ovens, 8-burner stove top, industrial sized refrigerator, and the biggest microwave I’ve ever seen. There were also all of the small appliances that anyone would need. If I were a chef, I would be in heaven. I almost don’t feel worthy enough to be in here.

Picking my favorite playlist, I dove into my own little world. As the music flooded the room, my body carried me throughout the expanse of the kitchen collecting every ingredient, utensil, and bowl I need to make French toast with strawberries. Jamming to just about anything that would pop up as everything came together.

Applause broke my reverie, my heart leaping out of my chest from fright.

Spinning around, clutching my chest I see the last person I ever expected to see. Leaning against the door frame with his long and lean body adorned in a white t-shirt, a black zip-up hoodie, and hip-hugging sweatpants, a book stuffed under his armpit, a charming smirk was plastered on his gorgeous bearded face… was Tom freaking Hiddleston.

What in the world is he doing at a small chalet in the middle of the mountains in the states when he could be at some luxury, private resort in Europe? How does he even have the time to be here? Doesn’t he have a huge movie coming out soon, play rehearsals, and two TV shows in the works that he should be out promoting? How does he have any time to do anything personal at all?

Although, as his fan, I’m proud he is finally taking some time for himself. He’s been busy nonstop since his first Marvel movie. He deserves to take some time for himself for some much-needed R&R. No screaming, no cameras in his face, no signing autographs- total privacy he so wants and deserves. That reason alone is why I will not make my admiration known, not right away at least. He does deserve all of the credit he is due, but I would like his vacation to remain a peaceful one.

He cleared his throat, “I apologize for scaring you, but I thought I should make my presence known before you were to go on.” He spoke so eloquently, it was hard to ignore the way his beautiful blue steel eyes radiate with restfulness this getaway has finally given him after so long. “And I must say, you have the most eclectic taste in music.” He added while stepping in.

His sudden movement snapped me out of my frozen state. “Well it never hurts to have a variety.” I turned back to the stove. “And don’t think that complimenting my musical interests gets you off the hook for giving me a heart attack before I got food in my stomach.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it.” Even though my back was to him, I could hear the smile in his tone. “How can I make it up to you, then?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” I flipped the piece of bread onto its other side, loving the golden brown color. I turned slightly back to him. “I thought you were leaving today.” I recall the guy yesterday mentioning the other guest was supposed to be departing this morning.

“Well, thanks to Mother Nature, my stay has been extended. Not that I’m complaining though. I wasn’t ready to leave quite yet.” He leaned back against the counter next to the stove, so he was in my line of sight. One thing I heard about him is he is one of those guys that loves eye contact, especially during conversations. His move only proves that is right.

“Why not?” I asked as my curiosity was piqued. Assuming he doesn’t want to leave yet because it means going back to his hectic schedule is reasonable, but one should never assume.

“It’s very serene here. I like it better than the alternative.” Another thing I heard was how notoriously private he is. He only lets the world see what he wants them to see, leaving aspects of him that he reserves only for his close friends and family. Same goes for his relationships. He lets people know what he wants them to, never revealing too much. He must feel that everyone only cares to know why he’s single or if he’s dating anybody. So to him, keeping his private life just that is important. He loves his fans, he’s said so on many occasions, but he deserves to have some form of normalcy in all of the chaos.

“Everyone deserves a little peace and quiet every now and then. Pressing pause on life is good for your sanity.” Plopping the finished piece of French toast on the plate, I turned off the stove.

I can absolutely understand why everyone needs the pause button. Being a writer it is nonstop meetings and phone calls about pages and storyline updates. Everyone is always rushing to meet the deadlines. The trouble is I’ve never been good with deadlines or peer pressure so publishing my first book nearly caused a meltdown. Hence the reason I am on vacation by myself in the middle of the mountains. Now everything is published and awaiting more reviews. My publisher already gave me a heads-up that they were mostly good and that’s all I needed. Criticism isn’t something I’m fond of either. Thankfully my agent, publisher, and editor all agreed to leave me alone while on this trip, so I don’t have anything to worry about. Plus, this gives me a chance to get inspired. Knowing the big guns would want another book proposal as soon as the first one was completed, I already gave them the sequel to my first. That satisfied them for the time being. Now I just have to think of my next project.

“You sound like you speak from experience.” He pointed out, detecting my hidden meaning. He’s perceptive… gotta watch out for that.

“You could say that.” I sighed, moving to chop the strawberries I want on my French toast.

“How rude of me,” He blurted, shaking his head in self-disappointment, “I never introduced myself.” I chuckled at his humbleness. Like he really has to introduce himself to anybody anymore. But being the ever-polite British gentleman, he feels the need to. He held out his hand to me. “I’m,” he paused, “Will.”

I tried to stop the smile that threatened to show but failed. He’s going to use an alias. I guess he wants to remain anonymous. Again, his actions make complete sense to me. When I was given the opportunity to publish my book, I decided to use a pseudonym. Anonymity was important to me as well. That way I could still go about my life without my name being out there. I used a compilation of my initials whereas he is using a shortened version of his middle name.

“I’m Jen.” I fold my hand around his, locking eyes with him. It’s in that moment I registered just how close he got to me. With our height difference, I was forced to look up at him in order to meet those bright blues. As gorgeous as they are in pictures, they’re even more mesmerizing up close. The small section of light brown contrasted the light blue inner iris and the dark blue outline framing everything perfectly. His eyes alone could make anyone’s knees go weak…

“It’s very nice to meet you, Jen.” He muttered, never looking away from me. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, so I transferred my attention to our still connected hands. His large warm hand swallowed my small cold one. Instantly his warmth spread up my entire arm, also sending shivers down my spine.

“The pleasure is all mine…” I brought my eyes back to his. They now had a hint of something in them I didn’t recognize at first. “… Will.”

Before I could get completely lost in his eyes, I pulled my hand out of his, immediately missing the warmth of it. I quickly resumed my slicing, needing something to keep me busy. “So, what are you reading there?” I asked needing to break the tension that was in the air.

“Erm,” He cleared his throat again, taking a step back, “A book my friend told me to check out.” He took it out from under his armpit gripping it with both hands.

“Lemme see.” I wiped my hands off before he handed it over.

My heart dropped. I recognized the cover right away. The one word title flashed across the front like a beacon. The cover art of a guy and a girl standing with their bodies touching, but their hands not letting themselves be connected, denying what they have… My book. He’s reading my book. “Deny by J.J. Ehlby.” I read out loud, careful not to give myself up. I pretended to skim the back cover before handing it back to him. “I didn’t take you for the romance type.”

“What type do you take me as?” He leaned his hip against the counter again, relaxing back into our conversation.

“More…” how do I want to describe this? “well-known and established novelists like Dickens, Tolstoy, Twain, and more importantly Shakespeare. You’re definitely into Shakespeare.” Everything I’ve heard about him mentions his love of Shakespeare. He also participated in a debate about Dickens and Tolstoy. His love of classic literature is something I admired about him. His ability to read, comprehend, and appreciate literary geniuses is rare and praiseworthy.

He chuckled at my obvious stereotyping of him. “Is it because I’m British?” He asked with faux offense attached.

“Yes.” I bluntly answered, only half-kidding.

He full-on laughed at my honesty. He threw his head back and threw his hand over his heart, taking after Chris Evans in that regard. Listening to his laugh echo through the empty kitchen was like listening to the most beautiful symphony. You don’t get to see this type of laugh from him often. It’s always that “hehe” kind of giggle. This was him not caring and letting go. What a sight it was.

I couldn’t help but join in. “Well, am I wrong?” I countered, fully knowing I’m not.

“No!” He choked out, trying to calm himself down. “No, you are not wrong about my love of Classical literature.” He adjusted his glasses back to the tip-top of the bridge of his nose. “But you are wrong about my liking of romance.”

“Oh?”

“I quite like it actually. Shouldn’t falling in love be the best feeling in the world?” I looked up when he didn’t continue. He was watching me like he wants me to understand what he’s trying to say, “That head over heels, my heart is yours and yours mine, can’t live without you, want to spend the rest of my life by your side feeling…” He trailed off, taking a step towards me again. “That heart-pounding, staggered-breathing, knee-trembling, soul-freeing feeling of true love…” His voice dropped a few octaves, losing its sturdiness, only coming out as a whisper by the end. He’s passionate about love, even though he doesn’t have that kind in his life at the moment. How that is even remotely possible is beyond me… His gaze was locked on mine, entrapping me. They were filled with longing and… what I concluded as recognition. Recognition of what? I haven’t figured that out yet… My heart was pounding in my ears almost deafening in the silence. “I quite enjoy reading about two people discovering that feeling.”

All I can think is “Thank God the counter is here” otherwise I would be in a puddle on the floor.

How can a conversation with someone I just met be this intense? How can we be so open with each other with barely knowing the others name? I feel like he’s giving me a look inside his heart but at the same time keeping those guards up that he’s built throughout the years. He’s wearing his heart on his sleeve and showing me everything he’s got right away…

I wrenched myself out from his trance and this time, I took a step away trying to put some distance between us. He may be ready to show me everything, but I’m not. My heart is surrounded by miles of barriers that will be virtually impossible to break down. “Okay, Romeo. I get it.” I sent him a small smile, showing him that I’m not shutting down completely like he might think. “You are a fan of romance.” I strolled over to one of the cupboards, grabbing the powdered sugar, bringing it back over to my plate. “Can I eat my breakfast now?”

“May I join you?” He politely asked, giving me pleading eyes like a toddler gives his mother when asking for a piece of candy or a cookie. Irresistible cuteness.

I stared at the pile on one plate and my prepared plate next to it. I was going to consume the entire lot myself… but I wasn’t about to turn down spending more time with him. I found him a plate, splitting my portion in half for him. A brilliant smile followed nearly knocking me over.

After eating in the dining room, I retreated back upstairs while he offered to clean up. I protested at first, but he insisted, feeling bad that he kept me from eating for longer than I wanted. He practically begged me to so who was I to say no?

I immediately went to my room, locking the door behind me. I rang my agent who was about to get an earful…

“I assure you, Jen, no one had any idea he was there. By all accounts, he was home in London.” She tried to calm me down after I ranted to her before she could even say “hello.” “This could be a good thing!”

“How? I’m supposed to be on vacation, relaxing. How can I do that with the most perfect human being on the planet in the next room?” I flopped back on my bed, eyeing my suitcase full of comfy pants, sweatshirts, and hardly any make-up. I never planned on seeing many people on this trip. The plan was to lock myself in my room for seven straight days before rejoining the world again. I can’t do that now knowing Tom is here. I don’t want him to think I’m a total hermit.

“You also went there to get inspired. With your second book’s first draft already in the editor’s hands, the instant that one comes out, the more they’re going to want. You got lucky with your first few novels already being completed before you even found a publisher, now is the time to get a head start on what’s next for J.J. Ehlby, a.k.a. Jenessee Borosi.”

I rolled my eyes at how predictable she is and for how she used my full name. “So you’re saying I should write a book about this.” I didn’t phrase it as a question for a reason. I’ve been working with her for a year now. She’s been good about not pushing me, but she can’t help it sometimes. I know she has people to answer to, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Just think about it.” She didn’t deny my indirect accusation. “That ‘After’ book was originally fan-fiction and it was turned into a movie.”

Again my eyes roll. “Being snowed in, in a secluded chalet in the mountains with one of the world’s most brilliant and most well-known actors? What do you think is going to happen? Because of our solitude, we’ll find something in the other that we’ve been missing in everyone else; that we’ll fall in love in a week’s time? That sounds like one of those cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies that are so unrealistic, they’re laughable. That’s not realistic, that’s a fantasy.”

Although… based off our conversation in the kitchen, that’s already not far off, at least for me. I’ve had a major crush on Tom for years prior to this. Only dreaming of being with him, never believing I would actually get the chance to meet him. Me falling for him isn’t completely far-fetched because I’m halfway there already. But him? No way.

“Just think about it.” She repeated before ending the call.

Think about it I did, but quickly came to the conclusion that I would not exploit Tom like that. This is his private time as much as it is mine. I will not expose anything he doesn’t want anyone else to know. I respect myself, my work, and above all, him too much to stoop that low to get my next book idea.

A knock on my door brought me out of my thoughts.

“Care to join me downstairs?” He asks as soon as I open the door.

“And do what?” I return, not really caring what he was to suggest. I will take every opportunity given to me to be in the presence of this beautiful man.

“We could read if you brought something to read. I know that’s what I will be doing. You could do whatever it is you like to do.” He rambled on nervously. It was adorable actually. What he had to be nervous about, I have no idea. Was he afraid I would say no? That I might have had enough of him already? Impossible. “I figured since we are the only ones here, and more than likely will be for the foreseeable future, we don’t have to-”

“I like to write.” I interrupted, my slight sadist side being fulfilled by his groveling.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. You can write, and I can read. We can do that… together.” He concluded, all nervousness starting to dissipate.

“Okay. Let me grab my stuff and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Ten minutes later we were sitting in a comfortable silence on the large U-shaped couch, Tom reading my book and me attempting to think of something to write about. However it proved more difficult than I was expecting. The only thing I could think of was him. How he was sitting just feet away, reading my book. I tried to determine where he was in the book depending on his reaction but was failing at that as well. He masked his emotions with a furrowed brow and straight lips. Occasionally that mask broke letting a chuckle slip out. He’s finding it amusing at least. That’s a good sign right?

“Having some difficulty?” He broke the silence, his eyes never straying from his page. Crap, he saw me watching him. I knew I wasn’t being stealthy, but he hasn’t looked up since we sat down. How could he know that I’m having a hard time getting started?

“You could say that.” I shifted my position, hoping that might make me more comfortable and by some miracle have something, anything come to me. Not only is it difficult having him here reading my book, it’s odd having someone else, period, around while I write. I’m always by my lonesome when doing so.  I catch myself making some funny faces while writing. In order to skip any embarrassment by someone seeing them, I prefer solitude. That also doesn’t bring any outside distractions, like I can listen to music, stare off into space, talk to myself- do whatever it takes to come up with what I want to do next. “Writer’s block is rearing its ugly head.” He snickered, my book falling onto his lap. “This bitch is partially the reason why I’m on my solo vacation.” He set my book to the side, giving me his undivided attention, beckoning me to continue. “I thought a change of scenery might help some.”

“And has it?” He asked, seemingly fully invested in what I have to say. I squirmed in my seat, not used to this kind of attention. Growing up an only child with older and younger cousins who are focused on their little group, I was mostly alone. No one really paid attention to me. The adults criticized my decision to become a writer instead of a typical “9 to 5.” Also not having much in common with the next generation young ones, I kept to myself. Instead turning to writing as an outlet for my loneliness. I was extremely hesitant before getting published. My writing is like my diary. I didn’t know if I ever wanted anyone to see that far into my mind. But after rave reviews from my publisher, I decided to go for it. Even during the initial meetings with editors, they didn’t give me as much attention as Tom is giving me right now. To say it’s odd, but greatly appreciated is an understatement.

“It’s given me ideas but putting an idea to paper is more difficult than one would think.” I think back to my agent’s idea. I never said it wasn’t a good proposal, I just said it was cheesy and more than likely, overdone. Why would I want to do something that’s already been done multiple times? Yes, there are always different perspectives on the same story, but my argument stands.

He continues to ask me questions about writing, each more thoughtful than the next, shocking me to no end. No one has taken this much interest in my writing. Not even my publisher. What really throws me through a loop is how genuinely interested he is. Most people ask to be nice or are curious but drop the topic after one or two questions. Not Tom. His curiosity is refreshing and scary at the same time.

“Have you ever wanted to get published?” He asked one of the most common questions I would get. My answer still remains the same to this day.

“No.” He raised his eyebrows at my answer. Everyone who asks is always surprised by my confession.  I shrug, “Since I started, it never was my goal. I wrote for me. I didn’t need anyone to read anything because that’s not who I wrote for.” I look at the pen in my hand and smile. It rests on the writer’s bump on my middle finger I’ve gained from many, many years of writing. I used to loathe it because it made my hand look funny, but I’ve learned to accept it because it makes me unique. “Having a pen in my hand feels as natural as breathing to me. Ever since I wrote my first “novel” in 5th grade, I’ve almost always been writing. Everyone I went to school with knew me as ‘the girl who writes a lot’.

As I got older, that’s when people started asking if I wanted to publish someday. My answer was always no, because I never thought I was good enough to and criticism and I don’t go hand-in-hand. I read a quote once that said: ‘Wanting to be a writer and not wanting to be rejected is like wanting to be a boxer and not wanting to get punched.’ It’s not the rejection that held me back. I know that’s par for the course, just like it is with acting. My fear was all of the negative criticism that my books were bound to get. I’m the type of person who could get 100 compliments and one negative remark and only focus on the one negative comment. That would stick with me longer than any of the good.” Because of that, I almost said no when I was offered to publish. I was urged to because of the concept I had. The publisher loved that it was never done before and all of the ideas I had from it, they practically begged me. So after a year of editing, it was published a month ago. I have yet to read a single review though. The only thing I heard was it was doing really well.

“I tried putting something online, but because it wasn’t fan-fiction or have any supernatural elements incorporated, it didn’t take off.” I shrugged off its initial failure. That’s what caught my publisher’s attention though. They liked the overall premise and once they heard what I planned on doing with it, they were on board. “Because you know, that’s all anyone under the age of 25 cares about nowadays.” Shrugging again like it was no big deal, I returned my blank pages in front of me, hoping words would have magically appeared while talking. No such luck.

“Have you ever written anything other than novels?” He questioned, taking into account what I’ve told him. Novels have always been my go-to. I just have had so much to say and so much to write that all of my works have turned into multi-chapter stories. “Have you tried a novella or just a short story?” I shake my head. I’ve seen and read short stories and one-shots on Tumblr, but never tried my hand at it. I guess I could try it… “I say, try that. See where it takes that beautiful mind of yours.”

My head snapped towards him. Beautiful? How could he think that if he’s barely scratched the surface?

He smiled sweetly at me, warming my insides more than I ever expected before opening my book back up.

As we returned to the silence, my mind raced at the possibilities. I logged on to Pinterest and looked up some writing prompts to see if anything sparked some ideas. It didn’t take me long before I found one and I was already 5 written pages in. It felt good to write again. Having the ideas pour out of my mind and onto the paper is an exciting feeling that only a writer can appreciate.

Soon enough the sun was setting and neither of us had moved since we sat down. It was a quiet afternoon that I was yearning for while on this trip. And to share it with Tom was just an added bonus.

I only paused when my hand started to cramp. Tom seemed to have noticed so he suggested we think about dinner. It wasn’t until he mentioned food that I realized how hungry I was.

He insisted on making dinner for us since I (unintentionally) made breakfast/lunch for us earlier. He didn’t know what he should make so I made a suggestion: pickle and bacon grilled cheese. He was intrigued by the idea, so he agreed. I tried to help but he shooed me away, telling me to grab a glass of wine and enjoy the show, only asking me how much bacon to use and how many pickles to cut up. He started asking questions about my upbringing to which I did the same. We both discussed the ways our respective parents divorces paved our lives into what they are today but didn’t get too deep or else I would have cried. I would need a lot more wine for that to happen. He at least found the positive aspects from his situation whereas I definitely haven’t. He credits his parents divorce for showing him human frailty and how he can be more compassionate in his understanding of it. With him being 12 when it happened, he was old enough to understand what was happening. I admire him for the way he has taken something tragic and turned into something positive. As if I didn’t know this already, but he’s a much better person than I am.

By the time he was finished making 4 sandwiches: 3 with pickles and bacon and 1 regular, in case he didn’t like my add-ons or in case we were both still hungry afterwards. He wound up loving it, even adding more to his plain one. He couldn’t believe he went so long without trying it and vowed never to go back to regular grilled cheese sandwiches. Mission accomplished.

“Are you going to get back to your writing now? You looked… rather inspired before. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He asked as he walked me to my room for the night. 

We both cleaned up the kitchen, much to his protest. But I argued my point and he couldn’t say no. He told me all about growing up in Wimbledon with his sisters, going to an all-boys prep school to graduating with a “double first” in Classics at Cambridge and attending the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. I listened in awe of all he accomplished while I was still in elementary school, before I even discovered my passion for writing. He raved about the small projects he’s done since graduating, focusing on theater. I could tell he was purposely not mentioning Marvel or any other movie he’s done since gaining recognition, wanting his anonymity to stay that. I just listened while handing him dish after dish. Thankfully there weren’t very many, but we took our sweet time doing it. I loved hearing him talk. That accent could make anything sound interesting. But other than that, hearing the passion in his voice as he talked about the theater and how he discovered his love for acting by going as a boy was awe-inspiring. After he rambled, he apologized for only talking about himself while we were cleaning up. I of course didn’t mind, hating talking about myself so it was nice to talk about him and learn more about him from the source and not from the internet.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “We’ll see if I can get back into the swing of it.”

“Well I believe in you.” He smiled, stopping in front of my door. “I believe you can do it.”

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure?” His confidence in me is astounding.

“Well, not to sound like a creep, but erm,” he hesitated, “I was watching you before.”

Dear Lord, why? Why did he have to watch me? He saw the faces I make, my staring off into space, and hand gestures I do to recreate the picture in my head… I’m mortified.

“You were so engrossed in what you were writing. I could quite literally see the wheels turning in your head as you were figuring out what to do next.” His tone was filled with as much awe as I did listening to him. “It was mesmerizing.”

Feeling the blush creep in, I looked away from his wonder-filled eyes. No one has ever found something I do “mesmerizing” or anything remotely interesting. So, why does he? Why does he out of all of the people in the world find me so worthy of that kind of praise?

As I sat on my bed after we said good night, I finally could comprehend everything that happened today. I spent the day with Tom Hiddleston. I had uninterrupted quality time with him. No pressure of being watched, judged, or rushed. We had a relaxing day enjoying each other’s company like we were 2 friends on vacation together.

Is he a friend? Or am I jumping the gun here? Would he consider me one after we get out of here? Would he want to keep in contact? Or would I just become a memory that fades as time goes on? On the other hand, why would he even want someone like me in his life? He’s probably got plenty of friends that would be much better company than me. People who he can have intelligent conversations with and go in depth about things I know nothing about. I’d bore him and he’d drop me. But being a gentleman, he’d do it nicely. So there would be that.

I’m not going to have any expectations when it comes to after this week. As far as I’m concerned, after we are clear to leave, we will go our own ways and never think about the other again… well, that’ll only be half true. There’s no way I could ever forget about him. He’ll be everywhere. Me? I’ll only be a memory. He’ll have no reminders of me. He’ll forget about our time together once he gets back to the chaos that is Hollywood. So I will enjoy his attention while I have it…

day two...

Permanent Taglist: @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @hiddlephile @naniky

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 11 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: We are officially at 600 followers!! It really blows me away how far we’ve come, and thank you all so much for supporting me. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

From Waller’s POV

GCPD, COMMISSIONER’S OFFICE

THE NEXT NIGHT

“I’m sorry about your loss, Waller,” Gordon sympathized, rubbing his temple. “Even if I didn’t know her that well, Avesta was always a ray of sunshine in this hurricane of a city. It’s hard to believe that Lazarus actually got to her. Things certainly won’t be the same without her running around.”

I stared at the red stamp on Avesta’s file, my heart wrenching with grief. 

“...Deceased,” I read aloud, shutting the document closed, “along with a hundred other nameless souls. This fight with Wayne only gets harder and harder by the day, and frankly, I’m not sure how much longer we can hold up. But thank you for your condolences. Avesta was one of my best agents -- this will be a significant blow to the Agency. I only hope the police force won’t have to suffer loss like this.”

Gordon took on a more vengeful tone. “That maniac lays a finger on Renee-- or any of my other officers -- and I’ll put him down myself.”

I gazed at him in a warning manner. “I know it’s hard to remember this, but keep in mind, Commissioner, that Bruce is just as much of a victim of Lotus as those he kills. We’re trying to help him, not hurt him. Don’t misunderstand though. That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

A defeated breath escaped him. “...You’re right, you’re right. It’s just -- with all the casualties, the bombs, and Joker still on the loose -- you need something to blame. And at the moment, Bruce is the closest thing we’ve got. What the hell is he even doing with Bane? I mean, they’re both rotten, mind you, but I never imagined they’d work together. Bane’s strength combined with Bruce’s smarts...it’s a recipe for disaster. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

I stood up from my desk, putting Avesta’s file away in the cabinet. “You and me both, Gordon. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what Bruce has planned for today. He made it sound pretty big, and if his attack at the city address is anything to go by, we’ll need every man we’ve got.”

Interrupting our conversation, a knock suddenly emitted from the door, diverting our focus from Avesta’s case. I adjusted my glasses, straightening my posture.

“Come on in,” I called out. “The door’s open.”

Humbly allowing himself into the office, one of the doctors who operated on Bruce strode towards the center of the room, greeting both me and the Commissioner with a simple smile.

“Dr. Elswood,” I said, pleasantly surprised. “It’s been quite some time since we last met. What’s wrong?”

The young doctor gave me a casual shake of the head, his stern, grey eyes twinkling with intellect.

“Nothing, actually. You’ll be pleased to hear that I have good news for once.”

“Really?” I asked. “And what would that be?”

Elswood softly shut the door behind him, his expression glowing with sincerity and accomplishment.

“I’m proud to say that our experiments on Wayne have finally paid off,” he announced. “Director...we found a cure.”

“A cure?” I repeated as my eyes popped open, admittedly in disbelief. “For Lotus, you mean?”

“Yes,” he verified. “Only this one actually maintains the brain chemistry. In other words, if anyone gets infected, this cure will be able to save them from the virus’ symptoms and preserve their sanity. It can also repair brain chemistry, if need be.”

Gordon joined in, hooked with interest. “Wait, you said it can repair it?”

Elswood nodded. “Correct, sir.”

The Commissioner turned to me, his face lit up with eagerness. “Waller, if this cure can fix brain chemistry...do you think it’s possible we could save Bruce? Bring him back from this madness?”

When I was silent in response, Elswood answered for me.

“Yes, you could. Although, the affects would take longer to settle in, considering how deeply Lotus has implanted itself into Bruce. Luckily for us however, he hasn’t been infected for that long. So there’s still a chance we could save him.”

Trying to untangle my thoughts, I confessed my doubts about the situation.

“Not that I don’t believe you, Doctor, but you’ll understand when I say this sounds too good to be true.”

“Of course, ma’am. Lotus has been such a significant threat over the past week -- especially yesterday -- I could hardly believe it myself when we discovered the cure. But I assure you, it does work. We’ve tested it.”

“Could it save the people who were infected at the address?”

Elswood shook his head grimly. “Unfortunately, no. You see, those people were infected with a modified version of Lotus. We’re still studying that one...trying to figure out just what the hell Wayne did to it. At the moment, our cure only works with the original virus.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than nothing. Even if it can’t cure everyone, it’s about time we saved someone. Excellent work, Doctor. This will be a major help to us. And thank you.”

He beamed gratefully, heading for the office’s door. “Hopefully, with this cure, the amount of survivors will finally surpass the death toll. There’s been too much bloodshed ever since Bruce rose to power, and I can only pray that this saves him too. We put him through a lot of pain with those experiments, you know. Perhaps this is my chance to make amends.”

“You only did what you had to,” I replied empathetically. “Just like the rest of us.”

Exiting the room, Elswood left me and Gordon alone as we speculated the possible outcomes with this newfound cure, both of us thinking about one man in particular.

“...So,” I said, breaking the silence, “you want to cure Bruce.”

He raised a brow. “...You don’t?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Of course, I do. But think about it: if we cure Bruce, he’ll return to his old self. And despite any differences the two of you might’ve had in the past, you can’t deny he was a good, compassionate man -- always did what he thought was best for others. If he were to regain his sanity and learn about the hundreds of men, women, and even children he’s killed...”

Gordon’s shoulders slouched with realization. “...the truth would destroy him.”

I nodded austerely. “Exactly. His guilt would demolish him, and we could just end up sealing his madness for good. That’s not something I’m willing to put him through. As horrible as it sounds, Bruce would probably be better off if we just killed him. Or threw him in Arkham.”

The Commissioner’s eagerness vanished at the prediction, and he frowned morosely. 

“I...I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. There’s also the fact that Alfred would probably want a say or two in the decision. Bruce is practically his son.”

Gordon quickly changed subjects, wanting to get his mind off of Wayne. 

“Anyways, I still haven’t heard a peep from Batman, and frankly...it’s scaring the hell outta me. Normally, an incident like the one at the address would have Batman flyin’ all over Gotham until he caught the culprit. For him to stay silent for so long...it’s making me think that perhaps Bruce wasn’t just spewing nonsense, after all. Do you think it’s possible, Waller? Could a guy like Bruce Wayne really have killed Batman?”

I froze at the question and contemplated it or a moment, finally deciding that it was time Gordon learned the truth. There was no point in keeping it a secret anymore, and if I was being honest, he’d probably crack the code on his own anyways. Sure, he wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the shed, but the Commissioner was anything but stupid. Holding this back from him any longer would really just be an insult by now.

“...Gordon,” I said, trying to keep it together, “there’s...there’s something you need to know. Something I should’ve told you much sooner.”

He eyed me suspiciously, sipping his coffee. “Okay...and what would that be?”

I gazed at the floor, unable to even look at Gordon. 

“It’s about Batman. And where he’s been all this time. I’m sorry, Jim. I wanted to reveal this earlier -- I really did -- but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Considering how close the two of you were though, I think you deserve to know. Batman isn’t dead. He’s actually--”

“--Director!” Harrison’s voice suddenly blurted out from my earpiece, halting my train of thought. “It’s Lazarus! He just launched another attack--” 

There was a chain of static, cutting him off for a few seconds. I pressed on my earpiece, responding back.

“Harrison!” I exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

“--City Hall! He’s taken the Mayor hostage--” more static, “--and Bane’s on his way to blow up Gotham Bridge--!”

“Gotham Bridge?” I turned to Gordon. “That’s the only way out of the city! Wayne’s trying to trap us all in by destroying it!”

The Commissioner immediately got to work. “I’ll send a squad to deal with Bane and disarm that bomb. You just worry about getting the Mayor back in one piece. If there’s anyone we can’t afford losing now, it’s him.”

“Thank you, Commissioner.” I brought my attention back to Harrison. “Listen to me, agent. Our top priority is saving the Mayor and any other hostages Lazarus may have taken. Understood? We’ll deal with the man himself later. I’m sending more agents your way right now, along with some old-fashioned guns -- just in case Lazarus tries another one of his EMP blasts.”

“Understood, Director. We’ll--”

A burst of static silenced him, leaving me in the dark.

“Harrison? Harrison! ...Dammit. I’ll have to contact one of my other agents, make sure everyone knows what’s going on.”

Gordon took out his own walkie-talkie, jogging out of the office. “I’ll get to Gotham Bridge as soon as possible. Anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Understood. And good luck.” 

Switching the line over to Agent Blake, I followed Gordon’s actions and practically bolted out of the precinct, getting one of the vehicles ready as I prepared to head to City Hall.

“Blake,” I said, “Wayne has just hit City Hall, and he’s taken the Mayor hostage. I need you to gather as many people as you can, and head over there ASAP. Do whatever it takes to get the Mayor to safety. Got it?”

No response.

“Blake.” I repeated. 

Still, nothing. 

“Are you there? Blake! BLAKE!”

From Blake’s POV

CITY HALL, MAYOR’S OFFICE

“Blake,” Waller called frantically, “are you there? Blake! BLAKE!”

Slowly rising back into consciousness due to the Director’s voice, I opened my eyes and gradually regained awareness, my entire body tingling with numbness. 

The room around me was nearly pitch-black, and the only light I could see came from the moon itself as it eerily seeped through the tall windows, creating disturbing shadows on the walls. There were no lamps, no talking, and certainly no friendly faces. Just pure darkness.

Sitting on the opposite side of the room though, I could barely see another man restrained to a chair along with a masked figure towering above of him, both of them whispering in hushed tones. The man had a gag securely tied over his mouth, and his eyes bulged with fear as he struggled in his bonds, desperately trying to break free...but to no avail. There was also a clear, sharp edge of a knife just kissing the skin on his throat, and his captor only laughed with every whimper he made. Was that...who I thought it was?

“I’m sorry,” the captor apologized insincerely, “could you repeat that, Mr. Mayor? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

I instantly recognized the captor’s voice. It had to be Lazarus. There was no doubt about it.

The Mayor let out a series of muffled shouts and writhed in pain as Lazarus traced the knife along his flesh, drawing beads of blood.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Leave him alone!” Lazarus whirled around at my outburst, narrowing his eyes at me and halting mid-action.

“...Ah. Agent Blake,” he slithered towards me, taking his attention off the Mayor for a minute as he wiped his blade clean. “Trying to play the hero again, are we? I did too, once upon a time. Back when I thought it still mattered.”

Lazarus suddenly threw a vicious punch across my face, causing pain to pound throughout my cheeks.

“...Look how well that turned out!”

I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the throbbing ache. 

“You son a bitch...!” I cursed. “You killed Avesta. You’re going to suffer for what you’ve done!”

He paused, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Avesta’s...dead?” He questioned.

“...yes,” I breathed out. “She--she died yesterday. Right in front of me. I...I watched the whole thing. Even held her as she drifted away. You could feel the life draining from her. Why did you do it, Bruce...? Why did you kill her?”

Despite not being able to see his entire face, I still noticed a brief pang of guilt flash within his expression, and his eyes were downcast in a woeful manner. It almost seemed like he...regretted killing Avesta, and for the first time in an eternity, Lazarus actually displayed some humanity.

However, that humanity quickly perished when a joyous glint shined darkly in his gaze and he began to chuckle deviously, his entire body shaking with jolts of hysterical laughter. His laughter spiked in volume and grew into a full-blown cackle that brazenly echoed throughout the emptiness, filling the office with ominous giggles. And with how much Lazarus was struggling to speak, you’d think he was genuinely amused.

Glancing back at the Mayor, the madman snickered to himself, lining the edge of his knife with a single finger.

“You hear that, Mr. Mayor?” He sneered, slightly out of breath. “Karma does exist. Sooner or later, everyone gets what’s coming to them.”

I gritted my teeth, lurching forward out of anger. “You think this is funny?”

Lazarus shook his head. “Not funny, necessarily, but the irony is so, pathetically...LAUGHABLE. You’ll forgive me if I can’t help but let out a few chortles. Goddammit, that clown’s rubbing off on me, isn’t he.”

“What do you have against Avesta? Why was she such a prominent target for you?”

He was bewildered by that question. “Why wouldn’t she be, is what you should be asking. I hope you understand, Blake, that all of this--” Lazarus motioned to himself, “--wouldn’t even exist if Avesta had only pulled. the damn. trigger. I gave her the opportunity to kill me back at Wayne Enterprises. Sat there like a stray dog while I begged her to shoot what would become Gotham’s worst nightmare...and she refused.”

Lazarus clenched his fists. “Avesta’s desire to please the Agency was so embedded within her, that she couldn’t even have the decency to show a little mercy. That’s why I put her through all that pain. That’s why I sliced out those exuberant eyes of hers. Because she couldn’t see the madness she was creating. So why bother keeping them?”

I gave Lazarus an anguished look. “Avesta only spared you because she thought we could save you, Bruce. She never meant to hurt you.”

He was unconvinced. “You think I haven’t heard that one before? Everyone in this city uses the same, GODDAMN excuse! You, Avesta, Alfred, Tiffany...and even John. You’re all liars, deceivers...masked killers who disguise themselves as heroes. When in reality...” Lazarus backed towards one of the windows and held up a remote for his favored EMP generator, “...none of us are heroes.”

Activating the remote, Lazarus suddenly threw the entire city into darkness with a low, electronic groan as he picked up another device, hacking into Tiffany’s tablet and triggering her voice to come through along with Waller’s.

“--Dammit,” the Director hissed through the mic, “that must’ve been an EMP blast. I see Wayne hasn’t given up on his old tactics. We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“Wait,” Tiffany replied, “my devices have EMP shielding. They were able to survive the blast. I can still keep an eye on him while the other agents fetch the mayor.”

“Good thinking. Things will be a hell of a lot harder without our tech, but at least we can monitor Wayne.”

Lazarus unexpectedly joined the conversation, smiling to himself as he enjoyed the outside view. 

“Just as you always do,” he interrupted. “I figured the Agency would be experts at this by now. All you did for an entire week was monitor me. Watching, and waiting. Standing idly by as I rotted away...don’t deny that you relished it.”

“What do you want, Wayne?” Waller fired back.

“What do I want?” He repeated. “I’m surprised you ask. You didn’t seem to care back when I was suffering in your secret lab -- when all I wanted was a little mercy...” a pleased chuckle escaped him. “But now that I’ve stoked the city’s fire with its own fuel, and sent your own organization crumbling around you...now you care. Because you’re afraid. Because you know what kind of a monster you’ve created, and you know what I’m capable of. Isn’t that right...Director?”

“Enough, Bruce,” she said firmly, “It’s time we settled this, but I want the mayor first. He’s not a part of this. Leave him out of it.”

Lazarus tossed a casual glare in my direction, shaking his head in disapproval. “Even now, she still makes demands...when I’ve clearly got the upper hand. You’ll have to learn someday, Waller, that barking orders isn’t enough to push through life. Though, it can certainly push some people.”

He focused on the Mayor once again, prowling towards him. “Fine. You want your beloved mayor so much?” The man brandished his knife, grabbing his victim and hurling him to the floor. “...Then you can have him.”

“Wait!” The Mayor shouted, frantically trying to escape. “Please...no! NO!”

But it was too late. Before he could say anything more, Lazarus had ripped open his shirt and impaled him with the knife, aggressively tearing a rigid gash in his stomach as he cut him open like a frog. 

Hot blood spurted all over the floor and stained Lazarus’ hands as he continued to work, ignoring the series of agonized shrieks coming from the Mayor while I tried to break my restraints. I had no clue how we were going to get out of this situation, and without my earpiece, it was impossible to know if anyone was coming for us...but I’d be damned if I let the Mayor die. 

Desperately searching around the office for an escape, I suddenly realized how close I was to the EMP generator, and decided to use the Mayor as a distraction. If I could scoot myself within range while Lazarus wasn’t looking, there was a chance I’d be able to disarm it and give Waller all her tech back. From that point, it would take them mere minutes to locate the two of us...but the Mayor had to suffer for just a bit longer.

“Hold still!” Lazarus growled, digging deeper.

The way Bruce cut into him...it almost reminded me of the gruesome method Joker used to attack Detective Bullock a few days ago, and it only made me wonder if, perhaps, Lazarus might’ve had a second alliance we weren’t aware of. The two of them certainly seemed close before, and I saw no reason they couldn’t work together now -- especially with Bruce going nuts. Christ. This storm just got messier and messier with every passing day, didn’t it?

Finally yanking his knife out, Lazarus rose back to his feet and reached over to the desk, taking a strangely familiar drone in hand. The miniature drone oddly resembled Tiffany’s own devices, and with the simple push of a button, Bruce set it to emit an ominous beeping signal. It was the same one I heard when Batman interrogated Eli, and the same one at the Lady of Dublin when Riddler launched those homing missiles.

Oh, shit.

Practically leaping my chair towards the EMP generator, I hurriedly retrieved my earpiece and stuck it back in, preparing to deactivate the machine.

By now, Lazarus had stuffed the drone into the Mayor’s stomach with a disgusting squish and tied his arms to a rope that led outside one of the windows, dragging him across the floor as he screamed for help.

“Don’t worry about your city, Mr. Mayor,” Lazarus grunted out, hauling him halfway over the window sill. “Gotham was ruined anyways.”

With one forceful shove, Lazarus sent the Mayor plummeting through the air like a comet until the rope caught him in place with a tight tug, causing him to dangle for everyone to see. Even though the man was several floors beneath us now, I could still hear him wailing for help in the distance as the signal continued to ring from his insides, drawing god knows how many missiles straight for City Hall.

Fortunately, on top of all the commotion going on, I also caught the sound of several footsteps clamoring towards the office, trying to get past Lazarus’ traps. Judging by the volume, they didn’t seem too far away, and Waller’s voice barked among them, shouting orders left and right. The other agents must’ve found us. All I had to do now was survive.

Bringing his attention back to me, Lazarus flipped the knife in his hand and strolled for the door, waving a casual goodbye.

“I’d stay to enjoy the show, but my business calls me elsewhere. Have fun, Blake...and goodbye. Tell Avesta I said ‘hi,’ would you? I’d hate for her to think I had already forgotten her.”

Hovering a foot above the EMP generator’s power button, I simply glared at Lazarus and smirked, eager to see his reaction once he realized he was cornered.

“You can tell her yourself.”

Slamming my foot down, I instantly shut the generator off and restored power to the entire block, allowing the agents to use their shock pistols again. The abrupt turn of events threw Lazarus off-guard, and using the distraction as an opening, I sprung upwards and slammed my chair into him, stunning the man for a moment as Waller and her agents busted in.

“There he is! Subdue him!” The Director commanded. 

A cluster of bright, blue bolts zapped onto Lazarus’ body as he trembled with the shock, letting out a pained yelp before collapsing to the floor. The ammunition didn’t seem to knock him out as it usually did with other people, but he had been weakened enough that our men could get him in handcuffs.

“Blake!” Waller exclaimed as she rushed over, cutting me loose. “Are you all right?”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But we need to evacuate! Bruce planted a drone inside the Mayor’s stomach, and its signal is gonna attract a dozen missiles our way!”

Her nose crinkled in disgust. “Inside his stomach? Oh, for the love of...” Waller turned to some of her other men. “Get the Mayor down as soon as possible, and find a way to deactivate the drone inside him. We cannot let those missiles hit City Hall, do I make myself clear?”

“Right away, Director!”

Focusing on Lazarus, she lifted the madman off the floor and began dragging him out of the office, staring him down with a deadly gaze.

“You’re lucky we need you alive. Otherwise, this would be your last day living in this godforsaken city.”

He chuckled weakly. “Well, it’s certainly yours.”

Scoffing in an unamused tone, Waller continued to shove Lazarus through the doors and hurriedly evacuated the remaining agents -- that was, until an all-too-familiar giggle took our notice.

“Leave...him...ALONE!”

Swinging through the windows with a strong kick, both Joker and Harley Quinn jumped into the scene as they sent shattered glass flying everywhere, immediately starting to attack our men.

“Sorry to spoil the party, fellas,” Harley teased, patting her mallet in her palm, “but Mama’s got a serum to make. Ain’t that right, Puds?”

Joker grinned freakishly, taking out a pair of pistols. “Anything for you, babe.”

Clashing like the front-lines of a war, the two them collided with our agents as hell unleashed, transforming the entire room into a battlefield. All around me, I could see bullets flying through the air -- both regular and electric -- while the rest of our squad did everything they could to get the Mayor to safety, the missiles getting closer and closer.

However, to my surprise, the agents actually seemed to be winning against Joker and Harley. They were still putting up quite a fight, but the more resistance we threw at them, the sloppier they became. There was no question that we’d all have to retreat sooner or later, but if we were going to get out of this place, it’d be a bonus to bring in some criminals with us.

Clumsily stumbling to the floor, Harley lost her footing after being whacked in the head with the butt of a gun, causing her to fall over as the mallet slid away and our agents surrounded her.

“Puddin!” She called, reaching out for help. But Joker’s eyes were on someone else.

Planted amidst all the mayhem like a deer in headlights, Joker glanced between Harley and Bruce, clearly deciding who he would rather save. The man was obviously torn about the dilemma -- and there was no way he’d able to save both -- but contrary to what I was expecting, he eventually sprinted in Bruce’s direction and wrapped an arm around his waist before aiming a grapple gun out the window, gliding to freedom.

Rage washed over Harley’s face, and she bared her teeth out of frustration. “Oh, why, you two-timing son of a--!”

Overwhelming the former doctor, Waller and the other agents restrained Harley’s arms behind her back as they hauled her out, having no more time to spare. It seemed like they had failed to retrieve the Mayor from his place on the building’s facade, and as the seconds flew by, the sharp whoosh of a dozen missiles could be heard in the sky.

“Move it, people!” Waller bellowed. “We have to leave! I’m afraid it’s impossible to save the Mayor at this point, and we’ve got no time to lose. So get the hell out of here, and bring Quinn to the precinct! Hurry!”

Speeding our way out of City Hall, I followed my fellow agents and dashed to the exit, quite literally running for my life. I had already seen the damage these missiles could cause once with Riddler, and I definitely didn’t want to see how they could bring down an entire building. I only hoped that the Mayor’s upcoming death would be swift. I couldn’t deny that I felt guilty for letting him suffer like that just so I could escape, but with Quinn in our custody and Lazarus’ plans taking a wrong turn, maybe the Agency would actually be able to get somewhere now. And put a permanent stop to this madness.

From John’s POV

Hastily swinging from rooftop to rooftop, I struggled to carry Bruce’s limp body as I got us to a safe distance, taking a break once we were a few blocks away. Part of me couldn’t believe that I actually left Harley behind, and I almost felt heartbroken for betraying her like that...but I knew Bruce was the one who I truly wanted. 

I had fought so much and traveled so far to keep this man by my side, and I certainly wasn’t going to stop now. Regardless of any feelings I may have held for Harley, Bruce would always matter more to me. We were two threads in the same stitch, and I was his light outside of Arkham. Nothing could keep us apart.

Bruce let out a lazy mumble, still dazed from the Agency’s shocks.

“It’s okay, my love,” I comforted him. “I won’t let those Agency pigs hurt you ever again. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, and then I’m gonna take care of you -- just like I did when those thugs at Arkham tasered you. You’re going to be all right. Trust me.”

Disturbing the intimate moment, an explosive boom rudely interrupted my thoughts as a bright, fiery light illuminated all of Gotham, painting the city red.

Steadily gazing behind me to see what it was, I found myself gaping in wonder at the incredible sight, completely awestruck by what Bruce had created. 

A monumental cloud of blazing fire engulfed City Hall as tremendous sparks shot away from the missiles’ impact, skipping through the flames that embraced the Mayor’s burning body. A symphony of panicked screams could be heard singing throughout the air, and the longer I watched the turmoil unravel, the more I could see the building’s structure crumble. It was like witnessing a firework show on the Sun itself...and the fact that Bruce was able to pull it off only made me love the man more.

“You...are one messed up guy, Bruce Wayne,” I said, laughing to myself. “...And that’s exactly why I’m never letting you go. It’s time to get things moving again. To bring them all to justice. We’ll burn this city to the ground together -- and Gotham’s final days will be the first ones to our new lives. AHAHA!”

[minoukatze]

Homecoming

Chapter Three 

(Screw you, Archaon. I am the god of this small corner, and I have decreed that Katerina ices your petty ass. *points at Mannfred Von Carstein* You're next...)

“By Sigmar, how long has it been?” Captain Johann Weber rose creakily from his desk to greet Victor.

“Since that summit in Altdorf, I believe,” Victor replied, firmly shaking the old man’s hand, then taking his seat. “Thirty-six years ago, I believe.”

“And you a newly-minted hunter.” Johann leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think I’d ever seen Konstanze look prouder, Sigmar bless her soul.”

Victor smiled faintly. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in far too long. Indeed, Sigmar bless her soul. She was one of a kind.”

Just hearing her name conjured the phantom brume of thick tobacco smoke, the rustle of cracked leathers and an ambient croaking grumble. Konstanze Achterberg. She had been a gimlet-eyed crone with skin like cured jerky, a frizzled grey riot wreathing the underside of her hat and a wit sharp as a stiletto, clay pipe perpetually attached to the corner of her crooked mouth. Victor’s biceps ached at the memory of all of the penitential push-ups she’d assigned him, but were it not for her coaching he would not have developed into the crack shot he’d become. There were few people in this world that Victor Saltzpyre genuinely mourned, but she was one of them.

“I think she would be especially proud of the Savior of Helmgart,” Johann continued, pouring two glasses of red wine and sliding one toward Victor. “That city owes its survival to you, from what I gather.”

Victor’s smile faded.

“Savior of rubble and ruin,” Victor replied bitterly. “There is no saving Helmgart. It was lost before we’d even arrived. There is a chasm gouged through the center of the city, as if some great beast had torn it asunder.”

“Oh.” Johann sighed. “I am sorry. Yours is the only firsthand account I have received. I had no idea things had been so dire.”

“Things are dire everywhere, from what I understand,” Victor said. “I can only imagine the horrors we would be enduring had Archaon not been felled by the Kislevite Ice Queen.”

Johann shuddered. “Yes, things are bad enough as is without more bloody Northlanders. At any rate,” Johann leaned forward, taking a sip of his wine. “I imagine you are wondering why I have summoned you and your merry band back to humble little Senden, when there are other battles to be waged.”

“I do indeed,” Victor replied. “I know that you wouldn’t send for me strictly out of sentiment.”

Johann smiled. “Well, I must admit that it is good to see my first scouted apprentice returning covered in glory. But that is not why. I have a rather delicate question to ask, and I swear that I ask it out of need.”

Victor raised his eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Victor…” Johann lowered his voice. “Is it true about Ubersreik? That it was ratmen?”

Victor smirked. “Helmgart as well. How do you think the Rotbloods got there? T’was Skaven magic, and I witnessed it with my own eye.” Victor took a penknife from the desk and tapped it against his glass eye. “As you well know, I have only one, thanks to those wretched rat bastards.”

Johann nodded gravely. “So they do exist.”

“Oh yes, not that anyone will believe me, despite all of the evidence I attempt to show my superiors,” Victor continued. “But is that why you have summoned me across the Empire?”

Johann took a deep breath. “There have been strange occurrences lately, and people go into the forest and do not return. Not unusual on its own, but the numbers are becoming alarming. Then, one of our apprentices dragged himself back to the gates, sliced to ribbons and barely clinging to life. With his last breaths, he gibbered about a party of ratmen roaming the woods.”

“We were ready to dismiss it as a beastman attack, but…” Johann opened a drawer on his desk and drew out a soiled scrap of cloth and flattened it upon the desktop. It bore the telltale red triangle that haunted Victor’s nightmares. “Does this sigil look familiar to you?”

“It does indeed.” Victor frowned. “How far out was the apprentice attacked?”

“Hard to say.” Johann replied. “He said that he had crawled for at least three miles, but considering his injuries that seems difficult to believe. I’ve sent out bands to search the woods, but thus far have turned up nothing. Perhaps I was overreacting…”

“No, you have done well to contact me,” Victor assured him. “This is the way the ratmen enterprise. They lay low underground, increasing their numbers and planning their attacks. When they strike, the populace is woefully unprepared, and usually leave no trace of their villainy. Devilishly clever creatures. You are lucky that your man was able to obtain this flag. Such proof is often rare, until it is too late.”

“Sigmar preserve us,” Johann swore. "I am sorry to bring you back to deal with these creatures."

"Do not be," Victor grinned manically. "My rapier ever thirsts for ratman blood, and I am happy to oblige it."

"Right..." Johann eyed Victor askance for a moment, then remembered his true concern. “And these things routed Ubersreik? Senden would fall within minutes.”

“But we are here now,” Victor said with no small note of pride. “After Helmgart, I am confident that we can make short work of any threat that Senden faces.”

“There’s the bravado I remember,” Johann grinned. “Though I do realize that this time it is well-earned. I suppose we should reconvene with your companions tomorrow. Today, take some rest. Unless you believe the threat imminent…”

“I do not believe so, but we will need to act quickly,” Victor said. “Gather as many of your men and tell them that we will be patrolling for beastmen. Do not mention the Skaven, otherwise they will question your sanity. We will scour the forest, leave no stone or leaf unturned. It is essential that we root this out sooner rather than later.”

“Well.” Johann stood. “I appreciate your alacrity in responding, Victor, and it is very good to see you again. I will let you go and inform your companions, but I beg of you to keep your voices low. There is no need to alarm the townspeople.”

Victor rose, nodding. “Thank you, Johann.” He enjoyed addressing the Captain by his first name. “As you know, I will be staying here tonight, so I will be easily accessible.” He made for the door, turning at the last moment.

“It is good to see you too.”

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735631/chapters/34102821

[mamaredd123]

Urban Legend

A/N: Here is my fic for the Break The Zone Challenge #3. The purpose for the BTZ challenges is supposed to be for us to challenge ourselves, branch out, write something we are not used to doing. So in this challenge, there is no dialog and obviously, I used Sam. Hope y’all enjoy!

WARNINGS: none

PAIRING: Sam x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1450

Mama’s Master List

If you want on my Forever tags, click here to go to the Google Doc and add yourself or just shoot me a message and I will add you to it.

Feel free to leave feedback!

Every town, every city, every state, every country has their own urban legends. Here in Louisiana, specifically central Louisiana, there is an urban legend that’s been circulating for years about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you NEED to go. Let me tell you about the time I was a little lost and I ACTUALLY  found that cab. You may not believe me but I hope you do because this is a true story.

It was another hot and humid summer night here in Alexandria but in Louisiana that really wasn’t anything new. I was walking along the levee on this particular night, contemplating my current life choices. Let me tell you, I absolutely sucked in the realm of love. Thirty-two, never married, and no kids. What does that tell you? My current “bad choice” had called earlier today to tell me we were done with, he had found someone else. This call came from out of the blue. I had thought things had been going really well between us. Well, I am sure you can imagine how the rest of that conversation went. There were quite a few ugly words thrown around and then I had the great satisfaction of hanging up on him. After I calmed down a bit, I called a few friends and we made some plans to go out that night to celebrate my singleness, AGAIN. Long story short, I showed up at the club and they all bailed on me, which led me to walking along the levee at almost midnight. I am sure you are wondering what all this has to do with the urban legend, but I am getting to it, bear with me. So, ok, back to my story. It was about half past midnight when I walked down from the levee and decided to head home to my humble little one bedroom apartment off Jackson Street. As I walked the one block over from the levee towards the club, I spotted a yellow cab sitting on the corner. Quickly I headed over and climbed in before someone else could come out of the club and claim it. The driver looked up at me through his rear view mirror and politely asked where to. I told him and then absentmindedly dismissed him as I picked my phone up and began sending ugly texts to the girls who had left me hanging that night. As I was engrossed in my conversations, I failed to pay attention to where the cab driver was taking me. It wasn’t until he informed me of the price that I realized we had stopped. Glancing out the window I saw that he had brought me to The Chalet, which was another little, down and out night club in our semi-budding town. Confused, I tried to question the driver but he just kept watching me through the mirror not saying a word. Sighing heavily with my frustration, I paid the him and climbed out. He smiled at me and told me I would thank him later. At this point in time, I was beginning to think this guy was a few cards shy of a full deck. I watched as cab drove away and then turned to the bar. The parking lot wasn’t real full so I figured it might not be too crowded in there. Already having a horrible day, not completely drunk yet, and minus my friends, I made a quick decision to go on in and have a few more drinks, possibly a dance or two. I entered the seedy little establishment and walked right on up to the bar. Taking a seat at one of the six bar stools available, I ordered a Crown and coke and then turned to take a look at the dance floor. Already aware of this bar’s reputation I wasn’t expecting much. I wasn’t disappointed.   After my fleeting survey of the dance floor, I swiveled and checked out the rest of the patrons in the bar. There was not much at all to catch my eye, except this one fellow, who seemed so totally out of place sitting at the bar. I watched him as I sipped on my drink. He was just sitting there, on one of the bar stools, doing pretty much the same as myself, except he was sipping on a beer. I have always been a sucker for a good looking man, but isn’t everyone? As I spied him from the corner of my eye, I could see he was somewhat tall. I didn’t realize how tall he was until he stood up but being a taller than average woman myself, that wasn’t really a problem. I sipped at my drink I and took sneaking glances at him every so often. He didn’t talk to anyone or get up and dance, just sat there staring at the wall in front of him as he drank his beer. By the time I finished my second drink, I was beginning to feel like a stalker. So I order a third drink and when the bartender brought it to me I wandered over to his end of the bar. I took a seat right next to him and tried to start a conversation. Personally, I don't think I have ever been that good at flirting, I am more of a “come right out and say it” kind of girl. At any rate, we did start talking, had a few more drinks, and even a couple of slow dances, His name was Sam and I seriously know that you won’t believe me if I told you what he does for a living (I know I didn’t at first) but this IS a true story. We met that night and had a blast. I think it was a wonderful thing, probably the most important encounter of my life when I met him. We immediately felt a connection. We talked and danced until the bar closed and then he gave me a ride home. At my apartment, we continued talking well into the morning until I fell asleep on the couch. It was after six that evening when I woke up to find Sam sleeping on the other end of the couch. I didn’t move but just sat there, watching him dream for another hour. In that moment, I knew I had finally found my soul mate. Since that night we’ve drank together, we’ve danced, we’ve been on more adventures than I can remember, we’ve talked even more, and don't even get me going on the sex! Oh man, it is almost like he was taught by the Gods themselves in that area! The night I have recanted for you happened almost eight years ago. Since that night, Sam and I have gotten married and I live a very unusual life with him and his brother Dean (who is still single by the way). At this moment in time, I am in my eighth month of pregnancy with our second child. After knowing Sam and his brother for all these years, it is actually a little scary bringing another child into this world. But on the other hand, knowing Sam and his brother after all these years has made me feel more secure than anything else possibly could, EVER. This world is a scary place, there is no doubt in that. The number one thing that makes it scarier is the unknown. In order to survive it all, as Sam has taught me, you have to believe in yourself, to know that you are strong enough to survive anything. It took me many, many, many years and many, many, many mistakes to find him but I promise you, it was worth the wait. So I guess there is a little truth to the urban legends after all. To the cab driver who dropped me off that night, you were right. I DO thank you!

Break The Zone Tags: @chelsea072498 @tankcupcakes @atc74  @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @iwantthedean @paintrider13-blog @d-s-winchester @death2thevirgin @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @ellen-reincarnated1967 @just-another-busy-fangirl @waywardjoy @winchesterprincessbride

Forever Peeps: @megansescape @madamelibrarian @jayankles @feelmyroarrrr @docharleythegeekqueen @crowleysdemonknight @motleymoose @sumara62 @mrstheorossix3 @evansrogerskitten @waywardjoy   @dwaynii @jensen-jarpad  @lessons-of-love @deathtonormalcy56 @ruprecht0420 @charliebradbury1104 @relmi-llorrac @wonderange @sandlee44 @tom-is-in-my-tardis @kmb99t @summer-binging-spn @posiemax @ohmychuckitssamanddean @thedevilinthedetails @bohowitch @tmccarney @dragon-tail @suli155 @mrsbatesmotel53 @petrovadixon @thewalkingmombie @mogaruke @spontaneousam @uniquewerewolfsuit @capsheadquarters

Random Tags (just tagging a few of you who used to be on my Forever Tags): @babypieandwhiskey @impala-dreamer @frenchybell  @idreamofhazel @nichelle-my-belle @moonlitskinwalker @redlipstickandplaid @taste-of-dean @avasmommy224 @you-are-not-in-my-contacts-list  @p-b-and-cas @supernatural-jackles @firstlady36 @treasurecastiel @calicat79 @beccafgs @mysteriouslyme81 @redmarch63 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @sis-tafics @benjerry707 @impalaimagining @sdavid09 @meganlpie @whispersandwhiskerburn @authoressskr @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @beccatigger @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @buckysmetallicstump @breeannhausler @sazrahlovesbooks @unfortunately-a @clinicalkayla @maddieburcham1 @ilostmyshoe-79 @roxy-davenport @eve05glee @jensenacklesfuckmeyes @ladyxdezi @goldenolaf25 @catackles16 @kittenofdoomage @wi-deangirl77 @dang-meddling-winchesters  @lunarsaturn88 @donnaintx @jdhillons @tiffanycaruso @pureawesomeness001 @notateenbeachmovie @deanlovespiebabyandmeloljkiwish @omgspnfanfiction @leonepanda @grimes-ft-winchester @thatshellfiredean @deanandsamsbitch @straitsupernaturalmalefan @farewell--sanity @lauramerrell1 @trustnobodyshootfirst @doro7winchester @mariairwin666

[nemesis-nexus]

Darkest Greetings and Salutations My Family, how is everyone on this bright and breezy day? The events of this time are actually a triple shot for me as not only is it the Full Worm Supermoon and Equinox but also the 6th anniversary of my Walking the Ishtar Gate! So much has happened in the last six years, it’s been a literally life altering time that was not easy but was worth it as I have grown and evolved quite a bit thanks to the Ancient Family guiding me!

Tonight’s sermon is fairly short and to the point, so without any further ado:

Full Worm Supermoon and Vernal Equinox 2019

HAIL THE ANCIENT FAMILY! On this day the Wheel turns yet again and the Season of Rebirth triumphs over the Season of Death! With this a multitude of changes come sweeping across the landscape and what was hidden under the snow is now exposed and Ninhursag, our Blessed and Beautiful Mother Earth shows off her splendor in shades of green and blue! Flora and Fauna are once again buzzing with the activities of the bees as they begin their search for flowers to gather nectar from and to pollinate all the plant life! Fair warning for all those who suffer from pollen allergies, it’s supposed to be pretty bad this year so you may want to start preparing now!

Watching Nature just do what it’s done forever has always fascinated me; the lesson of the trees that lose their leaves in the Autumn yet stand strong in their barrenness during the Winter no matter how cold it gets or how much snow falls is a lesson for all of us to learn; life is not always easy and there are going to be times when it takes a lot out of us, when we feel that our “leaves” (our sanity) have been stripped, but if we stay the course and keep moving forward, we find that we not only have the inner power to overcome any obstacle, but like the trees, we emerge stronger and more vibrant for having not given up no matter how biting the chill may have been from having been buried under the drama and stress that comes from everyday life and especially from those times when it gets to be almost too much! Life is not easy, it is not meant to be, but without trials and such, there is no growth or evolution! This is the lesson of the trees, they lose their leaves year after year yet they never give up because they know that Spring will always come, they just have to be patient and so do we!

It’s not just the trees that change, deep under the once frozen Earth another change is occurring! The worms who lay dormant once again begin to wriggle around underground aerating the soil so that the roots of the trees can again receive the sustenance they need to regain their majestic statures and also so the grass can begin to emerge from its slumber to blanket the newly awakened Earth in a striking shock of green accented with a myriad of colors from the multitude of flowers that decorate the Natural World! The lesson of the worms is also something that we need to learn: life is not always about being in the spotlight, in fact like the worms whom we rarely see when they are at work, a lot of times we can accomplish more from behind the scenes! In other words, we don’t see the worms when they are going about their business, what we DO see is the end result of all their tireless toiling underground! We see the grass sprouting, the tree regenerating, the flowers blooming and deer grazing, just to name a few things! We see all this and yet rarely do we stop to acknowledge who it is that plays one of the BIGGEST roles in making it happen! The lesson is that if we all work together on any project, we can make amazing things happen and we don’t always have to be front and center! The lesson of the worms is humbleness and humility as well as supporting those whose time it is to take center stage, if only for a little while!

Today we celebrate the immortal beauty of Nature and the vast array of different forms of Life created! We stand in awe of its splendour as we contemplate all that we don't know and are humbled by all that we are privileged to observe and partake in! We respect that we are a part of in this never-ending dance between the Lord and Lady of the House!

The Dark Night of the Soul is a necessary time as well, it is the time for all of us to sit in quiet reflection of everything that has occurred not only in the last year but all throughout the course of our individual lives as well as the timeline of all things!

There are some things happening that can't be explained in the immediate situation however if we go backwards in time sometimes we can pinpoint when things were at their turning-point, these turning points can be good or bad depending on the situation! It is said that sometimes you need to go backwards in order to go forward and in these present times, I believe this is very much the case!

At this point in time it is not enough to ONLY focus on what is PRESENTLY happening, it is absolutely vital to look down the road and see where everything is headed! While no one can predict the future EVERYONE has the ability to use logic and reason to at the very least consider the possibilities! Some things are easier to determine than others, but we must always be prepared for anything!

It is during these times that we must remember who we are; we are the DEFENDERS, we are the PROTECTORS, we are the GUARDIANS who were created to oversee the environment and all it entails, we were created so that Life itself could continue to live and to maintain the Balance that exists between all aspects of Nature!

We are NOT here to elevate or exalt ourselves above the Natural Order, when we do this WE in fact create the Imbalance that causes MASSIVE amounts of Destruction to ALL things - including the Earth - and when this happens we need to step up and push back against those who would destroy everything in pursuit of personal agendas, instant gratification and temporary pleasure!

We have seen many horrific things take place even in the last year, we have seen our Mother Earth raped and ravaged repeatedly, we have seen her children of ALL species brutalized and thrown aside as though they didn't matter! We have seen the arrogance of the human ego put itself on a pedestal and glare condescendingly on all those down below!

When it comes to Protecting and Defending Nature and Life generally speaking it is imperative to know that everyone has it in them to be a Warrior for the Deity! A true Warrior does NOT fight because they hate what is in front of them, they fight because they love what is behind and beside them! Molded through years of trials, errors, setbacks, pressure and perseverance, they carry on NEVER surrendering no matter how stalwart the opposition! They do not fear death for they know there are fates which are MUCH WORSE! Every battle waged, every fort guarded, every life defended, every scar received are but testaments to the tenacious nature and unyielding Spirit of all those who walk this Path! When they lay their head down for the final sleep they have no need to fear the unknown for they know that they are already connected to the Deity and it is from him that they draw their Strength and it is to the Stars where they shall return, severed from their flesh vessels which go on through their own metamorphoses to maintain the flora and fauna by biodegrading and becoming food for them to thrive on!

The Caduceus was created by Enki and embodies the Balance of EVERYTHING in the Multiverse; Life and Death, Darkness and Light, Creation and Destruction. It was bequeathed unto NINGIZHEDA because he is the Guardian of the Gateways and as such NONE may pass beyond him in any direction without his permission and in many cases without his guidance! In the Descent of INANNA it was NINGIZHEDA who met her at every Gate and granted her passage. It was also NINGIZHEDA who revived her after the confrontation with ERESHKIGAL and helped her escape back to the Heavens! This cycle of Life, Death and Rebirth is also very much like the changing of the Seasons. When INANNA (ININNI/ISHTAR) descended it is comparable to Autumn as the further she went, the more she needed to leave behind, just like the further we go into Autumn the more Nature leaves behind (ie the leaves fall from the trees, the grass becomes suspended in the Earth, the herds hibernate or move on.) When she confronts ERESHKIGAL this is comparable to Winter because INANNA (ININNI/ISHTAR) did not actually die, like the Earth she also went into a form of suspended animation and when NINGIZHEDA revived her using the gifts given to him by ENKI is the heralding of the Spring or Season of Rebirth which is where we are now – the Vernal Equinox! The Season of Life is right around the corner which completes the Wheel and the Caduceus once again symbolizes the Balance and the reason why NINGIZHEDA who is the very essence of ALL Forces in the Multiverse both posing and opposing was charged with its maintenance and protection!

As Children of the Ancient Family it is our sworn duty to not only uphold the honor of our Family who gave us so much, but to do what needs to be done at the time it needs doing! To be a voice for the voiceless, to provide a place where people can go where they are free to express themselves without fear of reprisal and to think outside the box when it comes to matters of community and the Animal Kingdom! We are here to have a humanE experience by enjoying life to the fullest but also to stand up and fight for those who can’t fight for themselves - ie encouraging people to adopt from an animal shelter rather than a breeder, believe it or not this helps save COUNTLESS lives! We are here to remind everyone that human life is NOT the only life that matters and as such we need to respect ALL of Father’s creation, not just certain aspects of it! When we take our place in the Hoop of Life, what we are really doing is remembering who we are and why we are here!

“Vernal Equinox Prayer

Earth is the Mother who gives all manner of Life a Home!

Fire is the Passion that burns brightly from within and without!

Water is the Blood of Creation that exists in many interchanging states!

Air is the Breath of Life carried by all organisms great and small!

Heart is the strength that keeps us going when times get rough!

Spirit is the driving force behind all actions both Positive and Negative!

This night we say a verse for those we hold dear,

So that they will know happiness tonight and all year!

We acknowledge those who came before and held fast,

And forged on ahead to the future with bonds that will last!

The Darkness of ignorance can do insurmountable damage,

We are grateful for our Deity and Family who help us manage!

We give thanks to NINGIZHEDA who inspires us all,

For whom we stand up and will respond to his call!

The Wheel continues to turn bringing on more and more changes,

It is for us to adapt or die when the script rearranges!

Nothing in this Life is ever guaranteed,

But through hard work and effort our Spirits are freed!

The most important thing to remember is loyalty to Family,

No matter what happens, we are one even though we are many!”

ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA!

MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INSENCE!

Etiamsi MULTA Et Nos UNUM Sumus Nos Sto Validus Ut Nos Sto Una!

Semper Veritas, Semper Fideles, In NINHURSAG'S Nomen Nos Fides! AVE NINHURSAG!

(We Are ONE Even Though We Are MANY And We Stand STRONGEST When We Stand TOGETHER!

Always TRUTHFUL, Always FAITHFUL, In NINHURSAG'S Name We Trust! HAIL NINHURSAG!)

AVÉ THE ANCIENT FAMILY!

AVÉ IGGIGI! AVÉ ANUNNA!

AVÉ DRACONIS! HAIL THE GREAT SERPENT!

HPS Meg “Nemesis Nexus” Prentiss

[goodgreycious]

CAN I GET A HOT TUB?!

Or maybe an in-depth analysis of Moana? The perfect fanfiction about my OTPs? Some sanity?! A JOB?! But most importantly… a hot tub. Because I clearly have my priorities sorted.

I’m just kidding. There’s not enough room for a hot tub in my apartment yet. But let’s get down to business (TO DEFEAT) (…THE HUNS…)! A few weeks ago, for my very first blog post, I have to say I was utterly blown away by the reactions and love it was shown. If you are ever in the position that I was in, the feeling of getting that kind of reaction is unparalleled. So thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Just as I hope my Tumblr family will grow, so shall my commitment to being the best blogger I can be for anyone who finds their way to my humble little abode. I want everyone to feel just as “at-home” here as I do. Which, sadly, should not be an excuse to not keep to my goals of posting here once a week, but that’s been my reality over the past weeks and I apologize. In moving forward with my big-girl-full-time job search, just as many have and will go through, there’s an overwhelming amount of things to think about. And, as you can guess, these thoughts manifest themselves in vastly different forms. Sometimes, they blindside you because you’ve never thought of them before. For me personally, things are unfolding in a different way. I have had the great fortune of being in a position where people who know have their live together surround me at all times. I’m hoping that if I stick around long enough that I’ll be able to pick up that ability through osmosis. These people are much adult-ier than me and have seen fit to bestow on me the wisdom that only seems to come when you’re over the age of “older than me.”

Don’t get me wrong, I will never turn my nose up at my dad offering to coach me through the interview process. He has put me in contact with hiring managers, friends, and colleagues that have been truly kind enough to offer me the advice of how to go about getting a job. I have put together a stellar resume for someone with no professional job experience outside of a Target. I have been sent emails with links upon links of information about how to secure a job after college. It has been drilled into me how important the interview process is. Yet, there is one thing that I cannot get over and it presents itself like this in an interview: “So, tell me about yourself!” When my dad was taking me through the steps of an interview and giving me a mock one, this question came up. Job interviews are basically about marketing yourself to whomever you’re talking to so you can convince them that they ought to give you money to do things instead of anyone else. The resume, cover letter, and references are the Key Masters, but the interview… that’s the Gate Keeper. But, when this question came up, I just open and shut my mouth a few times and hoped that would suffice as an answer. In reality, it is just like any other interview question that needs to meet the same end as mentioned above. It’s really not supposed to be personal in the heat of the moment, but holy shit. I’m only 21. Questions like that do NOT compute. So, I thought: what better topic to talk about in my blog than being ok with yourself, and ultimately, self-love? And, I thought that I’d share my approach to how to answer that question THROUGH SONG. (It’s Moana, in case you were wondering).

I have crossed the horizon to find you…

My struggle with self-discovery has been just that, and still very much ongoing. I thought I knew from a pretty young age who I was. Besides being a fangirl, which is a huge chunk of my life, there are more dimensions than that. But it wasn’t until recently that I came to a real turning point in that ongoing war: I became the person in college that studied abroad. For the spring semester of my junior year I, more or less, threw a dart at a map and decided that I was going to study wherever it landed. To this day I’ll maintain that it was, sincerely, the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. This decision was life changing and the best thing I could have ever done for myself. I was not a spontaneous person. I was still am an introvert and a creature of habit. But this was different. At the time, I was at a really weird place in my life. I was in the middle of my first fall semester at the school I transferred to and I felt caged. I was itching to see something other than the four walls of a 12-seater conference room that was supposed to hold 20 kids in it for an hour and fifteen-minute class. So, with three weeks left to the application deadline for studying abroad that next spring, I got my shit together. I will also maintain that those three weeks were the only time I ever had my life together. I didn’t just want to study abroad, I craved it. I needed it. Ireland was a revelation. I never thought that I would love it as much as I did. I was there this time last year, as I post this entry. Ireland showed me a compassion and acceptance that I had never experienced before. I became the best version of myself while I was there. I got to prove things to myself that I really didn’t realize I had to prove. I could write pages upon pages about my five months there, but I’ve already said how much it meant to me. Coming back was harder than I thought it would be as everything fell back into the old pattern. But, I had just experienced this amazing thing! I was different! I was better! Didn’t anyone want to listen? They did, but the truth was they could move on and I couldn’t. I got frustrated because things were changing so rapidly now that I was home, I had changed and it really seemed like no one had cared, and there was so much I had to do now that I was back and such a short amount of time to do it and all I wanted was for people to see me. The point of it all, I came to realize, was that Ireland and all the experiences I had there was something that I did for me. I didn’t go there just to come home with stories. I didn’t go there to show anyone I wasn’t who he or she thought I was. Ireland was my own little corner of the world that I now protect and cherish with everything in me. It helped shape me into the person I am. It wasn’t about showing that to anyone else. That’s why it is the most selfish thing I ever did. For the first time in forever I made a decision to do something for me. I came to understand that being “selfish” is the only way to help yourself sometimes. And that fact is perfectly okay. You’re allowed to splurge and adventure to figure out who you are. Your boundaries have to be pushed in order for that to happen. Even if it only makes you realize that you were happy where you were, it’s still very much worth the risk.

I know your name…

However, I am not going to sit here and yell that Ireland and “studying abroad” was the only reason I discovered who I am, because it isn’t that simple. It just helped me put everything else into perspective. When I said it was an ongoing struggle, I meant it. There is a dichotomy that has been in conflict inside me for as long as I’ve comprehended the concept of “self.” The hardest thing for me in my short 21 years of life is balancing what I thought I knew about myself versus knowing that I still have a lot of life left to live and figure out. It is naïve of me to think that where I am in my life right now is going to define me ten years from now. If my circumstances aren’t any different, I plan on making them different. Yet, throughout my life, I really only ever have been one way. I’m always the mom of the friend group, an introvert, a creature of habit, hating change, a fangirl, a loyal friend, kind-hearted, and always positive. The problem with balancing this is sometime it is so easy to get lost in the grey area of the two points-of-view. When it gets to that point, it is so easy to throw up my arms and wave them in frustration and fall into the habit of thinking I don’t know who I am. Because that is right and wrong. At this very moment, I have a pretty good handle on who I am, but the future is exciting and fucking scary as all get out. I think that it’s a healthy fear to have. I’m always going to be learning, growing, and adapting. So when I, or you, do get lost in that grey sea, we should take a moment to remember where we are in our lives. There is only ever going to be one of you and that person is just as important as any other. Do whatever you have to do to make sure you are taken care of, first and foremost. And if that means being a little selfish sometimes, like I said, that is perfectly okay too. 

They have stolen the heart from inside you…

The Unlikely Candidates had this amazing song called Follow My Feet and there is one lyric that strikes me every single time I hear it (if I could put the whole song here I would because wow): “The high road’s steady and steep, and the low road’s easy and deep.” All my life, I have tried to be a positive person. I would rather lose myself in wonder than bathe myself in fear or cynicism. Don’t get me wrong, a little dose of reality is much needed every now and again, but I’ve never wanted to let that turn me into someone who sees the world through a negative lens. I have put my whole heart and soul into making sure I am optimistic and loving in a world where I feel like those two things are certainly lacking. I love to take care of others and let them know they are loved. I like being that source of light. But that, by no means, excuses me from all the other emotions out there. There are definitely some cons to being as positive as I am all the time. I think it put me on a small pedestal without me even realizing it. My family was surprised that I was bullied in high school because I never let them see how it affected me. Sometimes when I think I may feel a bit more depressed than usual, they laugh sometimes and tell me that it isn’t physically possible for me to be depressed. I feel like they think I don’t have it in me to be as sad as I am positive. And that hurts. A lot. It causes me to bottle up all those negative thoughts and feelings until one night I’m up at 3 AM, ugly crying my eyes out, while also trying to cry as silently as possible so my wails don’t wake up my neighbors. I may be defined to most by my positivity, but I am susceptible to darker emotions just like anyone else. So, while not getting lost in the grey area is something to be aware of, not everything is black and white either. Everyone is capable of being more than one thing. Don’t think you have everyone and everything figured out. Someone could be going through something you don’t even know about. That icy or happy exterior could be masking something painful. To take the high road is a lofty battle and one that is undertaken everyday. But if anyone, or I, falls down that path of hate, it gets harder and harder to remember that there is light and goodness in the world. 

But this does not define you…

But it is out there, I promise. We fall into the trap of thinking we have to be defined by one thing. The world isn’t so simple and neither are you. There is so much in the world to see, hear, and taste. There is so much more out there to feel. Human beings are defined by the emotions that they feel because emotions are what make us human.  I think emotions are one of the most beautiful things this world has to offer. There is something so amazing about feeling so happy you can walk amongst the stars. Or being so moved by something that tears spring to your eyes. Or being so angry you feel like you could lift 10 eighteen-wheelers if they decided to get in your way. It seems so uniquely human. I want to feel those emotions to every extent I can so I learn from them, not drown in them. Don’t stop yourself from feeling those emotions. What you do with those feelings is ultimately your decision but don’t ever stop feeling. You are a fucking human being and not weak for feeling things. There is something out there that says: “Get so angry, make people regret ever wronging you. Be happy, smile so bright, that even the sun gets jealous. Feel sad, crack, crumble, and cry until your heart is no longer heavy. The world will convince you that feelings will make you weak but fuck that. Never let this cruel world steal your spark.”

This is not who you are…

At the end of the day, I am the only person that has to look in the mirror and live with what I see. There are decisions that I have to leave on my shoulders or shrug off. There are feelings that could consume me and feelings that could overwhelm me if I let them. Sometimes, I get so caught up in what other people will think of the decisions that I make that, most of the time don’t have anything to do with what I’m worried about. That is my greatest weakness and something I battle against 24/7. Self-love and being confident are two things that are, most assuredly, not in my wheelhouse. I don’t really think it is anyone’s. I operate by a code that I have spent my whole life crafting. If I can’t live with myself at the end of the day, then it isn’t worth doing. Does that sometimes translate to self-love? Well, I’m working on it.

You know who you are…

I’m not going to sit here and say that the path to discovering all of this was easy. I’m not going to tell you that after writing this, everything suddenly became clear. I’m not going to tell you that things get easier or harder. All I know for certain is how all of this pertains to my life and my growth process. And sure, somebody who is interviewing me doesn’t need to know my whole life story and how much I hate the question they’re asking. But, that question is still important. I want to be able to answer it as honestly as I can, for myself more than anyone else. At this point in my life, I like where I’m at. That may change tomorrow if someone says something to piss me off or make me sad. That will happen. The whole point of all this is that while it is perfectly fine to know who you are, it is just as okay to not know. If you need to do something that you're scared of or want to do if it will help you have some peace of mind… DO IT. The only people anyone has to answer to at the end of the day are themselves. People can hurl insult after insult and make you feel smaller than an atom and more insignificant than a speck of dust. But here’s the thing: atoms make up our whole entire universe. There is nothing in this world that isn’t made of atoms. And that speck of dust? That could have been from a wooly mammoth from the ice age, or part of a piece of armor from one of Caesar’s soldiers in the Gallic Wars. There is nothing in this world that is insignificant, just like you are not insignificant. You can do whatever you want as long as you have the guts to do it. Don’t lie to yourself either. You’ll get that from so many people in your life as you go through it, do not lie to yourself. There is nobody in this world that can be you, so please, be a gift to the world and let it know that it is damn lucky to have you. I know I am. 

A huge thank you to everyone that stuck with me to the end of this blog post. I love you more than I love Captain America. As my career as a student comes to a close and I begin a new chapter of my life, I promise there won’t be as much time in between blog posts. I love all my little birds to infinity and beyond! And remember: Here, you will always be encouraged. Here, I promise to help you in whatever way I can. Here, you are safe. And here, above all, you are seen and you are loved.

[hurricanerin]

I’m Slipping Under Ch. 8

Ch. 8 It’s Dangerous

Summary: That one time in the shower.

Author: Hurricanerin

Character/Pairing: Loki/OFC

Genre: Straight up smut plus a little adventure

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:  Dubious Consent

---

He advanced, forcing her back up against a room door.  Behind the thick wood, she could hear the muffled sounds of a family readying for bed.

"Please,” she whispered, “Not here.”

“Lately you have so many conditions, little one.  I think you forget who is in charge.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, quietly pleading with him.

“Please, Loki.  Please, please not here.  I’ll be good.”

---

That night once the victims of New York were bathed and fed, Annalise addressed them as a group.

“I cannot express how much I regret you all having been involved in this mess.  I know no words will put you at ease,” she cleared her throat and fiddled with her lavish emerald necklace hanging from her neck.

“If you choose to stay and would like your families brought to the castle, I will make arrangements immediately for their safe passage.  Humbly I urge you to stay here, where I can ensure your safety.  His Highness is dangerous, please don’t underestimate him.”

One of the victims raised his hand.

“Don’t we have a better chance out there?  Shouldn’t we run?”

“He doesn’t share his plans with me,” she admitted, “I can only hope that this is preferable compared to… what he plans for the others.  Maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe.. Maybe the Avengers will reassemble and stop him.  Your safety is my responsibility, and I can better watch over you if you stay here.  I understand if you don’t stay, but please know that if you do, you’ll be under my protection.  I won’t let any harm come to you.  I swear it.”

“And we’re supposed to take your word?  The “King’s” whore?”

The crude man pointed at her rumpled dress and mussed hair.

Annalise blanched, looking down in shame.  She was, wasn’t she? Days ago the King had deemed her professional skillset useless, but he valued other things she could give him.  He offered her protection in exchange for her body.  She was a traitor to her entire race.

Clearing tightness from her throat, she took a deep breath and raised her head high.

“My being his whore is what permitted me to beg for your safety.  I didn’t choose this.  But like you, I’ve found myself irrevocably involved with this… man and I’m doing what I need to survive, and to ensure the survival of others.”

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, pairs of frightened eyes glancing nervously up at Annalise as they decided their own fates.  In the end, thirty stayed.  The others left without incident, likely because Annalise snuck them out through the kitchens where Loki’s men wouldn’t see them.

As the sun rose, wearily she stepped under the hot spray of the shower and washed the awful day down the drain.

x    

The next morning Annalise woke to hot, open mouthed kisses pressed against the bare skin of her back.  She shouldn’t have been surprised at his attention now; the King had not taken her again in the night, for which she was grateful.  Her rear was still tender, not to mention her lady bits.  That went without saying.

When he nipped at her shoulder blade she gasped and clenched her eyes shut.  For the sake of her heart and sanity it was important that she not encourage him, but the duality of his cool lips and hot tongue on her skin was delirium inducing.  Add in the biting and the poor girl was beyond helping.  She couldn’t think when he touched her.

“Stop,” she mumbled, burying her face against her pillow.  She could feel him smile against her skin as he continued, completely ignoring her.

Annalise jabbed her elbow into what she hoped were his ribs, her lips curling into a tiny smile of satisfaction when he grunted.

“Now, now,” he growled, grabbing her shoulder and flipping her on her back.   He slithered over her and used his body to pin hers to their mattress.   There was no need to secure her wrists, still bruised from the night before; she stayed still for him.  God only knew what it would take for him to decide she needed another humiliating spanking.

He hadn’t yet lashed out angrily and though his grip was firm, it was gentle.  His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, his brows furrowing in thought.  

“You like my mouth on you,” he stated bluntly, one dark brow raised.

Of course she did.  She inhaled and moistened her lips as if to reply, but instead frowned and averted her eyes.

Loki didn’t bother waiting for a verbal answer and disregarded her physical reaction.  He knew what he said was true.

“You know, you were singing a very, very different tune on our flight to New York, dearest.  And last night.”

“I know,” she muttered.  “I was confused.  I shouldn’t have asked to bring intimacy into our arrangement.”

“Intimacy?”

She knew Loki was intelligent, but he seemed genuinely confused.

“Kissing,” she mumbled with embarrassment.  She felt so needy and pathetic.

“Ah.  It’s too much for you, then?  What is it you want instead, then?  To be taken from behind like an animal each night?”

Did she?  Was that preferable to his erratic acceptance and rejection of her?  How else could she distance herself from the King when he was literally inside her?

“Yes.  Or let me close my eyes.”

He hissed.

“So you can imagine another man making you writhe while I’m inside you?  I do not think so, little peach,” he growled.  His eyes roamed her face, which she tried to relax.  He was perceptive enough without her emotion broadcasting across her features.

Still staring at her, he laughed condescendingly with a single huff and gave his head a shake.   Planting a palm on either side of her head, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

“A queen should love her king,” he purred, licking a stripe along her neck.  “Have you so quickly forgotten your worship of me?”

Her breath hitched.  No, she most definitely had not.  Never had she enjoyed sucking a man’s cock until that night on the plane.  Just thinking about the power she’d felt made her throb.

“Of course not.”  She swallowed.  “But an adoring queen deserves an adoring king,” she countered weakly.

“Oh, I adore you, dearest.”  On adore he ground himself against her with a groan.

She quelled a whimper and looked away in disgusted frustration.

“If you’re going to fuck me, then fuck me.  Just get it over with,” she snapped.

“Are you implying this attraction is one sided?”

Pressing her lips into a tight line, she reluctantly returned her gaze to his face and shook her head.

“Then what, pray tell, is the problem?”

Annalise hesitated.  Did he feel torn like she did?  She wanted so badly to put herself in his hands, to trust that he’d protect her heart and mind.   But he wouldn’t.  It wasn’t in his nature to care for someone… But he certainly knew how to manipulate others into caring for him.  At least, he manipulated her.  Absent mindedly she wondered how much of what she begrudgingly felt for him was orgasm-induced.  If you climaxed with your captor, does that make you identify with him more?

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

With an exasperated sigh Loki rolled off her onto his back.

“So, my peach would prefer I not kiss her?  Is that it then?  Do not confuse you?”

Annalise closed her eyes and tried to rub her sleepiness away with her heels of her palms.  She wanted to give up, to just give into him.  But if she let him do whatever he wished with her, he’d break her, and not in the physical sense.

With a sigh she opened her eyes.

“Yes.  Don’t confuse me.”

It wasn’t until she realized Loki was silent that she turned to look at him.

He was smirking.  What had she done?  Had she just turned this into a game for him?  

“And if I do confuse you?  You will leave, abandoning your little slaves?”

“I’d take them with me,” she said stubbornly, sticking her chin out.

“Yes, that would go marvelously.  When I recaptured all of you, I would turn you into one of them.  You would serve me, of course.  But instead of the free woman you are now, you would be my slave.  Does that sound preferable?”

It almost did.  It took her willingness out of the picture.  She could be his without guilt of having consented.

Loki’s eyes widened at her contemplative silence and he rolled on his side to face her.

“I have no issue keeping you naked and chained at my side all day.  You know I am not bluffing.”

“I know,” she whispered.  “I’m sorry.”

When she apologized Loki made a face.  Too many feelings for the King’s liking.

“I do not want to repeat this conversation, Annalise.”

He shoved the covers aside and rose for the day, stretching his long arms in the air before disappearing to shower.

The girl nodded and pulled her knees to her chest with a sigh.  She surveyed the extravagant room.  If she were in any other situation, such lush accommodations would’ve made her giddy.  Instead, the extravagance just reminded her that some god wanted to make her Queen of Earth.   Annalise wanted to burrow under the covers very badly, but she had a slew of Loki’s victims to protect and she couldn’t do that from bed.   She waited until the water turned off before rising.  Though he’d likely be puttering around the bathroom (he was fond of the consistency of human morning rituals), she’d be free to slip into the shower without being obligated to talk with him.

x

Caring for thirty civilians proved to be exhausting.  Earlier in the day Annalise sent a handful of Loki’s men back to the empty Westchester.  The immediate area had been completely evacuated after Loki’s attack, and everything was closed, making it a perfect time for the agents to raid the mall for clothes and necessities.  Thirty was about to turn into seventy-three once spouses and children arrived, and she refused to ask those in her care to don the starchy uniforms of the hotel staff simply because they lacked their own wardrobes.

She asked the victims to elect five leaders with whom she met regarding community functionality.  She wished it unnecessary, but seventy-three was a daunting number of bellies to fill and the hotel’s store was about to deplete much faster than if it had been only Loki and Co.  They needed to assign roles to maintain some type of order and continuity for the community.

Annalise and her ambassadors met through lunch and dinner to concoct a reasonable schedule and division of labor.  Feeling accomplished, but exhausted, Annalise detoured through the bar on her way to her room and poured a splash of scotch.  After downing it she, as expected, sputtered, immediately refilling her glass with water and gulping it down.  She returned the bottle to its rightful place and poured a glob of dish soap into the glass.  She hadn’t realized how much of a slob she’d become over the past week or so, but she was sure Loki’s men had been picking up after her.  With a roll of her eyes, she sighed.  How was she supposed to lead a group of people if Loki thought her above them?  She promised herself she’d stop leaving messes wherever she went.  Doing so would only add to the stress and workload of the group and likely foster resentment towards her.

Stomach growling, Annalise wandered to the kitchens.  She found prepared sandwiches in one of the commercial refrigerators and piled a few on a plate to stuff in the mini fridge back in the room.  She prayed they didn’t have to deal with harnessing electricity for a few more weeks.  The poor girl couldn’t handle many more responsibilities.

Instead of the elevator, she opted for several flights of stairs.  She was exhausted, but desperate to put off seeing Loki.  She loitered on each floor, chewing idly at her food and looking at the ancient paintings mounted on the walls.  Warily she scaled the final stair to the fourth floor.  Slowly she walked towards her room, tracing her finger along the carved designs in the wooden paneling of the wall.    

“You are not evading me, are you little peach?”

Annalise yelped in surprise and dropped her plate, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear.

"How did you know where I was?”

“You forget that I am not of this realm.  I can see and smell and hear things that you do not know exist,” he purred.

He advanced, forcing her back up against a room door.  Behind the thick wood, she could hear the muffled sounds of a family readying for bed.

"Please,” she whispered, “Not here.”

“Lately you have so many conditions, little one.  I think you forget who is in charge.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, quietly pleading with him.

“Please, Loki.  Please, please not here.  I’ll be good.”

She hated begging like this.  She felt like a child… But she couldn’t bear for her charges to think even lower of her.  It wouldn’t do for there to be stories shared at breakfast of how their Queen was taken up against someone’s room door the night before.

He cupped her face, ghosting his lips along her jaw.

“What if I want to confuse you?  Will you behave even then?”

Her nod was hampered by his grip, but he felt the assenting shake of her head.

“Good girl.”

For such a hard man, his cool lips were incredibly soft.  She didn’t bother to hold back her whimper.  He knew he was torturing her with the forced intimacy of his kiss, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

Annalise buried her fingers in his silky hair, making him groan.  Anxiously she broke away and tugged on his hand, breathing easier when he reluctantly followed.  He was villain in this story.  Her charges already detested him.  He could safely moan all he wanted.  She, on the other hand, had a reputation at stake.

Clumsily she dug for her key card, opened the door and led him inside their room.  Once there, she realized she didn’t know what to do.  She’d just ruined the moment by interrupted and dragging them inside.  Her eyes were desperate when they found his, silently pleading that they stay in the room instead of christening the hallways.

“Come here.”

Swallowing hard, she obeyed, approaching him until they stood toe to toe, her eyes on her feet. Growing impatient of her mercurial timidity, he lifted her chin with a finger

“Be a good girl,” he growled.

The seven-foot man lifted her so that her legs wrapped around his waist.  Once again, he sealed his mouth to hers.  There was literally no escape; she was airborne.  Even if she struggled, there was nowhere to go.  Assuming she could spare the brain cells, she could try and pull her lips from his, but he’d likely only follow her with his mouth.  Her only option was to surrender.

At some point she realized he was walking.  Even as he moved, his grip never wavered.  She felt completely safe in his steady grasp.  Annalise heard him flick a switch and she squinted against the fluorescent bathroom lights.  When he deepened the kiss she completely lost interest in their location, even as she vaguely registered the squeak of a dial and cold spray against her side.  The girl shivered and clung to him tighter.

Talk about climbing a man like a tree.  The way he held her kept her core planted too far above his cock to grind against it properly, so she twined her arms behind his neck, hooked her ankles behind his back and pulled herself up, then let herself fall just a fraction, generating just enough friction against his belly to feel the tiniest amount of relief from the throbbing between her thighs.  Her head fell back as she thrust against him, and had she seen the valiant, cocky smile that curled across Loki’s lips, she might have smacked him.  But luckily for both of them she was too far gone to be bothered with the triumphant facial expressions of her lover.

“Fuck,” she groaned as Loki vanished both of their clothes.  As he walked them beneath the cool shower spray she gasped and fastened herself to him with even more gusto.  He chuckled and twisted the knob toward the H until his squirming conquest calmed.  She was going to spend a significant amount of time with her back pressed against cold tile; adjusting the water temperature was the least he could do.

Since her mission to eradicate confusion had been foiled, Annalise let loose.  She drank from his mouth like she was parched, and he let her.  Usually he took the lead with their kisses, but he was busy pinning her up against the chilly shower wall, so for once she had free reign over his mouth.

As he guided his throbbing cock inside her, her lips faltered, leaving her panting heavily against his jaw.  Using his body to secure her against the wall, he slipped his arms beneath her knees, effectively bending her in half.  As he began pumping, the time that lapsed between Annalise’s kisses lengthened and eventually all she could manage was to gasp and sporadically bite at his jaw and neck when he thrust particularly hard.

When her oral affections waned, Loki once more used his body to keep her against the wall as he grabbed a handful of her wet hair and pulled her head back so he could sip from her mouth himself.  He could feel her throbbing harder and harder around him and knew she was close.  There were few things more divine than making his soon-to-be-queen come as she screamed and quivered against his lips.  Repositioning his arms so he supported her once more, he plundered her mouth as he snapped his hips against hers.

Ever since Loki pushed himself inside her, Annalise had been battling insanity.  Her body did her no favors.  How could she have a serious argument with this man in the morning only to have him fuck the living daylights out of her that night?  He’d never take her seriously… But even though she knew in the long term she really, really needed to, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Briefly Loki pulled his mouth from hers.

“Come for me, little Queen,” he crooned.

Immediately his lips returned to hers.  Unable to control her volume a second longer, she began keening against his mouth, grateful that his lips muffled her moans.  She let out a loud whine, wordlessly begging him to pound her faster, and, like the gracious ruler he was, he obliged.

As he coaxed her into exploding from inside, she screamed.  Wave after wave of pleasure bombarded her as she fell completely boneless into her lover’s arms.  She tried to end the kiss so she could breathe, but Loki was relentless as he sought his own pleasure. She could’ve sworn he started to growl as his thrusts became frenzied and uneven, stuttering violently against her as he erupted inside her.

As they recovered, Loki began lowering Annalise to her feet.  To both of their surprise she whined and clung to his shoulders and buried her face against his neck.

He chuckled and wrapped her hair around his hand, using it to pull her back and look her in the eye.

“If you are going to stay up here, you will have to make yourself useful.”

Still dazed, Annalise looked at him and blinked.

In rare form, the King laughed and hefted her weight to one arm, using his free hand to grab a bottle of shampoo.  As if daring her to refuse him, he handed it to her.

Though her breasts in his face was nothing new, the familiarity of washing his hair while he was looking at her was unnerving.  She swallowed hard and squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her hand and rubbed her palms together.  Very, very aware of the fact that he was still inside her, she tried to, in the most ladylike manner, flex her legs to give herself some kind of stability.  Hooking her ankles behind him, he cupped a globe of her rear in one hand and splayed the palm of his other hand against her back.

Cautiously she sank her fingers into his hair.  What if she got shampoo in his eyes?  Did that bother gods? When he grunted and blinked slowly, his lids falling halfway shut as he watched her, she grew bolder.  She ran her hands through his wet strands, working up a foamy lather.

Several times he’d bragged of things he could see and hear and smell that she couldn’t.  Did that mean he could feel things more intensely as well? Gently she raked her nails against his scalp, which set off a chain reaction.  He groaned deep in his throat, which made her velvety walls clench around him, which made him moan even louder and stiffen inside her.

“Tilt back,” she rasped, all business.

Loki smirked and did as she asked, closing his eyes as water cascaded over his hair and face.  She leaned up and ran her fingers through his hair, ensuring water ran through everything evenly and that the shampoo rinsed out.

She gasped as she felt his mouth latch onto her nipple.  Sternly she twisted, pulling it from between his lips.

“Stop that.  I’m not finished.  Give me the other bottle,” she commanded.

She could feel him jerk inside her.

“Yes, my Lady,” he purred, handing her the conditioner.

Once she’d massaged it into his hair, he made to tilt his head back once more when she stopped him.

When his eyes reopened and he quirked a brow, her cheeks flushed.

“It has to sit for a minute.  It’ll make your hair soft,” she mumbled.

Even the evil King of the Puny Humans had to admit she was kind of cute.

His gaze never left hers, which was completely unnerving.  It was a thousand times more intense than kissing.  Whatever her next demand entailed, there would be a prohibited prolonged eye contact clause.

After a minute or so, she tried to swallow, her mouth dry.

“Okay.”

Still smirking, he tilted his head back and allowed her to rinse his hair.   When she was finished, he slowly dropped her to the ground, both of them sighing unhappily as he pulled out of her.

Half hard from her little scalp massage and feeling her wriggle over him as she worked, he stroked himself as he exited the shower.

“Do your shampoo and… the soft one.  You have five minutes before I come and retrieve you myself.  If it comes to that, you will not sit for a week, little peach.”

[thelifeofascholar-blog1]

In which the Scholar Is Upside Down

(Artwork: Chromatic Arrangement no. 4, or A Mind’s Inversion. Acrylic on canvas. © The Scholar, Feb 2017)

Each of us in the highest echelons of intellectual society has suffered, I am certain, the dejection of growing weary with one’s favored opera or videotaped dressage performance. For the lower primates with whom I am ashamed to share a species, adequate diversion may consist of no more than tossing about the stuffed hide of a flayed pig, or worse, paying others to do so. I, on the other hand, cannot abide by such mindless and wanton savagery. As long as modern society continues to be ruled by clods, I will have no power to put an end to the idiocy, the aberrancy, the lunacy of “sports,” but I am neither bound to partake. Nevertheless, in my most lackadaisical moments I have caught myself pining for a lower intelligence quotient, a lesser lot in life, so that I might too live in ignorant bliss among animal hides and astronomical turf.

As it happens, I can claim no such illiteracy. Oft I while away the hours in my scholarly pursuits; just two weeks ago I was ensconced in a gripping history of puffed gelatin in western confectionary tradition. Regrettably, I permitted the temptation of the reading to get the better of me, and the resulting binge nearly spoiled my enjoyment of marshmallows forever (I have since confirmed that my revulsion at them has passed). I suppose at least some of you readers have had similar experiences, as the hunt for knowledge can be a dangerous one. It can likewise, though, be a dull one, subtle of reward and slow of progress. Even the sharpest mind (that is to say, mine) must abide by the adage coined by that dubious dilettante Benjamin Franklin regarding work and play.

All too often, however, my attempts at play become ordeals of more stress and exertion than my work, as I shall hereafter lay out. The life of an intellectual like myself is generally a tireless one, so I cannot simply vegetate in front of a television screen, or finger paint, or dig holes, or whatever it is that the non-gifted do to pass the time. No, if I am to seek out fun, it must be a grander undertaking, a diversion excursion. Upon seeing the aftermath of my marshmallow ordeal, my manservant, Chip, recommended that I seek out another such excursion that he might have ample space to clean up the mess. I upbraided him for his insolence in suggesting that he might know better than I what the situation warranted, but I did coincidentally decide to take a day off.

It was high time that I took a break from the labors of learning, especially since several months ago my wayward sister Doris and her dullard of a husband John, or Josh, or Jean, or whatever his name is, moved to Southern California (or SoCalifornia, as the locals seem to call it), wherein I myself have resided since I noted my own incompatibility with snow-ridden climes some years past. I had no desire to see Doris, nor her mate, but I was overdue for a day of quality time with their eight-year-old son Nathaniel, whom they continue to call Nathan like the ignoramuses they are, and whom I have considered my ward since it became clear to me that Doris and Joe would raise him as a moron without my intervention.

I telephoned Doris. Her dry, familiar response belied the burning envy she feels for my high culture: “Hello?”

I cut through her defense and delivered my point outright. “Doris, I request—nay, I demand—a day of guardianship with little Nathaniel.”

Obviously fearful of my potential to supplant her and James as Nathaniel’s primary role model, as though I hadn’t obviously done so already, Doris was hesitant. Nevertheless, I appealed to her sense and to her busy schedule, and with some negotiation of my fee to half that of her regular babysitter, she agreed.

Doris’s only condition was that I avoid a debacle like my previous outing with Nathaniel. I won’t go into all of the unfortunate details, but suffice it to say that I am no longer welcome at Disneyland. That pretender in the Mickey Mouse costume should have known better than to claim that Tom Sawyer would have his own island, let alone that the hackish and offensive works of Mark Twain have any place in children’s entertainment! But I digress. I promised my sister that I would not cause any scenes with costumed idiots and began planning my day of appropriate recreation.

Though I was legally barred from paying another visit to Disneyland and glad of the riddance, I knew that I needed to choose an activity of sufficient excitement to keep little Nathaniel occupied. I wish I could say that he could take the same interest as I in the classic art of the oratorio, but I must administer milk before symbolic meat (I am particularly proud of this wholly original metaphor; it came to me one day as I mused on the peculiarities of mammalian reproduction and I regret that I am not more frequently credited in its not infrequent usage). The milk, in this case, had to be a themed park, as they are known, for I recalled Nathaniel’s immense dejection at our ejection from the Disney premises before he had a chance to ride any of the various roller coasters, and I wished to make reparations.

I settled on the nearest possible park that could fulfill the role, for long drives with Chip at the wheel cause my neck to become insufferably tense. We met with Doris and Jim, picked up my ward with no more conversation than what was necessary, and were on our way. Chip attempted to engage little Nathaniel with corrupting talk of super-powered heroes and other juvenile rubbish, but I quickly and heartily put an end to that, sternly encouraging my manservant to keep his attention on the road and away from my impressionable charge.

Our destination was Six Flags, a decidedly odd name for a park in which flags are not only not celebrated, but scarcely even seen. This was my first disappointment upon my arrival, for I have been dying to visit a flag museum to improve my geographical expertise. I reminded myself that this was Nathaniel’s day, and that I had to lay aside my disappointments at the lack of educational amenities in the park and take my fun vicariously through my ward. Chip, on the other hand, I forbade from entering the park. He attempted to abandon us in an offer to return to my abode and do housework, but I informed him that he was to await us in parking until such time as we chose to leave.

The park appeared to be the work of a madman. I feared perhaps the seventh seal was opened at Six Flags, given the positively Lovecraftian dismissal of Euclidean geometry in both ride architecture and sidewalk layout. I reminded myself that such was the nature of amusing parks and recalled a similar devilishness on that ill-fated Disney expedition. Nathaniel had spoken but little during the drive, transfixed as he was by my admittedly ostentatious descriptions of the histories of various road signs we passed along the way, but now his eyes lit up in view of the high-flying prospects before him. When I saw the gleam in his eyes, I steeled myself against the madness within the park and entered.

Roller coasters have never held any particular appeal to me; the thought of tempting the capricious Isaac Newton has never struck me as intelligent or appropriate, and the thought of sharing seats with the mindless masses with which the park teemed was all the more unnerving. Indeed, to undergo such intense centrifugal and centripetal forces must have some scrambling effect on the brain, judging from the atrocities of fashion I saw around the park. Far too many of the misguided attendees thought themselves superheroes and wore the capes to prove their mania.

I reasoned to myself that my mind, being much sounder than most, could handle the coasters and maintain its sanity if it must. Nevertheless, arriving as we did at the first coaster of the day (one recommended as appropriate for Nathaniel’s age by a slack-jawed knuckle-wiper in a polo emblazoned with the park name), I surveyed the ride and felt a good deal of trepidation. It was far from the tallest coaster, and it lacked the inversions and loops I had seen elsewhere in the park, but as the line of coupled cars roared past us at our vantage point along the walkway, the fantastic velocity made my head spin.

I turned to Nathaniel to confirm that he would rather board this ride and not the bumping cars next door (barbaric as it was, the latter ride was firmly and slowly confined to the ground), but he was dead set. I attempted to extol the virtues of a relaxing merry go ‘round, but to no avail. We stood in line, and I was forced to accept the impending destruction of your humble expositor.

But—oh my—words have never failed me as they do in describing the experience of being rolled and coasted. It was unbelievable. The sensation of soaring, of tumbling, of freewheeling through the sky, that indescribable feeling is the stuff of song, had I but time to write the lyrics. As young Nathaniel and I disembarked I could scarcely see straight, but I grasped the coaster operator by the shoulders and demanded, “Direct me to the grandest ride in the park!”

She shook herself free of me and I apologized for my sudden psychosis (I suppose my earlier guess regarding the effect of rolling/coasting on the brain was accurate, but this brand of madness was one I desired). “You must get that frequently,” I told her.

As has occurred so often in my past experience in interacting with service workers, the employee was in no perceptual position to appreciate the marvelous service she offered, and simply sneered at me as she pointed me to the towering assortment of painted steel that stood nearest the park entrance.

“On the double, Nathaniel!” I cried, and took off at the greatest clip that my legs, rubberized by the coaster ride, could still handle.

“I don’t think your kid’ll be tall enough to ride!” the attendant called after me.

I stopped. Faced with a decision that I had not thought possible just minutes prior, I felt myself in a symbolic standstill to rival my physical standing in the middle of the walkway. As coteries of reprobates, riff-raff unworthy of the divine experience of flight that the park proffered, pushed past me this way and that, I cursed my charge’s diminutive frame. It was clear that I had but one option.

I surveyed the crowd for a suitable temporary caretaker of my ward. My eyes lit first upon a sorry-looking entertainer in a rumpled grey bunny outfit, but recalling my promise to Doris about my interactions with costumed beings, I knew I could have no guarantee that the dismal rabbit would act in a civilized way upon encountering my superior mind. There was, though, a tree casting ample shade near the end of the line to the ride. I knew I couldn’t leave Nathaniel there alone without material to amuse or enlighten him, but luckily, I had come prepared for such a contingency (though I had expected it to arise due to my weariness rather than my burning need to ride this greatest of all coasters).

Nathaniel fancies himself a swashbuckler, as I have gathered from his childish obsession with children’s tales of adventure. I determined he would do well to explore Pericles, Prince of Tyre; while among the least of the Bard’s creations in my estimation, it is nevertheless a great deal better than the tales of Bat Men and Wondrous Women that my ward was wont to peruse. I extracted my pocket Shakespeare reader, complete with my own set of annotations, and handed it to him. Explaining to the lad that I could not leave this great vista unexplored, and promising him I would be no more than five minutes (the wait time in the previous queue), I left him to his edification without further delay.

Imagine my surprise when five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour went by as I waited. Each moment my will nearly faltered; before long I had to stop looking back at Nathaniel, for the mournful gaze with which he watched me would soon have broken my resolve. But no! Be it an hour wait or three, I had to board that roller coaster. Morale was as tense as I have ever seen in that line. I snapped at more than one inconsiderate bystander who brushed against me as we waited.

Once near the end of the wait, I did glance again in Nathaniel’s direction, only to see him being accosted by another costumed ne’er-do-well, this one himself dressed as a Bat Man. The only thing that kept me from bursting forth from that line in explosive fury to punish the rogue was the understanding that within minutes I would be boarding. I had arrived at a point beyond which only heaven could lie.

After one hour, thirty-eight minutes, and twelve seconds, by my guess, I stood at the front of the line. Various posted signs of warning regarding the intensity of the ride met me along the wait, but I had dismissed them, sure as I was of my desire to touch the sky once again. Unlike the bench-and-crossbar restraints of the prior coaster, this ride feature a full-body rigid harness of reinforced padding. Perhaps this latter detail might have given me pause were I not so drunk on ecstatic motion, but I threw myself into the harness without a thought, my legs dangling below me in the air. My heart pounded in my chest; my breathing grew shallow and agitated; my vision blurred. The anticipation nearly rendered me unconscious before the ride even began.

Soon enough, though, we began our climb, an agonizingly slow one, to the top of the first hill of the coaster. I felt the exhilaration of Edmund Hillary and Neil Armstrong all in one as the summit approached. I suddenly realized with alarm that this was at least four times as high as the last coaster had risen. I feared the oxygen at that altitude was, perhaps, diminished. My grip tightened as I questioned my prior exuberance when, in an instant, the drop happened.

Dear readers, I know not to whom I must compare myself: the tragic Icarus, who in his pride flew too close to the sun and fell to his demise, or the wicked Lucifer, who was cast down from heaven to reside ever after in hell. At the moment of the descent, I made no such self-comparison. I simply screamed. I called out with all my might to the coaster operator, “THERE’S BEEN A TERRIBLE MISTAKE!” and “STOP THIS DEATH TRAP AT ONCE!” My pleading screams fell on the deaf ears of dunderheads. I should have known better than to entrust my life to the degenerates operating that great machine of destruction.

I have no clear recollection past that first drop until the end of the ride. Whether I passed out from terror or repressed the trauma, I cannot say. I can only say that I had more than a few choice words for the ride attendants. I fluttered my feet and railed into them from my harness from the moment our car arrived until they freed me from that nightmarish imprisonment. I informed them that their wanton toying with the lives of men and women would not stand, that I would be taking swift legal action against them. As my legs swung back and forth, the only physical expression of my anger that the restraints permitted, I landed an unintentional, though well-deserved, blow into the ribs of the attendant freeing me.

Dare I describe the overreaction of the incapable employees at that moment? The kicked youth curled away in feigned pain, clearly attempting to build some sort of assault case against me. I stood my ground, demanding that they release me and that the youth admit his exaggeration. Though the attendants saw to my first demand quickly enough, my insistence of the truth sadly fell upon ignorant ears. Neither my fellow riders of the death trap nor the kicked urchin’s colleagues would see the obvious truth, no matter the volume with which I declared it: that I was the victim.

The resulting rush to escort me from the park was so thorough that I was forced to request that the strong-arm barbarians barring my reentrance deliver my ward. It was most vexing to see that the very Bat Man whom I had seen interrupting Nathaniel’s Shakespearian studies was charged with reuniting him with me, but I remained mute. I could only tolerate so much disrespect in a two-hour period.

The sadness on the lad’s face upon seeing our ejection was heartbreaking; we clearly shared a deep bond if he could so commiserate with my ignominy in that moment to be brought to tears. The empathy so overwhelmed him that he was unable to address me for the entire ride home, not even to discuss the noble Pericles. Chip, ever true to my orders, had remained in the parking lot awaiting our return, but in his sloppiness had apparently allowed a skunk in at some point during the day, judging by the residual smell of the interior. Nathaniel could not even say goodbye when we dropped him off, such was the power of his emotional connection with my sadness. He kept his eyes trained away from me to avoid aggravating his tears. We truly share a deep connection, my ward and I.

I knew not how to process the events of the day. On the one hand, I had been insulted almost as thoroughly as I ever could be. It was a harm my pride would feel for many days thereafter, and I could not even take the legal action I had promised, what with the perverted testimony that snake of an attendant would deliver against me. On the other hand, I had not lost the desire to soar on the wings of roller coaster eagles. Even that monstrous deathtrap called my name, enticed me, made me salivate in anticipation of the next time, one year hence when my ban from the park would expire, that I could attempt to conquer her contours. I felt for the first time that I knew the plight of the addict. The one thing I knew for sure was that that evening’s bath would require an extra cup of Epsom salt.

[tyriannical]

REALLY  LONG  CHARACTER  SURVEY.

     RULES.  repost ,   don’t  reblog  !    tag  10 ! good  luck  !      TAGGED.    lmao no one i stole it from @gcrdens      TAGGING.   @ruhigenbaren​ @shadowbled​ @sparkvein​ @physicvs​/@qadiim​

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :   tyrian NICKNAME :  tyr, the hunter, the scorpion, scorpling AGE :   23 BIRTHDAY :   november 8 ETHNIC  GROUP : chinese NATIONALITY :   animian - northern chinese LANGUAGE / S : english, mandarin SEXUAL  ORIENTATION :   homosexual ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  homoromantic RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :   single; varies depending on thread CLASS : technically lower class, lives high class HOME  TOWN / AREA :   a small village in anima of about 150 people, mostly humans CURRENT  HOME : the ends of the earth at the grimm spawning grounds PROFESSION : huntsman, assassin, hunter

PHYSICAL.

HAIR :  chocolate brown EYES : golden yellow, sometimes vibrant purple NOSE :  long and pointed FACE :  rectangular LIPS :  thin and cracked, surrounded by lines from never-ending smiles COMPLEXION : pale pinkish-yellow tone BLEMISHES :  laughter lines and bags under his eyes SCARS :  seeral large ones on his chest, many small ones on his back and arms TATTOOS : none HEIGHT :  6′3″ WEIGHT : thinner than he should be BUILD :  thin and lanky, but with a generous amount of muscle tone FEATURES :  an enormous scorpion tail, as well as armor plates on his back where the tail connects to his spine ALLERGIES :  technically none, but eating anything other than meat makes him sick USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  tied up in a braid, occasionally down or in a different updo USUAL  FACE  LOOK : deranged, wild, gleeful, like he knows something you don’t USUAL  CLOTHING : pristine white uniform and occasionally a dark leather coat

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S :  failure, death at the hands of salem, losing the war ASPIRATION / S :  to squash humanity beneath his boot, give the faunus a quick and painless demise, and please his goddess POSITIVE  TRAITS :  calculating, agile, upbeat, intelligent, charming NEGATIVE  TRAITS : insane, creepy, generally unsettling, giggly MBTI :  haven’t gotten that far yet ZODIAC :   scorpio TEMPERAMENT :  excitable SOUL  TYPE / S :   pardon ANIMALS : scorpion VICE  HABIT / S :   ehh FAITH : salem GHOSTS ? :  nothing can survive her grace’s wrath AFTERLIFE ? :   who needs one under salem’s rule? REINCARNATION ? :  he’d come back as another willing host and subject of salem. or maybe a scorpion. ALIENS ? :  he’s seen stranger POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :   does salem count ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE :  don’t think he cares tbh SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION :  again i don’t think he cares EDUCATION  LEVEL : no educational training, but has been training with salem and his teammates relentlessly for the past 13 years

FAMILY.

FATHER :  currently unnamed reptilian faunus (dead) MOTHER : currently unnamed avian faunus (dead) SIBLINGS : none EXTENDED FAMILY :   his team NAME MEANING / S :  tyrian was so named because of his eyes; tyrian is also known as royal or imperial purple HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? :  tyrian is a naturally occurring reddish-purple dye used by ancient greeks. it was greatly prized as it didn’t fade easily, but would actually become brighter and more vibrant with weathering and sunlight.

FAVORITES.

BOOKS :  fairy tales, history MOVIE :  horror, drama 5  SONGS :  anything with strings, honestly DEITY :  salem; mars HOLIDAY :  halloween MONTH :  november SEASON :   spring PLACE :  salem’s palace WEATHER : anything dark SOUND :  bones crunching and flesh tearing SCENT / S :  chemicals/venom, burning meat, fresh rain TASTE / S :  coppery FEEL / S :  killing someone, being held by someone warm ANIMAL / S :  scorpions, bears NUMBER :  66 COLORS :  purple, yellow

EXTRA.

TALENTS : singing, fighting, reciting poetry, drama BAD  AT :  staying under the radar TURN  ONS :  lots of violent stuff TURN  OFFS : anti-faunus and transphobic dickholes HOBBIES : does killing count? TROPES :  my internet won’t load so use your imagination AESTHETIC  TAGS :  arachnids, scorpions, blood, tongues, eyes, worn metal, long hair QUOTES :   i became insane, with bouts of horrible sanity.

FC INFO.

MAIN  FC / S :  working on it ALT  FC / S : greed/ling from FMA:B OLDER  FC / S :   n/a YOUNGER  FC / S :   wrath from FMA ‘03 VOICE  CLAIM / S :  josh grelle GENDERBENT  FC / S :  n/a

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their own movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?           A1 :  ‘the wilting rose’. it’d be some kind of hybrid of tarantino style dialogue with otomo/akira style animation and shots. it would be his life story, detailing his humble and sweet beginnings and ending with his spiral into gore-covered madness. Q2 :   what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?         A2 :  until dawn. Q3 :   why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?           A3 :  i have a soft spot for bad guys, and i just knew that if i didn’t write him, someone else would. and they’d get him wrong. Q4 :   what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ?           A4 :  the minute he grinned at me in the intro, i was hooked. Q5 :   describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.           A5 :   VAGUE BACKSTORY. Q6 :   what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?           A6 :   kind of unstable lmao Q7 :   how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?           A7 :  he’d like me, but think i was boring bc i have issues with leaving the house Q8 :   what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions  with ?         A8 :   qrow, watts, cinder, and ruby. Q9 :   what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?         A9 :   the fact that there’s more and i’M SO EAGER TO LEARN Q10 :   how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?           A10 :  like an hour, im supposed to be doing other stuff