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roguephoenix85 · 4 years ago

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Final chapter - is Ymir badly written or is it something else? (spoiler for the end of SNK)

TW: mentions of child abuse, sexual abuse

So I’ve seen a few people confused, upset, and a little angry about the explanation for Ymir “loving” Fritz as the reason why things were as they were, and claiming it’s bad writing and rushed and what have you. I don’t claim to know all the nuances and in and outs of long form storytelling such as Attack on Titan, but I do know some things about being a victim of brainwashing, abuse, and defending the people who abused me. Some are saying it’s Stockholm syndrome, and while I don’t necessarily disagree, it’s a bit more nuanced than that. Because I did everything I could to get away from my family that hurt and abused me, but I still kept them in my life for some inexplicable reason, year after year, involving them in it and divulging information to them that they would use to harm me psychologically and mentally for their amusement and sense of power and superiority. Why? Everyone outside of my family who observed it could see that they were shitty and awful and I didn’t need them. But after 30 years of being told I’m incompetent, no one loves me like they would, I can’t take care of my life responsibly like an adult would, and that I’ll never have enough money to live unless they helped (and the condition of their help was to give them control over my care - they picked doctors, therapists, everyone, that would give them the diagnoses they wanted so it would be an easier case to be declared legally incompetent and have my mother control my financial and housing freedom), I had internalized it to such a degree that I truly believed those things about myself. My depression and suicidal thinking sprung from the conflict that this treatment wasn’t right vs. but they’re your family and they love you so they MUST be right, you MUST be an evil child to be controlled, and YOU’RE the problem. When that is all you know, you think that it’s love. Because the love you receive is conditional upon subservience.

Ymir wanted love and the only “love” was from the king once she acquired power. As much as she wanted the love she observed the only love available was manipulative and abusive. If you’ve never known actual unconditional love, you’ll take anything that you’re given. That’s why I was raped. That’s why I was molested. That’s why I allowed myself to compromise myself to stay with people who only sought to use and manipulate me for their own ends.

Because there was none around me. And when you’re terrified of death and attached to the world, wanting and hoping that someday something good will finally happen, you latch on to people, ideas, objects that end up doing more harm than good to you, because all you know is that abuse is what love is. Mistreatment is the norm. But inside, you know it’s not right. Something doesn’t feel right. So you hope. You pick the first person who gives you any value, even if it’s your value to them and not your own inherent value you’ve found for yourself. You never truly live for yourself. You’re living so that others will give you your value. Because when you did do things for yourself - you’re ridiculed. You’re betrayed. You’re humiliated and abused more. You’re kicked so much that you go back, again, and again, because the humiliation is worse than just letting them do what they want to you. That’s what happened to Ymir. The one time she did something she wasn’t “supposed to”, what happened? She got hunted and almost murdered. And when she found that power, she had value to her oppressor. Her tribe betrayed her to save themselves. This “king” tried to have her killed. But she found power. And once she had power, her abusers sought to capitalize on it. She had no one. So when you gain power and all of a sudden you have value to someone? You latch on. Because now you’re important. Now you’ve elevated yourself. But that value isn’t something for YOU. It’s something that is for the benefit of someone who only values you when you’re doing something for them.

I’ve noticed a lot of “I don’t get why Ymir would love the king, that’s bad storytelling”. My mother is a sociopath and allowed my molestation when I was a child because “everyone else went through worse and you’re a nasty little girl” - to a nine year old. She schemed to take my inheritance away from me. When my visitation with my father was over for the weekend, she would abuse and manipulate me for three days after every visit to “get me back to where I needed to be.” I would be choked, slapped, hit, have my room ransacked and destroyed if I didn’t comply with her wishes. When I wanted to kill myself because I found no solace with friends, teachers, therapists (that my mother sought out and paid for because she wanted someone to declare me incompetent or bipolar so she could take away my legal rights and exert control over every aspect of my life), neighbors, no one, even my own stepfather told me I was stupid for wanting to kill myself and that I’m ungrateful for everything. I would later discover this man was a heroin addict for longer than I had even been alive and that the only reason my mother stayed with him was because he had a large inheritance that would come to him and she could easily have his power of attorney taken away from him and control him because hey, he’s a drug addict and can’t be trusted. Better to let her take care of it all, right?

And even after all of this, I loved her. Well, I used to. I would keep wanting her love and respect because to give it up meant I had no value to anyone. The two significant others that I did have didn’t really love me, my last one was also a sociopath who convinced me to snort adderall, take hallucinogens, and stole my car to commit sexual assault against a mutual friend who had been assaulted not even 6 hours prior by someone else. When all you know is abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, and harming yourself to get a modicum of dignity and respect and love, of COURSE you stay. Because no one else loves you, right? You’re worthless and stupid and have no value except to me. I’m the only one who can love you. I’m the only one who can use you properly. Just do what I say and what I want and don’t complain or worse will happen to you. Families don’t do this to each other, you’re just mad that I’m better than you. Choices are hard, let me make them for you because clearly you can’t handle the “real world.”

When you are told these things and unduly punished for pushing back against it, of COURSE you think it’s love. Because no one is giving it to you otherwise. They isolate you, triangulate you so you HAVE to go back to them. And you do it. Because there’s nothing else around you showing you otherwise. It’s only when you share the story with others, or view it through the lens of someone else, that you understand how fucked it truly is. Under the under, Ymir is a child. She’s a child who wants to be loved. And all she’s known is manipulation and abuse. For thousands of years, because each “founder” was just her original abuser in a new body. Like Zeke.

Until Eren. Who saw her story, and instead of using her, validated her. Saw her experiences through an objective lens and said ENOUGH OF THIS. This is WRONG. It’s SICK. And it won’t end unless I do this. Until I give her the choice to break free. All it takes is one person to listen to you and hear you and your world is changed. But she never appeared as she did when she died. She was still a hurt child beholden to her abusers. And in this instance, the only thing that could make it stop is destroying it completely.

Is genocide wrong? Yes. Is scapegoating an entire race of people in the name of world unity wrong? Yes. Is using children for war and power and brainwashing them wrong? Yes. This world is cruel. It always was. That’s been the thesis of this story from day one. But. It’s also beautiful. But you have to allow that beauty in. You have to show it to people. Ymir wasn’t able to see any of it until it was far too late, but not from her own conscious choice. She’s just a child who wants to be loved and only found manipulation. And was scared of “death” because that meant there was no love in the world. None for her. Her existence was to be used and fucked to death metaphorically. And when that’s the only love you’re given and told to expect, you hold on to it and believe there’s nothing better.

Until someone or something objective comes along, hears your pain, shares it, validates it, and then tells you it’s fucked up that that’s how you were forced to live. When everything you’ve known is a fucking lie, you do want to scorch the earth somewhat. All these people that could have helped you and they said fuck you, I’ll use you too. Standing up to your abuser is scary. I’m currently suing my mother now, and I’ve been terrified of her retaliation even though I’m 35. Because she has money and people she can manipulate into harassing me on her behalf. Even though I’ve taken as many precautions as I can, there’s still things she can do - ensure I get none of my inheritance, destroy my childhood memories, slander me publicly, fly out to where I live and stalk me or have others stalk me, or find people loyal to her to assert that I should be declared incompetent because of my autism, even though I have my own doctors I see now who disagree with that sentiment. It’s scary, but it’s right. But I’m also an adult now, and when I realized that my stepfather was telling everyone in the family that when he was high on ketamine I convinced him to murder my birth father, and that it was MY IDEA, and that my mother lied about reporting my sexual abuse to DHS because she wanted to protect her brother, his kid that abused me, and their family over me, and also had me lie about my birth father abusing me by convincing me “Oh it was so traumatic you can’t remember” so she could get custody of me just because she hated him, I finally said enough. But I didn’t have an Eren to help me make that decision. Or a Mikasa to do what needed to be done.

Ymir is still just a child mentally. Separation from that, especially when you’re a child and have no other allies in the world and you’re told worse could happen to you if you separate from your abusers, is difficult. And sometimes nonsensical. I know a lot of people were confused as to why I would still try to involve my mother in my life after the insanely fucked up shit she would do. But you don’t know any better when you’re the target. My reasoning is that I’m an adult now and I have a life of my own I’ve built despite her. Ymir didn’t have, or didn’t understand, that choice. So she stayed. Asking for breadcrumbs of love and respect and dignity from lesser beings. To quote Chelsea Hart “You want to be worshipped by a goddess without having to be a god.” She had the power, and she didn’t know what to do because she was a child. So she gave away her power. And by then it was too late to be properly reasoned with. The only way to stop it was to destroy all of it. Because when you’re a child you don’t have the benefit of retrospect. You have a limited view of the world because you’re a child. You’ve been sheltered and told manipulative bullshit to keep you down, so breaking free is the radical thing. And when you’re a child, you don’t know moderation. You’re impulsive and your emotional intelligence is limited. So of course the rumbling is the result. But you also think you still love your abuser. Because that’s all you know truly, and when you don’t see it until it’s too late, this is the result. It’s tragic, but Isayama never said this was a happy story. And considering how he WAS going to end it, giving who remains another chance at life and evening the playing field by having Paradis’ army now be comparable to the opposition army, and having the curse of the Titans eliminated from the world, that’s a pretty good ending for them.

I mean, isn’t that what Eren’s goal was since he was a child? To eliminate the Titans from the Earth? I’d say that mission is fully accomplished now.

#snk meta #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk chapter 139 spoilers #snk ch 139 #I thought the ending was fine and appropriate to what he built up #but a lot of people don't seem to understand the pull of a deeply manipulative abusivve relationship and it shows #so I wanted to give context since them saying ymir staying with him is bad writing #it's not bad #it's just outside of certain scopes of imagination and experience #people who grew up in normal households have a harder time understanding why people stay with abusers #and some of the victims will claim its love #and i thought i was being loving by understanding her #but when the truth came out i had to be my own eren and mikasa #and i had and am still learning what true understanding caring and empathy are #getting rid of the bullshit from my mind #but for those who haven't experienced that kind of trauma and abuse yeah it pry seems poorly written and inconceivable #but i'm here to say it's not that crazy and not necessarily bad writing or characterization #it's just a deeply traumatic abusive relationship that one has no other workable context for besides you know its wrong but no one else will #give you what you need #so you take it where you can and hope that it's the right love #but it never is #hopefully this illuminates that choice for some of you guys

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aspiringhorrorauthor · 4 years ago

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hello, PLEASE tell me your aroace analysis of the black parade album, i would like to see it 👀👀

What up guys, I just passed a vet med practice exam and I’m aroace and emo as fuck so let’s do this

First off, I will preface that I know that this wasn’t quite MCR’s idea of the album, but art is interpretive and I will at every possible opportunity rub my grubby little aroace hands all over that shit. This is also gonna get long so here’s a read more

Okay so first off, let me just exclude the following songs from this interpretation simply because they are exactly as they appear: The End, Dead!, Welcome to the Black Parade, Sleep, Teenagers and Blood. I can’t find anything to really psychoanalyse in this regarding the aroace experience so much as they are about the emo experience. And also, as a heads up, I feel this may teter more into aromantic interpretation than asexual simply because that’s how I roll, baby.

Let’s start with ‘This Is How I Disappear’, there’s something in here that strikes me as ‘coming to terms with being aroace Very Badly’, that first onset of panic when you realise ‘oh crap, I’m not allo’. I didn’t have the ‘hell yeah no sexual/romantic attraction oh wait there’s a word for that?’ realisation often stated online, I was in a lot of denial, especially when I first started listening to this album.

The lines “And without you is how I disappear/and live my life alone forever now” really strikes this message to me. The gnawing sense of loneliness and isolation when you first realise that you’re not like everyone else, that ‘living a life alone’ is both what you want from life and dread, as an amatonormative society drills into every one of us that love and relationships is what makes us important in life, and without it we will simply disappear. The line hits home the pain of questioning, the horror of when you realise this is who you likely are before you can truly accept it. It’s not a pretty part of being aroace, it wasn’t for me, but it is an important one, and the lines always hit home to me in this era.

Added on to this is a sense of how we’re seen in media. Consider the line “Who walks among the famous living dead”. There’s a real push in amatonormativity that love and romance is what makes us human, what makes us alive, and without it, we’re not human. Therefore, by extension, the aromantic narrator is ‘not alive’ by these standards, nor is their community they’ve yet to find. This is also doubled down by the monster symbolism throughout the song; especially when I was younger, aromantic (and asexual) coded characters in media were always the bad guys, the monsters who could only be stopped by the unstoppable power of love; the narrator is lamenting how this part of themselves seems monstrous, evil to society, when really that isn’t true, and this evolves over the course of the album.

Let’s move on to The Sharpest Lives. This is less aroace specific, but it certainly seems like a downward spiral of the narrator, which carries on from the self-loathing of Disappear. There’s really only 1 line I want to talk about here: “Juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands/Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo”. This is an obvious allusion to Romeo and Juliet, but it turns on its head the usual story of Romeo and Juliet being in love; Juliet doesn’t love Romeo, she just loves the beat, and Romeo is taking it too far. This speaks to another experience, not exclusive to aromantics, but definitely strongly felt in it, when someone misinterprets the relationship or your feelings and tries to push for romance when all you wanted was a good time. I had an awful experience of this myself, so I’m claiming this one for the aroaces.

(As an aside, I got into MCR around the same time we did Romeo and Juliet at school, so imagine little me, not knowing she’s aroace and sick to death of talking about romance at school and hearing this line. To say I lost my shit was an understatement. I ADORE that line.)

Next up is ‘I Don’t Love You’. I’ve talked about this one before on my blog, but this is the song that really gives it away to me that this album is very strongly catered towards aroaces. “But it’s a break up song!” No, it’s not, if you look at it from the correct angle. Also I’ve gone to further lengths with other break up songs so try me bitches (See: Love Drunk by Boys Like Girls being about disregarding amatonormativity rather than breaking up with someone. It’s so damn obvious too)

Here’s the short of it: I Don’t Love You is actually about falling out with a friend because you had entirely different ideas as to what it was you wanted from your relationship. The aro narrator wants it to remain friends; they’re happy with where they are, and doesn’t want it to change. The other ‘person’ in the song is alloromantic, and wants it to become a romantic relationship. The most important line for this is the most important line in the song: “When you go, would you even turn to say, I don’t love you like I did yesterday”. Let’s focus on the word choice here: ‘Like I did yesterday’. When allos talk about love, they talk about the amount; if this was about falling out of love, it would reflect that, that the other person in the song loves them less, not differently. The narrator is lamenting that their friend no longer loves them as a friend; the friend’s view of love has changed, they love them romantically, and less as a friend as a result, and the narrator’s insistence on remaining friends has highlighted this.

What’s more, I don’t think this is the first time the narrator has gone through this. Admittedly, I misheard one of the lines for years and I insist the line is “Another time was just another blow” but I’m not American so we don’t have dollars, and this is about me and my interpretation of the album so we’re in this ride together and I’m driving so lets do this. The song is very pained, you can hear it in Gerard’s voice, and there’s so little about the pain of losing a friend, especially when they wanted romance from you, that this song really speaks to.

What really gets me though is how the narrator is clearly still struggling with being aroace too. Let’s consider the line “Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading”. The narrator clearly isn’t at ease with their identity yet; maybe they wish they could keep their friend, but their placing their boundaries down, even though its costing a friend. These boundaries are important, and its important for our friends to respect them too. And listening to, and singing along to, this song really makes me proud for the narrator in a sort of self-love kind of way when you couldn’t love yourself.

Final matter on this song: the narrator still thinks of them as a friend, which is tearing the narrator apart. Yes, the line “Don’t ever think I’ll make you try to stay” might make you think differently, but I believe that’s the narrator setting their boundaries; they’re not going to become an item just to please their friend and make them stay. Instead lets look at “Better get out while you can”. The narrator sees that their different views on the relationship is incompatible, and suggests they ‘fall out’ before their friend gets too caught up, and the rejection pains them both even more.

Now for House of Wolves. Not a long to say on this one, but I see it as being about media and ace exclusionists. See, the song flips between another character seeing the narrator as an angel and as a sinner simultaneously; just as how the media depicts asexual/aromatic/aroace people as non-human, that our sexuality (or lack thereof) makes us incomplete (the sinner aspect), while exclusionists say that we must be loved by the same media (and by religion too) for being aspec (the angel aspect). The song flip flops between them very rapidly, a state of confusion that felt very poignant for me when I was questioning in the height of the ace discourse.

Okay Mama is just here not for interpretation but because my English teacher once told us to analyse songs for her to mark as revision for exams and she loves long songs and kept making us analyse them so I analysed Mama and handed that in and got an A*. So Mama said AroAce rights that day.

Disenchanted is another strange one, filled with lines that mean more to aroace interpretation than the song itself. It spoke to me most when I was on my year out, having failed to get into uni despite good grades, still struggling with coming to terms with being aromantic, and dealing with severe anxiety. All in all, it was a year of disenchantment. It’s a good song. So what about an aroace interpretation?

The main thing about the song seems to be pretending to be someone you’re not. And really, when talking with family who expect you to be allo, how can you be anything but? I was told in this time that ‘Girls only go to university to find a husband’, which is many levels of wrong, but that thought always sticks in my head with this song. Moreover, I always think of break up songs with the line “You’re just a sad song, with nothing to say”, because they ARE just sad songs with nothing to say; and yet we’re expected to love them, because it’s a universal experience. There’s never been nothing to them.

But really, the line “I spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree, so I can watch all my heroes sell a car on TV” is what really spoke to me. You spend school years being told that these people are sexy, you’ll want romance one day, and you have to agree or we’ll bully you mercilessly for it. The kids at school knew who was aroace before they knew what aroace meant. And we grow up watching heroes we relate to on TV, the fantastic loners who don’t need a significant other, only for fandom and the shows themselves to pair them up, make them “sell cars on tv” and sell out what made them special to us. And it hurts. And this song reflects that so well. In this song, the narrator is reflecting back on the years lost by hating themselves, slowly coming to terms with being aroace.

And finally, Famous Last Words. This is the real tipping point where the narrator feels comfortable with themselves, and finally confronts the friend from ‘I Don’t Love You’. The song is sung by one person, yes, but it feels like a dialogue between the friend, who still wants to hold a romantic relationship with the narrator, and the narrator who’s finally had enough. The introduction is from the friend, their thoughts on the narrator and how they know that they’re not going to win, but maybe they can make them feel bad for it “But where’s your heart?”, the friend is accusing the narrator of being heartless for being aromantic. But here’s the thing:

The narrator’s accepted who they are. “Well is it hard understanding? I’m incomplete.” The narrator accepts that they’re aroace, that to the friend, they are different, they don’t experience romance. The pain that they felt in the first few songs, of being the living dead and disappearing, makes them feel incomplete still, but they’re finally secure with being aroace enough to declare that, while they aren’t fully there yet, “I am not afraid to walk this world alone.” The narrator knows who they are, and they’re no longer afraid of it. Even when the friend tries to backpedal “Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiving” the narrator knows that the friend isn’t worth the pain anymore “Nothing you can say can stop me going home.”

That’s also why the lines about ‘love’ in this song are so important too. “A love that’s so demanding I can’t speak” “A love that’s so demanding, I get weak”. The narrator is explaining that, for them, romance is demanding; it’s not easy, and it’s not worth it for them, it’ll tire them out. The first quote can also speak of their friendship now; it’s so demanding, the narrator feels that if they stay, they may not be able to speak up for themselves any more. They have to friend break up, for both of their wellbeings.

And finally, the last verses “Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead” is the final attempt at kicking the narrator, harking back to “the famous living dead”. But the narrator refutes it by insisting that they’re not afraid to be alone anymore. And the song ends with the narrator winning, leaving the friend for good, for a better life.

And that’s the aroace interpretation of Black Parade.

And it’s 2200 words long fuck

#my chemical romance #the black parade #aroace #aromantic #asexual #You should've asked me why I can headcannon every video game character as aroace instead its shorter #Well all except the sims 2

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taetae-tea · 5 years ago

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La Farceur

A/N: I just saw the Joker and I just HAVE to write a story about it, so here ya go :). I am thinking of maybe making a part 2 of this, so just let me know if you like that idea!

Genre: Joker!Taehyung, Angst, smut, oneshot (?)

Paring: Taehyung X reader

Word-count: 6.5k

Warnings: Sexual content, groping, kissing, pinning, smoking, slapping, name-calling, Stockholm-syndrome.

Summary: You’d never thought you had to face the well-known criminal: the Joker, since he always targets rich people. Still, somehow the tables turn when you go to the famous club ‘La Farceur’ and to be faced with (maybe?) your worse nightmare.

Masterlist

‘Again, the so-called ‘Joker’ has raided another bank. 9 people have been shot during the raid, which of 4 have died. 20 people are badly wounded. This has been the fifth time this two weeks. How long do we have to wait for someone to act on this?’

You attentively watch the news as you see the blurred images of the man, who calls himself ‘the Joker’, and who does so much terrible things. You can’t imagine someone being so devilish; he doesn’t even do it for money you’ve heard. He is pure evil; he does it for his own satisfaction and happiness. People like this really do exist, which normally isn’t the case. People often do bad stuff because of lack of money or something, but he has all the money now and still continues to do bad stuff. Maybe he’s in depth with someone, it must be. It’s the only logical explanation.

‘That guy is plainly sick’, you hear your friend comment from beside you, eating cereal just like you are doing. It’s really a tradition for the both of you to watch the news together in the morning, making that your bonding-time as roommates. Discussing politics and such. ‘He must be on some shit’, Lisa continues before taking another bite. You huff before agreeing, that man can’t be right in his mind. Or maybe he was fucked up in his childhood by his father or something, anything. Luckily you’re not likely to ever have to face him, being a student. He mostly targets rich people, like banks and stuff. Well ‘being rich’ is something that you certainly aren’t.

‘He does have something hot though, I don’t know what’, Lisa comments, making you laugh out of disbelieve. ‘Damn Lisa, going out with criminals now hm?’, you tease her and she nudges you back. ‘I mean, it’s kind off wild. It isn’t a boring relationship, that’s for sure.’ You laugh even louder at that. ‘Well, true that honey. Still wouldn’t be my first pick though’, you response, shaking your head.

The both of you finish your food and get ready for your first class. You walk to the campus together, talking about anything you could think of. You’ve really grown to like Lisa. You’ve now been roommates for 5 months, you being the somewhat silent person and she being the outgoing on. You really always need one of the two between friends, otherwise it won’t work. She takes you out to parties and you make sure she goes to school. You’re always together, having grown a strong bond together.

‘So, still up for some alcohol tonight? How about a bar or something?’, Lisa suggests and you nod. ‘Why not? It’s not like we have anything else to do.’ She looks with exciting eyes at you. ‘Wow, really? Thought you would’ve refused. Do I see a new woman in front of me?’ Lisa takes a step back as she looks at you in awe. You chuckle, lightly punching her shoulder. ‘We don’t have any tests or assignments, so why not? Therewith, I haven’t gotten laid in ages. It’s time’, you confess, carrying a frustrated face. She frowns. ‘How long’, she asks and you hold up 5 fingers. She gasps as she stops her pace beside you. ‘No… I’m so sorry for you. Why didn’t you tell me?’ She puts an arm around you as she still has a worried face, making you huff. ‘Well damn, it’s not something to discuss on a daily basis.’ You look around you to see if anyone has heard your conversation, being slightly embarrassed. You don’t see anyone, except this big guy standing along the sidewalk. He does kind of seem odd to you, but you decide not to pay any attention to him and to continue your walk with your worried friend.

You both arrive at the class, entering as Lisa keeps on asking about your sex life. ‘Lisa stop! I will get laid tonight and I will be okay.’ You stop her ramble. She pouts before agreeing. ‘Okay, but you’re going to have to put my sexy clothes on. A normal skirt wont do it with this mission’, she notes and you scoff. ‘Whatever makes you satisfied’, you say before you let yourself focus on the class, which is just about to start.

‘How does one own such a tight and short dress’, you complain as you walk down the street, trying to pull your dress further down. Lisa holds your arm hooked around hers, pulling you back up. ‘Don’t bend down like that, your boobies will maybe pop out doing that’, she giggles as she shakes her head. You scoff, not liking this outfit only one bit. Yeah, you want to get laid. But like this, it’s kind of cheap and that’s not really what you had in mind. You just want a one-night-stand, but not with some gross dude. He needs to have class and be a gentleman. But knowing Lisa, she doesn’t really mind about that. And there is nothing wrong with that; the girl has needs too. Your standards are just different.

You arrive at the familiar club ‘Le Farceur’, being one of the hottest clubs in the city right now. You often come here, knowing you’d get the optimal club-experience. You’d be surprised how many clubs aren’t great at all. Some clubs have old gross men on the side who keep on looking at you with there old eyes. Others just have awkward young people who don’t know how to party nor to throw one. ‘Le Farceur’ really knows how to do it having: great DJs; cute barmen; great lights and a beautiful dance floor made out of glass. You love the club and you always feel like you walk into another universe.

‘May I get that coat?’ The doorman asks and you nod, giving him exactly that. Lisa also gives her coat to the other man standing a bit further in the hall. You can already hear the music dancing off of the walls. When you take a turn to Lisa, you already see her flirting with that very guy. You don’t know how she does it with that much ease, you simply can’t. You can already hear Lisa say: ‘What makes you different, makes you special.’ Yeah, say that to the girl who will stay alone forever in her little house with her thousand cats.

‘Ready?’, Lisa asks as she approaches you. You nod and the both of you enter the hall. The club is already full with sweaty dancing people. The smokers are fully on and everything looks blurry as you enter the room. Immediately Lisa grabs your hand and pushes through the crowd, trying to find the bar at the other side of the club. The music is loud as you walk through the people. Some people are singing, some are talking with their friends; some are trying to flirt with others. You like this, it’s as if anyone can finally let loose in this room. There are no worries, just maybe the growing feeling that you might throw up because of the many drinks one has taken. No tests, no pressure from school. Just loud music and beautiful people around you.

‘You want the usual?’ Lisa asks and you nod. You look around as Lisa starts ordering. You can see a few familiar faces in the crowd, being people you know from school. You’re not surprised, this is a well-known club. Everyone at the campus talks about it. About people who have hooked up there, or even split up.

‘Here you go, one tequila shot, a lemon and some salt. Let’s go!’ Lisa yells after putting some salt on your hand. You immediately lick it off of your hand, shot the tequila through your throat and put the lemon in your mouth. You frown out of disgust, but then laugh because of the thrill it gives you. Lisa mirrors you exact, making you laugh even more. The both of you do a few more shots before heading to the dance floor, dancing together before Lisa finds a very handsome young man to dance with.

You can feel yourself getting drunk by the second, loosing up and dancing more freely. You let yourself focus on the music, though you don’t know the song. You don’t really care though.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder, making you turn around. A tall guy stands in front of you. You giggle as you take a step closer and you can recognize his face. It’s the guy from this morning, he was standing along the sidewalk. I guess he did hear us talk and probably wants a peace. He looks mysterious, having dark glasses and this black suit on. It’s like he’s straight out of Man In Black. You just know he could take you just the way you’ve needed someone to for the last 5 months. A strong tall guy, maybe even a gentleman.

He now firmly holds your arm, almost painfully as he start dragging you through the crowd. You don’t know how to react, but you’re kind off too drunk to know how. You start pulling on your arm, hoping that the guy will just let go. It’s now that you’re beginning to panic, what does this guy want? Why is nobody stopping this guy? People see me right? They see me getting dragged out of the crowd? Or maybe I’ve done something wrong and is it security trying to escort me out. I just can’t remember myself misbehaving.

You arrive at a door in the corner of the club. The guy has been silent the whole time as you were trying to follow his fast pace through the crowd. You want to be sober so you could try to make sense out of this, but you can’t. You’re stuck being this drunk fuck that’s busy trying to keep her balance.

‘Who are you?’ you manage to get out. The man doesn’t answer and just starts dialing some number beside the door. You figured he is taking you in there. But why? This can’t be something bad, right? People didn’t just let a girl dragged through the club only to get raped. Or do things like this happen this easily? Thinking about it, drunk people don’t really keep an eye on others around them. So it’s possible. You begin to pull harder on your arm, even wiggling in hope that he magically let your arm go. The guy grunts, making the grip on your arm tighter. You let out a small yell out of pain, body falling in each other. You try to stay up, but together with your drunk mind you can’t really keep it that way.

You hear a soft beep and the door in front of you opens. The guy drags you through the door and closes it behind you. He didn’t come along with you; you’re just alone there in this room, that’s what you think at least. You don’t dare to look up; you just look down at your hands, which you can’t quite get focused because of the alcohol that flows through your system. You do notice the room is pinkish and the floor from is wood. Your eyes slowly make their way up and you now see a white carpet on the ground. Something like a sofa is on the end and a little coffee table on the side.

‘He hasn’t hurt you, has he?’ You suddenly hear someone say at the end of the room. Your body shocks by hearing this sudden voice. It does sound familiar, like you’ve heard it somewhere before, but not face-to-face. The voice doesn’t give you a good feeling though. You want to look up, but you’re a bit too dizzy to do so. At this point you don’t really know what’s real anyways.

‘You look weak, I didn’t fucking ask for a weak one’, the person says again, talking in a irritating manner. You frown, still looking down. ‘Then why don’t you fuck off’, you reply, not caring for the words you are using. You slowly sit up, finally finding your balance. You scan the room. You notice how the walls are red, the black ceiling and the golden decorations around the room. At the side you see a pole and you realize this must be some sex-room. At the end you see a big sofa with a man sitting on it. He’s sitting with his legs crossed and his head hiding behind a newspaper. You frown as you start to scan the man. He has a colorful appearance, wearing some form of a suit. You can even see the top of his head, showing a green color or maybe blue? You can’t really see that well, not with the blurry vision thanks to the alcohol. You do see some kind of smoke surrounding the man and when you start to smell, you just know it’s a cigarette.

‘So you are feisty’, you hear him say with a smug sound. You scoff, trying to prove you’re not scared, but you fucking are. You don’t know what to do, but you do know this man has power.

Then his newspaper goes down and the painted face looks back at you, a cigarette resting on his lips and showing a cocky expression. Your eyes go wide and your heart starts to race a million times faster than it already was. It’s the fucking maniac. The guy you’ve now seen for months upon months, doing terrible things against the nation. It’s the man who has stolen billons of dollars from rich people and not hesitating to make a few kills for it.

He has a dark grin on his face, as he looks you up and down, standing up from the couch in the uncanny manner. You move your body as far as possibly away from him, that being your natural actions. How the fuck did I get in this situation. You try to move further back, but your head still tolls by the alcohol you’ve been drinking merely moments ago. He walks up to you with a fast pace, making you scared. He knows what he is doing and he loves it. He loves to make people scared.

He crouches down beside you and grabs your hair, pulling it back harshly so you look into his eyes. You can hear a soft thud beside your face, being it the cigarette he puts out on the wall you’re pressed up against. His face is very close to you now, his lips hovering above yours and breath hitting against your skin. The smoke is still coming out of his mouth when he starts speaking.

‘I’ve heard you that you are looking for something naughty, my ‘lady ’, he says with a low and dark voice, now letting himself sit down on your lap. You don’t know how to react to this, but your body does the job as you feel a certain warmth stream through you. You feel yourself now breathe much louder and your body wants something, you can feel it. You know the feeling all too well, maybe even loving the adrenaline flowing through your body that goes with it.

No, stop (y/n). It’s just the alcohol. You can’t feel this way towards this ‘man’.

The Joker smirks down at you upon seeing you struggle underneath him. He yanks your hair back ever so slightly, exposing your delicate neck to him. His eyes meet yours, still as dark as they always are, before he reaches down and gently kissing the exposed skin, surprising you with the gently touches. It’s not something you’d expect from such a masterminded criminal like him, the Joker. Your body shakes as you let yourself embrace the tinkling feeling on your skin, which are vastly changing into sloppy kisses and making you moan ever so quietly. Why is he so damn good at this?

‘Let’s see what you’ve got, baby’, he whispers into your ear after parting his lips with your neck, he even had inspected the red skin it had turned to. Suddenly he yanks on your hair as he stands up himself, forcing you to get off the ground. You let out a small whine as you try to follow his forcing moves. He pushes you towards the couch, not so gentle anymore, and bends you over right on that spot. You inhale sharply upon this action, but you don’t fight it for some reason. Your brains are telling you to scream and kick your way out of it, but the alcohol is letting that voice fade into the background together with the pounding noises from outside the wall, where people are still dancing and shouting along the music. The only thing you can focus on now is his groin pressed up against your ass, feeling so thick and long, and the way it makes your body ache for more.

‘You know what ‘Le Farceur’ stands for baby?’ His hands are finding its way around your butt, tracing soothing circles and making it hard for your knees to stay up. Then, with no warner whatsoever, he pulls his hand up and lets it down with great force against your ass. You let out a small high-pitched moan, making yourself again amazed at the way this man can make you weak like this. You can hear him laugh behind you, cocky that he could make you feel this hot by only slapping you. ‘It stands for ‘the Joker’’, He says, both hands groping you harshly, your body pleading you for more. You lean into him as he does so and you can’t do anything but to plead out your pleasure.

‘F-Fuck daddy.’

You feel another slap on your butt, but this time a bit stronger and with more passion than before. You hiss this time, not feeling any pleasure by that, rather pain. But not the kind of pain you want to run away from. Your arms almost give in by the force of the slap. He grabs your hair again and pulls you up straight against his body, his hard cock pressed up against your butt with more force. You can already taste it on your mouth.

‘who?’ He asks as he moves his hips forcefully against your ass, making your back to arch into him. You love this, you love the way he makes you dripping wet, the way his cock forces its way against your ass and making you hope you didn’t have any panties on.

‘J-Joker’, you reply, almost moaning, as he remains to move against your ass from behind you. You can practically feel the way he smirks behind you, eyes printed on you as he does so. He lets go of your hair slowly, his fingers wondering down. He touches every single feature of yours, beginning from your neck, down to your arms and gently groping you and making you rill all over. His hands grab the soft fabric of your dress and pull the strings over your shoulder. The newly exposed skin are immediately marked with his wet kisses, making you arch into him. You want to be closer to him. He doesn’t react to it, he just continues his way down, letting the dress slowly slide off your body. You feel nervous as he does his action, too much anticipated and wanting him to fuck you already. You even let out a soft whine, hoping he would punish you or anything, but he doesn’t. A mastermind indeed.

When your dress finally hits the ground, only wearing your panties now, you can feel his hands caressing your breasts. You can hear him grunt when he start pinching your nipples, pleasure getting ahead of him as he does so. You hum when he gropes your breasts with more force, pulling you closer against his body and you feel his dick again close against you. He is such a tease, being so slow with you, not fucking you immediately.

‘Patience my baby girl’, He whispers into your ear as he lets go of you. You let out a small noise, feeling so naked and untouched when you don’t feel him against you anymore. You want to turn around, but you can hear a disapproving sound when you almost did. ‘No can do, baby doll. Patience I said’, he instructed and you obeyed. How hot he might be and how much you want him inside of you, he still is one of the biggest criminals. He is still dangerous and you wouldn’t want to get actually hurt by this little game he is playing with you.

You can hear something hitting the ground, some kind of fabric maybe. You don’t really know where he is in the room since the noise from outside is still pounding through the walls, music and talking people getting right through. It makes you even more wet upon knowing he’s about to fuck you so hard while people are right there outside. Oh, you want him to. So badly.

‘Lay down’, you suddenly hear from behind you. You say as you are told, lying down on the sofa in front of you. First you sit down, making eye contact with the man in the room and you are not upset with what you are met with. He is standing in front of you, fully naked. His body is painted with thick caramel-colored muscles, shining under the dim-pink lights around you. His legs look strong and his chest looks so inviting, something you want to have a taste of. His cock is standing strong and proudly, looking so good and delicious. You just know he’s going to fill you up the way you want him to and with that dazzling expression, he is promising he will just do that.

‘You like what you see, don’t you baby?’, He declares as he sees your longing eyes, finally laid down on the sofa. You swallow back your words, knowing you can’t get too excited. You’ve learned your lesson now; you won’t let him tease you that long again. You need him right now and toying with you is definitely not the way to go.

Your eyes are widened when he decides to slowly walk up to you, making your body ache of desire. His muscles move strongly, but still so delicate. You hate the fact that you can’t see his face, though you still find the façade kind of exciting. His eyes still look dark when he finally reaches you, like he is fucking you with them, but not touching you yet. You squirm on your place, trying to calm yourself down and to net get too excited.

In one swift move he had placed himself above your waist, his dick throbbing as you can basically taste him. He is so close, you just have to lean forward and you can just-

‘No no, sweetheart. I’ll guide you’, he says as he pushes you back on your place, making you whine once again. You knew you shouldn’t have whined that much, because suddenly his eyes looked angry, making you shiver. He grabs your hair once again and yanks it back. There flew a shot of pain through your neck, since he has bend your neck over the handrail. You let out a small yell upon feeling that, but before you could say anything was his face already close you yours.

‘Whine fucking once again and I will snap that neck.’ His threat got through to you and you just nod, eyes wide open, as you feel terrified. He sits back on your waist as he suddenly puts a cigarette in his mouth, lightening it with a small lighter. You look at him with awe as he pulls his hair back and taking a deep inhale of his cigarette. Though he had just threatened you, you still think he is so beautiful, in some ways.

‘Now, darling. Open wide’, He says as he suddenly closes the gab between you and his cock, his body now placed above you. You open your mouth as far as you could, your hands finding its way to his cock and placing it right in your mouth. You can hair him grunt as you lick his dick wet, making it ready for you to suck on. You begin slowly, making your mouth hallow as you let him enter your mouth. You can taste the saltiness of his skin, but still the way it’s so delicious. His hips slowly begin to rock with your movements, making a pace onto your mouth. You can now smell the smoke again and when you look up, you see him exhaling all that smoke out of his lungs.

How can one be so damn hot when smoking?

You begin to suck, making slurping sounds with your mouth as you do so. It’s now that he grabs your hair and starts to moan a little upon feeling your mouth surrounding his cock. You make sure your hands are making rotating movements around his dick while sucking him dry. He feels the urge to go faster, so he starts pulling your head and you let him guide you. His pace is fast and it’s not easy to keep on sucking, so you instead make your mouth hallow again and let him go as deep as he wants. He loved that move and immediately makes use of it.

‘Yes baby, let me fuck that mouth hmm’, he grunts as he rocks his dick as far as he could into your throat. You make gagging sounds and you have to gasp for air, but somehow that makes him hornier and he only goes faster by it. You don’t really care about it, you want him to abuse your mouth like this.

‘Fuck I need that pussy.’ He thrusts his dick as far as he could into your mouth for the last time, staying there for a few seconds, making your gasp as you almost past out for air before releasing you. You lay back as you have to come to your senses for a few seconds and look back up, seeing his cocky face with his dark eyes. He again blows out some smoke as he had just taken an inhale from that cigarette. It makes you frown in the haste of the moment, thinking of how bad smoking is. But it occurred to you that he isn’t a healthy man and that a cigarette is probably the least of his problems.

He puts the cigarette down on the edge of the coffee table beside the sofa. You look at him, anticipating on his next actions.

He grabs your hips and lays you on your belly in one swift move. He then pulls your hips up, leveling with his cock. He starts dragging his cock against your damp panties, which you sadly are still wearing. Your body leans into the touch and you start to wiggle your ass, hoping he would feel more tempted to fuck you. Instead he lets his hand fall down on your butt with a great force, making you exhale sharply and feeling the way your skin burns under his touch. If anything, that made you want him even more. You could never find a better sex partner than him.

‘P-Please’, you breathe out, arching yourself into him again. He presses his dick further up against you, rubbing up and down. ‘Please what, my princess’, he asks and you immediately reply. ‘Please… Joker’

He suddenly pulls your panties to the side and you are met with something other than his dick. You can feel his tongue gliding between your folds, licking up and down. Your body sinks down and your ass perks up, wanting him to hit certain spots. He finds your clit with ease and his hand begins to toy with the little nub, making circular motions. You moan into the sofa as he finally gives you the relieve you’ve been searching. He even ads another finger into the mix, inserting it into your hole. His fingers a tall and thick as it moves through your insides, hitting al the right spots when hit curls inside of you. Nobody has ever known to pleasure you like this, not even once.

Through all of this he hasn’t stopped to taste you and even groan when he does so. He seems to enjoy you so much; he has never felt such passion with anyone before. Nobody ever really wants to fuck him, he is the Joker nonetheless. They are always afraid of him; so he often has to force them, really, and after that probably kill these women. But you, you have the same kind of crazy mind like he has. The way you want to stay good, but for him you’d do everything. His little slut. And no way he will throw that away. He will keep you, his own little whore to enjoy.

Your body begins to shake as he keeps on pleasuring you and you feel great heath rising in you. You can’t help yourself but to reach behind you and grab his hair, you need to hold something. In return, he grabs that hand and forces it down beside you and pushing your ass way further back so he can insert his tongue into you. Out of pleasure, you begin to moan loudly, calling his name multiple times. He keeps on thrusting into you and rubbing your clit when you finally come, the heath finally bursting out of you and leaving you breathless on that sofa.

You can feel his eyes on your back, probably smirking for the thousandth time as he sees you laying there, body still weak as you’ve just cum. That rest didn’t take long as he turns you back on your back and pulling your legs upwards, hooking them on his shoulders. You look up into his eyes, still breathing loudly as you do so. He looks back in yours, an uncanny grin on his face as his cigarette is back in his mouth. He blows some smoke out into your face, making you cough slightly. His grin turns into a small laugh upon seeing you like this, taking another inhale before taking out the cigarette and connecting your lips.

You inhale the smoke into your lungs as he kisses you with all the passion he has to offer. Your tongues immediately connect an you again can feel his cock pushing up against your entrance, making your inhale against his lips. He explores your mouth with his tongue as he slowly rocks his hips up and down, feeling your wetness against him. He grunts and his breath begins to make a pace. He makes one swift move, putting his cigarette back down before saying: ‘You really are one special slut, aren’t you my love?’

With that he suddenly thrusts his cock inside of you, breaking your lips apart as you inhale sharply. The pain shoots through your body, not being used to his size and also not having had sex for a couple of months. You grab his arms out of discomfort, nails digging into his flesh and making him his too. He stops moving by that as he looks at you, expression filled with passion, though you can’t see it since your eyes are tightly closed in pain.

‘Easy baby doll, relax’, he says, leaning down to your ear. He slowly starts kissing you on that spot, trying to make you focus on his lips and not on the pain that shoots through you. Like magic, you can only focus on his kisses and you start to hum in enjoyment. You thought he wouldn’t stop for you to adjust, but he does. That isn’t something the ‘Joker’ would do, is what you thought. Maybe he is just a big softy from the inside?

As his kisses become rougher, his hips slowly start to move, at first a bit rough, but slowly better and better. You begin to moan against his shoulders as his pace goes faster with the second, eyes frowning by the pleasure it is bringing you. Your arms find their way around his neck as you try to get him closer to you, smelling his scent and savoring it in your memories. God, you hope you can remember this tomorrow.

His pace has gone up again and is now pounding into you, skin making loud noises against each other in the room. Your moans are just as loudly heard, slipping through your lips when you are not kissing his neck. You love the way his body is so close to you, how he feels so good and big inside of you. He fills you up better than you’d thought he would. Everything is better than you’d thought, he is the perfect man. He knows just the right ways to please you, like how he angles his hips to hit that special spot inside you. Damn Joker, you look like a criminal but fuck like a goddamn god.

‘Fuck, you are so tight and so good. So well behaved, my little doll’, he mutters under his breath as he grabs your throat, putting a soft pressure on it. You feel the way your air ways are getting blocked until you can barely breath and you can’t help yourself but to moan. You want him to own you like this, to make you his slut. ‘Such a fucking freak.’ His eyes are so dark as he leans down to kiss you again, hand still on your throat and hips slamming into yours. You don’t know what to do with yourself as the pleasure rushes through you, heath again growing inside of you.

It’s then that he pulls out of you, making you pout as he does so. He smirks down at you before he grabs your legs and unhooking them from his shoulders. He sits down on the couch, legs spread widely as he grabs his still-lightened cigarette from the little coffee table. He takes another inhale before exhaling again, letting the smoke wander into the room. You look at him in awe as you sit right up, admiring his looks again. His silhouette looks so beautiful from this angle and the smoke seems to almost dance around him.

‘Take a seat, darling.’ He really loves naming you things and it always seems to work on you, since you get wetter every time. You do as he tells you and sit on his lap. He looks up at you, silent as he observes every single detail of your face, taking a few smokes a he does so. He then leans in to slowly lick your breast, making circular movements around your nipple. You hum in pleasure as you push your panties to the side and lining his dick up with your entrance. You slowly sink down on it until you can’t get any fuller. He grunts against your breasts, loving the feeling of you around him.

You move your hips up and down, slowly building up. He keeps on looking at you as he takes his inhales from his cigarettes, making you feel enchanted by his state of being. He does it just so well.

He puts his cigarette down again and starts to move with your hips, making a faster pace. You now are breathing loudly again as your body works hard to keep the pace that he wants and you can’t help but moan loudly because of it. He grabs your hips as he bounces you up and down his dick, making wet noises with your pussy rushing against his skin. He seems to love the noise as he keeps on trying to go harder into you. You pull your head back as you get lost in the pleasure he is giving you, body slightly beginning to tremble as the heath slowly grows into you. It only takes a few hard strokes for you to cum even harder than the last time. Your pussy clenches by the feeling and your body twitches, as you can’t help but to fall into his arms. He holds you, but doesn’t lose his pace as he also finds his own high. He makes a few hard thrusts as he suddenly comes into you, dick buried deep inside of you as he does so.

You both breathe loudly as you lay on top of him. He holds you tightly against his body when he still makes the last few strokes inside of you. He wants to burry that cum very deep inside of you, you’re his and that’s where his cum should be too.

‘Crazy girl’, he breathes out into your neck and you can’t help but to chuckle at that. You’ve just fucked the Joker, the person you basically hated. But you couldn’t get enough of him, though he might be a criminal. This must be some Stockholm syndrome or something.

‘You’re now mine, baby girl.’

Your eyes widen for a second, but then you realize that you probably don’t have a choice. He’s one of the bad guys and is probably the best one there is. You don’t have any input in this. That’s what you tell yourself at least. What’s really going on is, he fucks well and he feels good with you. You know it’s not good for wanting him, but it’s the plain truth and you actually don’t give a shit about it anymore.

‘You will live with me, you don’t have to do anything but to fuck with me like a good girl’, he says before leaving small kisses on your neck. You hum by the feeling, again tingling your neck. ‘I don’t care, as long as I stay with you’, you answer and he huffs. ‘You really are my crazy doll, aren’t you?’

He hooks your legs around his waist, dick still buried inside of you and standing up. You cling close to him, as he seems to walk to a wall, pinning you up against it and pounding a few times into you, making you moan by the similar sensation. Then he continues his walk towards some door and opens it without hesitation, you still clinging onto him. A man is standing there, the same man who had brought you into this room. You widen your eyes and you try to hide yourself, but instead you only hear the Joker chuckle.

‘We’ll be staying here for a couple of hours, get it done’, he says to the man before closing the door again. He lets you slowly slide down, his dick now out of you as he pins you to the door, which has been closed. He looks deep into your eyes with a small smile, looking like a different person.

‘Cause I’ve finally found my soulmate.’

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idreamofplaid · 4 years ago

Text

Fallen - Chapter 6

Summary: Sam thought he had found happiness, but now his past is back to haunt him. Lucifer has claimed the throne of heaven, and it is his intention that Sam should finally fulfill his destiny as King of Hell.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Lucifer

Word Count: 2788

Warnings: It’s dark. Contains torture.

A/N: This chapter is inspired by the song “The Water” by Hurts. Listen to it here.

Series Masterlist

Innocent they swim. I tell them “no.”

Sam’s POV

Your feet hovered over the floor; your body was flat against the wall, held there by Lucifer’s force. I grabbed at Lucifer’s hand around my throat trying to loosen his hold. I needed to get to you. I had to get to you.

He moved his hand up to my chin and squeezed it hard, holding it in a vise like grip and making sure my eyes stayed on you. “Look at her, Sammy.” His voice had that cold edge to it that almost made me go numb with fear. “I warned you. You just couldn’t stay away from her. You know what happens now.” Lucifer jerked my face back around to look at him. He leered at me. “It’s time. Hell is ready for your ascension, and she’s coming with. Hell needs someone like your...honey.”

I felt the bile rise in my throat. “That’s right, Sam. I know what you call her. I can hear you...when I want.”

I clenched my teeth as tight as I could. I wanted to kill him, but I couldn’t move. “You are a sick son of a bitch!”

“Awwww, Sam. C’mon. I thought we were closer than that.” He had that grating, almost whiny tone, which instantly turned to ice. “We were, Sam. Don’t you remember? So close in every way.” His smile was sinister, and it took everything in me not to shake and give him that satisfaction. He turned that awful smile toward you. “Time to show your lady love, don’t you think?”

I tried to shake my head, but it barely moved. Lucifer still had his hand on me. “No. No! Take me. You can do anything you want. Just leave her alone.”

Lucifer’s mocking tone was back. “Humans and love. Crazy thing.” He let me go, and I fell against Jacob’s crib. “I’m going to do whatever I want anyway, Sam.”

They just dive right in, but do they know?

It looked like an empty room, but it wasn’t. I remembered it. Lucifer could make it seem like anything or anywhere he wanted. He had tormented me with it, made it seem like Mom and Dad were still alive, made it seem like Jessica was still alive. He had made it seem like everything I ever wanted was real. I’d sat on the couch in my own house with Dean, drinking beer and watching football. I’d seen Mom playing with her grandchildren, my kids, Dean’s kids. We were normal. We were a family.

Then Lucifer would take it all away just to torture my body like he had my heart and mind. He could also make every kind of horror imaginable appear in that room and some you could never imagine. The pain was excruciating, and there was never an end to it. Now, I had brought you here.

It’s a long way down... and there’s no air or sound

You were lying on the floor against the wall. I tried to stand to go to you and collapsed right back down. The bastard had dropped us in here literally. The pain in my knee was sharp, intense, and not going to keep me from getting to you. I crawled. The floor was rough, and I scraped my hands dragging myself across it. I had to know if you were okay, but if the fall had knocked you out; it was a mercy. At least you didn’t know where you were. How was I supposed to tell you?

I touched your shoulder as gently as I could. You didn’t move, so I brushed your hair back from your face. There was a gash at the top of your forehead, and blood was trickling down past your eye. I grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and ripped off a piece of it. The line of blood went all the way down to your cheek. I started there. I wiped at it until the cloth in my hand was streaked with red. I sat back on my heels and looked at it then looked at your face remembering the way it looks when you smile. When I spoke, it wasn’t even as loud as a whisper. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Down below the surface

You finally groaned and lifted your hand to your head; then you blinked your eyes open once and immediately squinted before opening them for good. “Sam?” You rubbed your fingers over your temple. “What?” Your eyes moved around the empty room. “What is this?”

I dropped my head, swallowed, and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath then slowly raised my head back up to look at you. Your eyes... Dammit. You’d trusted me again, and this is where it got you. “It’s...this is.... We’re in hell.” I saw you look around again, your eyes getting wider as they roamed over the rough, gray concrete walls and floor. Your breathing got faster, and your eyes met mine. I saw the fear, the confusion, and the disbelief as you tried to make sense of it.

I closed my arms around you and pulled you against me. You were trembling, and I shifted your body so you were more under me and did my best to cover you with mine. If I could have held you any closer, I would have. A silent prayer passed through my mind. “Please, God, help me. I can’t protect her.”

There’s something in the water. I do not feel safe.

Lucifer entered the room in a flash of light. “Oh, hey, am I interrupting something?” I didn’t move, didn’t let go of you. “You kids comfortable? There are better accommodations, you know, chambers befitting a king and queen. All you have to do is say the word.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “No? On we go then.”

I heard Lucifer snap his fingers. I gritted my teeth. In my experience, that always meant something horrible was about to happen. I felt a pair of hands on each of my shoulders. They dragged me back, pulling me away from you. The two demons slammed me down into a metal chair. Cold. Always cold. Lucifer tortures with ice as well as fire. He stood in front of me while they strapped me down. “Meet my assistants, Sam. They were swimsuit models on earth. Got them involved in some pretty naughty stuff, landed ‘em here. Quick to move up through the ranks though. You know how it is.”

Lucifer leaned over and put his face in mine. “Can’t say I’m not thoughtful, Sam. Little bit of eye candy for you. Probably won’t be so great for her.” He jerked his head over his shoulder in your direction. “So what should the ladies do for you, Sam? Pleasure or pain?” He stood up and started walking back and forth in front of me looking over at you every so often as he talked. “What do you think your wife would enjoy watching more?” Lucifer made a show of putting his finger to his chin like he was thinking. “Hmmm. Wait.” He held his finger up in the air. “You didn’t marry her. Why is that, Sam?”

You tried to hide your feelings, hide what his words were doing to you. Only, I knew you too well not to see it. He’d hurt you, made you question, made you wonder, made you doubt. It was exactly what he wanted to do. Lucifer kept going. “Oh well, baby mama then. Isn’t that what the kids are calling it?”

I saw the pain in your eyes, and it was worse than anything he’d ever done to me before. He’d love seeing me break like this so soon, but I didn’t care. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N. You know I love you.”

Lucifer was nothing if not dramatic. He pretended to dab at his eyes. “This is so precious, but c’mon, Sam.” He held his arms out wide. “It’s obvious what you really want. Sure, you say the right things.” He paused to stare at you. You didn’t flinch or look away, just glared at him like the monster he is. Lucifer turned back to me and winked. “You enjoyed Ruby. You did, Sam. Can’t deny it. Aren’t you the least bit curious to know what two demons could do for you?” The devil flicked a finger in their direction and one of the female looking demons grabbed my shirt and ripped it open down the front. With another snap of Lucifer’s fingers the clothes disappeared from one of the demons and an iron fire poker appeared in the other’s hand glowing red at the end.

I wish that I was stronger. I’d separate the waves.

The naked one straddled my lap and started to grind against me. The pants I was wearing were way too thin. I knew you could see me getting hard. Damn him for doing this to you. The one with the poker lay the hot end of it on my chest. I hissed through my teeth. When the pain stopped and I opened my tightly clenched eyes, Lucifer was smiling. “Gonna need a decision, Sam. What’s it gonna be?”

It didn’t matter what I said. He was going to do exactly what he wanted. My eyes shot venom at him. “Fuck you.”

He laughed. “That’s ironic coming from you, Sam. I think I’ll pass for the time being. I can always join in later.” He made a rolling motion with his hips to match what the demon on my lap was doing. His grin was pure evil. “You protest at first, but eventually you’ll like it.” Lucifer stopped his lewd motions and dropped the twisted smile to glare at me with all the menace he had. “Meanwhile, pain it is.”

I’d just let the water take me away.

There’s this thing about pain, feel enough of it and you black out. Maybe it’s the mind’s way of preserving itself, but Lucifer will never let that happen. There’s no escape once he starts. My body was burning all over. The demon had put that poker on my shoulders, across my back, against my thighs, and down my stomach. They could do anything they wanted to me, didn’t matter, as long as Lucifer let you go. As long as he let you go back to our son and both of you were safe, I’d be his king or whatever else he wanted.

I’d hung my head concentrating on not making a sound; I didn’t want you to hear it. I lifted my face to look at him. He was watching me closely to see how I reacted to the torture. I knew he would be. It was part of his fun. “Let her go. You don’t need her here. I’ll do what you want. Just let her go.” My hair was falling in my eyes. I couldn’t move it, but I could see him clearly. I could see that warped sadistic smile cross his face.

Lucifer walked closer to me. He cupped my chin in his hand and squeezed, then he tilted my face up. “Not the way it works, Sammy. That pretty piece of ass you found for yourself has power of her own, a power to compliment yours; and you made your choice. You just couldn’t turn your back on her. So, here she is. You’re meant to be, Sam, just like your mom and dad were. They had to be together so they could have you.” His fingers were on the hollows of my cheeks, and he tightened his hold until my mouth fell open. “Your son is only the beginning, Sam. You’re destined to father a dynasty.” He let go of my face and started to stroke his hand down my cheek in the parody of a gentle touch. “Can’t do that if she isn’t here with you.” Lucifer smirked. “And you already know you’re more powerful with her.”

The hopelessness of this situation settled over me. I felt defeated, and the next words just slipped out. “You never intended to let her go.”

He nodded to the demon still holding the iron poker. She walked back in front of me and touched the fiery tip to my chest then dragged it slowly down my stomach lower and lower. She waved it over my crotch, and my pants disappeared. When it touched my balls, I screamed. You spoke up quietly from your corner. Your voice sounded broken. “Don’t hurt him anymore. Please don’t hurt him.” It was enough for me to close my mouth and get myself under control. I saw the tears streaming down your face and the triumphant look in Lucifer’s eyes before he turned his back to me to look at you.

There was a time I did not fear...Now every time I get close, I’m scared of falling in

“You don’t want him to hurt anymore?” Lucifer walked toward you slowly. With every menacing step, I pulled harder at the leather restraints that were holding me. He kneeled next to you and reached out to touch the end of your hair. I was raging inside at the sight of him touching any part of you. He rubbed it between his fingers.

“No! Leave her alone!” My chest was heaving I was breathing so hard with the effort I was making trying to get away. I’d tear him apart with nothing but my hands.

Lucifer looked over his shoulder and laughed at me then turned his head back to you. “There are much nicer things. I don’t have to hurt your Sam. I can make him feel good. I can give him everything, and you can have it with him. In fact, I’m offering him the world and hell as his kingdom.” He lifted your hair up high and dropped it. “How about this? I’ll give you what amounts to a palace with a great big bed in it where he can fuck you every night to his little heart’s content. Or...I can let the girls rub his dick raw while they carve your name all over his body. He won’t know where pain stops and pleasure starts anymore. You’ll never be able to be with him the way you want again. You’ll never be able to satisfy him because he’ll need the pain.”

The sound of a cart being wheeled to the center of the room echoed off the walls. I could see everything that was spread on top of it, the clamps, the knives, the whips, the suction tubes, and the cattle prod. That last thing made me shudder with a wave of horrible recollection. You could see it all too. Your head started to shake rapidly back and forth.

I wish that I was stronger

You were taking long deep breaths in an effort to calm yourself. Finally, your head stopped shaking. You pushed yourself up on your hands, straightened your back, and looked Lucifer straight in the eye. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your queen. Let Sam go.”

My mind was screaming. You’re all sweetness, Y/N. You’re love and everything good. “Y/N, no!”

Lucifer stood, took your hand, and pulled you up beside him. “She’s a winner, Sam. Truly she is, but I need both of you now to continue the plan.” He hadn’t let go of your hand, and he led you across the room to stand in front of me. Lucifer spoke to you this time. “Go ahead. Sit down. Take him in your arms. Show Sam some of that kindness you have that he loves so much.”

You sat down carefully on my lap. Your fingertips brushed lightly over the burns on my arms, shoulders, and chest. I could see the tears gathering in your eyes. You leaned down to kiss my cheek, just below my ear. Your lips were soft and gentle. “It’ll be okay, Sam. We’ll make it okay.” I felt you start to shake, but I couldn’t hold you. I couldn’t comfort you. “I can’t watch this anymore. It will destroy me if I let this happen to you, Sam. Please, just say yes.”

I’d just let the water take me away

You were so close I could feel you breathe, smell your scent. I could get lost in you even now. It wasn’t in me to refuse you anything. You had taken me back after everything. I had to trust you and what you said, trust that we’d find a way out of this. I steeled myself, made my voice hard. When I looked at Lucifer, I knew my eyes were harder. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @maddiepants @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @iknowwheremytowelis @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything

Sam/Jared Love: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @winchesterxfamilybusiness @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @i-joined-social-media-finally @wingledsam @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @fantasy-shadows @team-free-will-you-idjiot @waywardnerd67 @neii3n @fullmooner @supernatural-took-me-over @julesthequirky @songbird400

Fallen: @stephaniecanfield96us @petitegateau911

#fallen #sam angst #sam x reader #sam series #reader insert

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moviesrotbrains · 4 years ago

Text

George A. Romero Day

I was nine or ten when I first saw Tom Savini’s NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1990) remake. It wasn’t my first horror film. FRANKENSTEIN (1931) was an early memory, and a giant life-sized poster of his monster1 protected my room from nightmares. I’d often dream of Freddy Krueger despite never having seen any of his films at that point. Horror was everywhere in the 1980s.

I was in awe of LIVING DEAD ‘90. The idea of being trapped in a house with evils lurking outside. The paranoia that brewed among the humans… how the humans became monsters long before they were even bit. It was heavy stuff at the time. I don’t know if I drew parallels to all of this or simply thought, “Wow, those intense zombie fights that would make a cool NES game!”2

Savini’s redo was probably my first actual zombie experience. Again, I had seen zombies in other media, most like Scooby Doo or whatever other Saturday morning cartoon cribbed and remixed the undead concept to sell toys or comicbooks.

It was a few years later that I finally got to see George A. Romero’s original NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (1968). I can’t recall if I first saw it on TV or an actual repertory screening of it. Memory is weird that way. I do remember being thoroughly blown away by it, despite more or less having memories of the plot from that remake.

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I never had a problem with Black & White movies, having already been a full on film-junkie at that point, but somehow that black & white depiction of old school zombies felt hyper real. Unsettling. Fucking cool as hell. Unerving. Or maybe I was just a dumb kid. Oh, I definitely was a dumb kid, and still am, but that moment cemented George Romero in the pantheon of cinematic greats. Didn’t matter what else he did, he made NOTLD. He made a weighty zombie film full of social commentary and subtext.3 He popularized zombies. He didn’t need to do anything else.

Oh, but he did. He so did.

It was around the time I was starting to consume more horror4 that a classmate had cut some scenes into a film project we were working on. My jaw was on the floor when I first saw the gory display of gritty carnage.

“This is from the 70s?”

I knew so little. I definitely didn’t know those effects were also by Tom Savini, but everything was coming full circle, and that was one of the key moments that I fell in love with Savini without even knowing.

“You never seen this? Here, man, I’ll loan you it.”

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And that was when I first saw Romero’s DAWN OF THE DEAD (1978). Take some people of various walks of life and have them take refuge in an empty mall-- only to find the Zombies have returned to the place they frequented most.

“WHEN THERE’S NO ROOM IN HELL, THE DEAD WILL WALK THE EARTH!”

DOTD ‘78, The brutal and hilarious takedown of consumption and mall culture. Social Commentary, Zombie Gags, and Sick Kills. A film that’s loved by both critics and horror junkies. A film that said something and also entertained. George Romero in a nutshell.

A film that also became my gateway drug to Good Horror. And to Bad Horor. Again, I already loved horror. I loved the aesthetic, the vibe. Always drew monsters. Always collected weird monster toys. If a film was playing on a movie channel, I’d watch it.

But Romero’s DAWN OF THE DEAD was THE film that made me WANT to actually seek them out. The film that made me want to rewatch my older brother’s old worn Betamax tapes of classic 80s horror flicks. A film that introduced me to Dario Argento.5 A movie that got me into the music of Italian Horror Prog Rock legends, GOBLIN. The life changing event that made me a nut for Savini and every 80s fx guru around. A story that made we want to watch every zombie film I possibly could. Good or Bad, and there’s a lot of bad out there. But there’s also a lot of good. So much good.

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Romero’s DAY OF THE DEAD (1985) is one of those good zombie films. I saw a midnight screening with my dad at that same repertory cinema.6 This was Romero’s third DEAD film and took place on a military base. It introduced the concept of the military studying, training, and weaponizing the living dead. It also has one of the freakiest scenes involving hands and walls that still rattles me to this day. It has a stomach churning scene involving a ripped stomach. It’s wonderful, largely in part to once again utilizing Savini’s talents, as well as Greg Nicotero and Howard Berger-- who years later brought THE WALKING DEAD to your homes. Romero’s legacy still felt to this day.

That being said, Romero’s legacy was far more than just Zombie films, of course. He made a film, that’s rather timely now7, about a plague that made people crazy called... THE CRAZIES (1973). There was another about a vampire wannabe named MARTIN (1978). A spectacular 80s horror anthology film series called CREEPSHOW8 (1982 & 1987). And a wonderfully bizarre film about a homicidal monkey named, appropriately enough, MONKEY SHINES (1988). I saw that last one before I even knew who he was but I never really forgot it. And those are just a few.

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He revisited his LIVING DEAD films with additional sequels in the 2000s and 2010s and was working on another up until his death. I was very lucky to briefly thank him during a convention, a year or so before he passed. Thanked him for the films. For everything.

He didn’t just impact me, of course. He impacted the people he worked with, who’ve gone on to impact other people in turn. He’s impacted the fans who got into horror because of him. He’s impacted the horror fans who weren’t even fans of his, because they most definitely liked something that was made by someone who was inspired by George Romero.

You’ll see it with a DOTD’s actor cameo in a Rob Zombie film, or a gruesome creature effect in a micro-budget classic. You’ll see it in a modern classic like TRAIN TO BUSAN (2016) or while laughing your guts out at SHAWN OF THE DEAD (2004).

We aren’t just talking about movies, we’re talking books, music, and video games. 90s SIMPSON’s references. We’re talking art, tattoos, and comics. RPGs, Board games, Toys, and Funko Pops. Those Halloween decorations you keep in your home all year long . The clothes you wear. Your creepy and kooky badass goth aesthetic. A lot of what we love about horror today is thanks to George A. Romero.

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He didn’t create zombies… but he certainly gave them life. He did more than that. He made horror important again.

I can’t do justice to George A. Romero with words. His work speaks for itself. So today, on what would have been his 81st Birthday, watch some Romero. If you’re out there quarantining, staying at home, under a curfew, and fearing the unfathomable, infectious dangers lurking outside your door… definitely watch Romero.

This decade is off to a weird start, luckily we have Romero’s influence to get us through it.

Happy Birthday, George! And thank you for infecting me with horror.

-Theo Radomski, MOVIES ROT BRAINS

photo via Global News

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ENDNOTES FROM THE GRAVE

1. And you know what? I still call him Frankenstein. Because he’s essentially his son. That’s his creation. And Victor would have had the hubris to name his creation after himself if he had not abandoned that poor schlub. But I digress…

2. Actually, that’s exactly what I thought. And about 30 years later, Zombies are still a staple of modern video gaming, from Resident Evil and Doom still going strong after three decades, to Call of Duty and Red Dead Redemption still having Zombie mods. To every friggin’ game out there that has any undead horror creeping about. The nine-year-old me is having a blast right now.

3. I had definitely caught on the subtext and themes by that point that I may have missed while watching the remake as a kid. Still a dumb kid, though.

4. Thanks in part to HBO’s TALES FROM THE CRYPT reruns on FOX. Expect another nonsensical rambling piece on that show and the 50s comics that inspired it sometime in the future.

5. And that opened the doorway into Giallo, Fulci, and a whole slew of Italian Exploitation and American Slasher films and that’s a whole other long screed for another time.

6. My dad was another reason I love this genre. He loved horror movies. I still hear his voice in my head saying, “Ooooh, It’s a Scary Movie!” in his German accent.

7. Actually, aren’t they all?

8. Which has also had a revival in the form of Shudder’s excellent new CREEPSHOW anthology series made by Romero’s DAY OF THE DEAD Alumni Greg Nicotero! See how it’s all connected?

#HORROR #GEORGE ROMERO #NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD #DAWN OF THE DEAD #DAY OF THE DEAD #ZOMBIES #HORROR MOVIES #george a. romero #monkey shines #creepshow #graveyard ramblings #moviesrotbrains #movies rot brains

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mrneighbourlove · 4 years ago

Text

Scarlet Contract: Part 3

"So Volcania. You get a job yet?"

"No Revy. I have been helping mama bear hunting though. I want to learn how to swing an axe soon."

Dinner was going well with the family so far. Scarlet passed the mashed potatoes around, smiling to Seija. "Wonderful cooking dear."

"Thank you!" Seija chirped, the owl Direnor happy that everyone was enjoying her cooking. "I hope you like the braised turkey---"

A loud crash was heard from upstairs and the head of the orphanage groaned. "Excuse me, for one moment." She rose from the dinner table gracefully and walked to the bottom of the stairs on the other side of the house. "If I come up there and you've made another mess, there will be no dessert for an entire month!" Seija's screech was so loud that everyone's ears rang. "If I told you once, I told you a million times, this dinner is not to be disturbed, we've had it planned for weeks!" Once she was done with her threat of no sweets, she returned to dinner with the same old smile. She had grown more of a backbone with Revy around the house.

Revy smirked as she patted Seija on the back. "Good job."

"Hey Revy. Why didn't you cut Adda's head off?"

Scarlet frowned, but Revy shrugged. "Eye for an eye was good enough. I'm more about justice rather than revenge."

"The newest additions are a little wild." Seija still poofed a couple of feathers when the 'taboo name' was mentioned. Clearing her throat, she patted down the feathers in her wild hair.

"Why would you even want to talk about her. I'm a much better topic of discussion. Hero of Uskar. Slayer of Evil Dragons. Destroyer of the Undead. Hunter of Pirates. Savior of Orphans." Revy put a foot on her chair and stood dramatically. With age she had really come into form.

"That you are, my sweetie, but if you put your dirty shoes on my chair again, I am going to be Seija, Swatter of Sweethearts without manners." Seija tapped her foot under the table, pointing at Revy's foot.

"Oh come on, they aren't that dirty. And its a step down from being on the table." She chuckled back. "So ma. You been at the palace lately?"

"No."

"Well, Liz and Lex say they still have invitations to go out to Hyrule from the Lord of the Gerudo's second in command."

"Interesting. You know, your father want's you to have children." Revy laughed allowed. "Well, Seija can't provide that. And no man can beat me in a fight for the right!"

"You could always turn into a man like that adopted sister of the late king." Volcania took a sip of her drink.

“Well, too bad she’s dead from what I hear. So, can’t learn her voodoo changing magic.” Revy dug her canines into a piece of fresh ham.

"Have a dick that way”, Volcania quickly said under her breath.

Seija blushed so darkly and feathers instantly poofed, going everywhere all over the table.

At the feathers going everywhere, Revy shot her younger sister a look. “Feather duster is under the left pantry.”

"Your bird, your mess." Volcania shot back.

"Sorry." Seija cheeped to Revy. "The... um... dick comment, caught me off guard." That, and fantasizing about a man who looked like Revy was... appealing. Being bisexual was certainly challenging when presented with sexual escapades that could possibly come true due to magic.

Revy locked her eye with Volcania. “I know you think you’re old enough to be rude to me, but you’re not. Be respectful to your sister in law, or I’ll put you in your place.”

"Oooh, scary. What are you going to do? Sit on me again?" Volcania stood from her chair with a huff. "Make one dick comment, I swear..." She went to look for the bin.

Scarlet shook her head. “Don’t tempt her Volcania.”

Revy tilted her head, looking at the weariness on her mother. “You look tired mom.”

“I feel tired Revy.”

"You aren't feeling ill, are you?" Seija asked Scarlet with concern. "We could take you to see Naira. I'm sure she'd make time for you even though she's retired now. She still does consultations."

“Not sick dear. Just tired. Thank you for dinner. It was scrumptious.”

The family shared a night of catch up, with Revy meeting her mom at the door. “You know mom, you should take a job working for Liz. Get out on the sea more if it makes you happy, you know?”

“I can’t do that to Borghild or your father.”

“Alright. You just let Seija know if you need anything from us.”

It happened over a series of days. The tattoo was getting darker. A warm pulse was felt upon Scarlet's skin. The magic was calling to her. Then came the soft whisperings, instructing her to go to Hyrule. Scarlet was to speak to the second born prince. He would show her what she seeked.

Scarlet ignored it at first, but when she did, it started to burn her. Finally, she knew she could no longer keep it out of mind.

Grabbing a letter, she did her best to fake it. No one was going to believe she was hearing voices in her head. Once that was done, she gathered her family together. “I need to tell you all that I will be traveling to Hyrule on business.”

"Business?" Borghild looked sullen. "This is such little notice."

"Must be another one of those Gerudo meetings, lovie," Rat did not look too happy either, but understood that when duty called, it must be answered. "Or is this about Queen Luimaya?"

"I don't want you to go." Borghild squished her face into Scarlet's boobies, pouting. "Stay here. Let them send someone else."

"Borgie, there's not another Iron Knuckle here."

"I'mma Iron Knuckle someone's head if they keep sending her on these long work trips."

“I should explain myself further. Prince Ralnor of Hyrule wishes to speak with me in person. I imagine with the trip there and back will take a while.”

Revy patted Borghild’s back for extra comfort. “You can ask Liz for transportation. She has the fastest ship I know.”

"What does blondie want to talk about that's so important that it couldn't be expressed in a letter?" Borghild grumbled, holding tight to Scarlet. "Tell his royal prissiness to come here instead." "Now, now, Borgie, we all know that Missy Orana's brother is a little---" Rat earned himself an annoyed look from his bear wife. "... okay, he is a little pompous, but he wouldn't ask her to come if it wasn't important."

“I won’t be gone forever. And if anyone would like to join me, they can.”

Revy glanced to Seija, squeezing her hand. “Think the kids would like the experience to travel to new lands?”

The long ride to Hyrule gave Rat time to think. Scarlet had always avoided the topic of mortality. Borghild, on the other paw, she knew that days were limited for everyone. Seeing that Borghild grew up with the threat of the Frost King, it was important for families to have all their affairs in order. There were times when one did not return from a battle. While Rat was no longer worried about perishing in a fight, he was concerned about old age. He was battle worn with old aches and pains that haunted him. Sometimes, it was harder to breathe on colder nights. The ex-pirate worried for his family. So, before the trip to Hyrule, he had visited Naira one afternoon while Borghild hunted and Scarlet prepped the ship with the girls. It seemed he was still in decent health, but he had to lessen his load. In other words, Naira advised him to do less manual labor and to be careful with his lungs. He supposed the smoking during his gladiator days did not do him any good.

As the ship docked, Rat was greeted by Corsaire.

"Rennigan!" Corsaire hugged his brother-in-arms tightly, absolutely delighted to see him. "You're turning into a silver fox!"

"Hey, now!" Rat chuckled as he returned the hug. "You's gots some silver in your hair too."

"Yeah, yeah, but my Orana likes it, says it makes me look sophisticated."

"Does she like the gray on your ass too?"

"Now you're just being smart!" The two men exchanged a hearty laugh at the teasing. It was good to see each other.

Commodore Elizabeth checked her notes for cargo. Of course, she wanted to help Scarlet, but she wasn’t going to leave without business to do as well. “Get those weapons on my ship. And watch that gunpowder.”

Scarlet got off the ship, smiling faintly at Corsaire. All these years and she still felt guilty around the man.

"... still can't believe Mojo and Juju combined have eleven grandchildren already!" Corsaire was rambling on about the rest of the crew. "They visited a few months ago and I have never seen such a rowdy bunch at the dinner table. I thought my own were bad, but they managed to start a food fight... twice!"

"Seer would have made such a fuss, you a-know that man doesn't like to waste food." Rat snickered at the tale. "He and Ocax are very doting grandpas to the girls."

"You'll have to stop by and see Pockets at the animal sanctuary! He's doing very well." Corsaire then remarked, "And Acrobat still runs all the ropes for the ships in the port."

"I'll be sure to a-stop by and say hello to 'em." Rat then asked, "And is Faris here? Me'd like to see him too."

"As far as I know, he is. I think Teb's wanderlust has settled down ever since Skyla graduated vet school."

"Aw, he's proud, isn't he?"

"... everyone is getting old as balls."

"Aye, too true!" The men once again shared a loud laugh.

"Well, you haven't changed too much, Scarlet." Corsaire told the woman. "No gray yet."

“Gerudo genetics. I guess.”

Liz came down to greet her uncle in arms. She had grown into a frightening woman with age, but always gave family the curtesy of a smile. “Admiral Corsaire. Thank you for welcoming my ship into bay personally.”

"Tis 'bout time you came to see me." Corsaire got her in a head-lock, pulling her in close for a hug. "Where's my hug? Uncles get hugs, don't they?"

"Goodness, Cap'n, don't choke her."

"Rat, it's just Corsaire now."

"Eh, old habits die hard."

When Corsaire loosened up, Liz squeezed him in a tight bear hug, crushing the air out of him. With an evil, evil smile she set him down. “Only reason I don’t kick your ass is because you outrank me by one level. Good to see you Uncle!”

"OOF!" Corsaire grunted at the tight hug and coughed once. "Gracious, lassie, me's older now, be easy on your uncle. Don't damage aged goods." He then reminded her in a teasing tone, "I will always outrank you, you're younger than me, missy."

"You's both being silly, come on, Scarlet has business at the castle."

Scarlet had never been to Hyrule castle. Whenever she traveled to Hyrule it was to see Corsaire, which they usually stayed at Orana’s zoo of exotic critters. Entering the castle walls, she felt like she didn’t belong. Half way through, she felt anxiety fill her. Before entering the throne room, she snapped her fingers, and magically placed her Iron Knuckle armour on her. Its shell kept her protected from the outside world. Physically and emotionally.

"I know you stated in your letter notifying us of your arrival that you had business with Prince Ralnor?" Corsaire inquired of Scarlet. "I'll escort you to his office after I show your family to their rooms. I'm sure Orana will be so excited to see you all. She'll be here later, she's overseeing the delivery of a few new Molagani tiger cubs."

"Ah, she loves 'em critters." Rat knew it was true, Orana would never lose her love of animals. "I'll help the girls unload, so just take your time, Scarlet." He noticed the armor and deemed she was nervous. "You'll do a-just fine."

“Thanks.” Scarlet took a few breaths and continued to walk forward to her destination. She had no idea what to expect.

Once Corsaire showed the family to their rooms, he took Scarlet to Ralnor's office door. "I already told him to be nice, so don't sweat it too much." Corsaire assured Scarlet. "He's not as bad as everyone says."

Scarlet did so. With a deep breath, she walked into the room. Not wanting to be rude, she took her helmet off with both hands then stood to attention. “Prince Ralnor. I’m Scarlet of Uskar. I’m here at your request your highness.”

Ralnor, in his older age, had only become more terrifying with time. It appeared that a permanent scowl was itched into his face now. He seemed to be glaring almost always. As usual, he was buried in his work, making sure the kingdom ran smoothly.

When Scarlet entered his office, he glanced up from placing his signature on a few documents. "I've been expecting you." Ralnor placed the feather back into the vial of ink. "I trust your journey here was well?"

"Yes. My god daughter has an excellent ship for travel."

"Commodore Elizabeth is exceptional at her work. I'm sure my sister's husband is very proud." Ralnor still had slight distaste for Corsaire but the man had proven himself trustworthy and loyal over the years. Standing from his desk, the prince made sure the door to his office was locked. Then, he examined his bookshelf and carefully selected what appeared to be a novel. It was actually a secret lever, which opened a hidden pathway down to the catacombs. He was getting old and could not climb up and down the damn ladder in the hole in his office closet anymore. So, he had this constructed by the monsters themselves. "Follow me."

Scarlet was incredibly weary, but went ahead in following the old prince.

"I don't suppose those rumours about you having torture dungeons are false are they?"

Ralnor actually chuckled at her inquiry.

"I am extremely talented in the area of extracting information and being persuasive." The prince used insinuations to make Scarlet understand that the rumors were definitely true. He was highly cruel, manipulative without notice, and fiercely protective of his family. The one to fear most in the Dragmire family was not Covarog, but Ralnor. The second born prince was willing to do whatever it took to keep everyone safe and happy, regardless of the fallout. "There are several colorful rumors surrounding my name. Believe what you will, though I do promise you, the one regarding me making a deal with the devil is false. I did, however, made a deal as you did."

"Oh." Scarlet wasn't sure that made her better.

"I suppose if you think about it, he could be called a devil, a fiend, a monster... many names." Ralnor led Scarlet into an open dome with several tunnels connecting it to their original path. "Though he prefers the horrid title of... Bonegrinder."

"Ah, did someone call for this old snake?" Bonegrinder was in his usual spot, hanging from the ceiling. From the last time Scarlet had seen him, he had grown significantly larger. And more intimidating. "You have brought him a guest, he sees!"

"You've met this one before, you old coot, you know her, you called her here." Ralnor rolled his eyes, annoyed at the Anagari's antics. "I brought her here, now, what do you want?"

"Now, now, his dealing is with the lady, not you."

"And you honestly think I'm going to leave her alone with you?"

"You wound this old Bonegrinder so!" The Anagari pretended to be hurt. "He doesn't eat those he makes deals with."

"Maybe he should stay? For reassurance?" She didn't say her own, but that was what she was implying. The monster was gigantic. She didn't like the idea he ate anyone.

"If it pleases the little child, he can stay." Bonegrinder then corrected. "Well, the little child is no more. More of a little lady."

"... little? She's taller than me."

"Compared to him, she is little."

"Good goddesses, give me patience..." Ralnor muttered under his breath.

Scarlet nodded. Looking around, she didn't know if she was supposed to sit or stand. "What is it that you summoned me for?"

"This old snake has summoned you for what he told you all those years ago, little lady." Bonegrinder snapped his fingers and a whoosh of fire appeared in his palm. There was a figure of Luimaya and on either side, a benevolent force and a malevolent one. "It is time for you to take your place among your sisters and fight for the cause of your queen."

"Oh... Adda? That doesn't make any sense." Scarlet sounded confused from head to toe. Looked it too.

"HAHAHAHA!" Bonegrinder started to laugh and Ralnor stood there, still looking as irritated as ever.

"Great, you made him laugh." Ralnor grumbled. "That means he likes you."

"Oh, no, no, she was never and will never be a queen, her heart is too black! No, little lady, the queen you will serve is none other that Queen Luimaya, and yourself." Bonegrinder explained to her. "The time of Gerudo Kings are over. The time of Gerudo queens has arrived... and you shall lead the Gerudo of Termina and those of Taiyo Town into the last battle for peace on this world for the sake of Luimaya."

"Me?" Scarlet's face grew pale. "I can't possibly do that."

"Of course, you can. You are a descent of the original twin sister who founded your tribe, Gerudo Yashuranda." Bonegrinder told Scarlet. "Just as Ganondorf is. You, my dear, if he has to explain it in greater detail, are a direct descendant of the first sister of Ganondorf. The ever vibrant and tender-hearted Amala."

"No way. Even if that was true, I haven't done anything good with my blood." Scarlet looked excited by something. "You must have me mistaken for my girl Revy! She's a hero through and through. She'd make a better leader, let alone queen, then me."

"Your little girl is not the one this snake seeks, little lady. If she was the one he needed, then he would have made a deal with her. No, Scarlet, you," Bonegrinder gestured to her. "Are the one who shall lead. Your little child desires to be a hero for good reasons, yes, but is too prideful by the accomplishments. You are the one who is humbled, despite past mistakes, and strives for a better tomorrow. A true leader can admit their faults. This is you."

"Rather have her there than that bastard anyhow." Ralnor remarked, thinking of Malik. Even after all this time, he still held contempt for the man. Especially since Covarog's heart attack. He was furious when he heard of what happened and even more so that Malik refused to believe Zarazu about the Tri-Force being an object of darkness now. Or becoming one. "He's always looking for the next power grab."

"Forgive me, but its not humbleness. It's meekness. Always has been." Scarlet looked down. What was she doing here?

"Call it what you wish, but it is what has been foreseen and what will come to fruition." Bonegrinder asked Scarlet. "You think of your family and those who you care for, but you also think of your people. Adda will desert them in a heartbeat. You will not."

"No! She didn't. As I recall Hyrule was the one who bombed them to hell. Adda was able to cull the chaos that was tearing us apart before... before she was betrayed." Scarlet stopped speaking when she saw his head tilt. It unnerved her.

"Are you sure... she didn't strike first?" Bonegrinder knew exactly what Adda's motives were and how all the Gerudo women had suffered for it. "Defending her without knowing all her wrongs. What a friend she lost."

"I committed those wrongs too."

"Did you? Or were you ordered?" Bonegrinder loved to play mind games. "Stop tormenting her." Ralnor growled at the snake. "Say your peace and get on with it."

Scarlet didn't like being here. She didn't like explaining herself. She didn't like being treated better than Adda when she did just as many wrongs as her.

"You made the deal, little lady, and thus is what will become." Bonegrinder stole a glance at the prince. "Even pretty prince here won't deny the fact that a war is coming." "... unfortunately, that is true." Ralnor glared at the Anagari before giving Scarlet a defeated sigh. "Are you familiar with the tale of the Maker and Destroyer brothers?"

"No." Scarlet sounded sad. Was she stupid for not knowing? "Should I?"

Bonegrinder took the time to tell Scarlet the ancient tale of the two brothers fighting. He even told her of Luimaya's role, knowing she could be trusted. Chaos was hot on their tails and would one day challenge the Mother Goddess for the right to this world. The fateful day of prophecy had chosen warriors on each side. She was one of the selected few to join Mother Goddesses' ranks. "You are the one who shall lead the Gerudo into a new age, Scarlet." Bonegrinder assured the woman's doubts. "Regardless of what you think of yourself, there are those who look up to you. If you do not fight, then the Gerudo will fall. Every kingdom will fall. One by one. Until nothing is left."

“I... why me? Honestly. Why me.”

"Because despite your mistakes, Scarlet," He used her name to grab her attention. "You still try for the better. Live for the better. Not for yourself, but for others. That... is a rarity to find in this world. Regardless of your past attentions, you still have a good heart."

Scarlet frowned, barely able to make eye contact. “I’ll try.”

"If not for yourself... perhaps for your daughters? If you fight, they will have a better chance of survival." Bonegrinder left her with that inquiry to think upon while she was here in Hyrule. "Now, you must travel to Taiyo Town to speak with that hardheaded commander of the reagent queen's." The Anagari sounded rather annoyed at the idea, but knew it was necessary.

Scarlet felt something tugging at the back of her mind. As if she might not return to Hyrule. A thought crawled in her head. “Prince Ralnor. Is Adda still alive? Where do you keep her?”

"Unfortunately, she is still alive." Ralnor did not look too enthused about Scarlet's question. "Why do you wish to know her location?"

“I wish to speak to her.”

"No." Ralnor frowned, crossing his arms. "She is not allowed visitors."

“Please. I don’t know if I’d have a chance to have proper closure with her.”

"She is not allowed visitors." Ralnor repeated this time more sternly. "She is a dangerous, criminal who has a way of getting into the minds of others. I said no."

"Do you not think it would be a good form of revenge to see her 'sister' living life so wondrously?" Bonegrinder asked the blondie prince. "Definitely make her sick."

Scarlet frowned. “Can’t you do this my one request for helping you?”

"Forgive me for sounding crass, but you were once part of her unruly band." Ralnor stated, the distrust clear in his voice. The second born prince trusted very few around the castle. He preferred to stay guarded that way. "Give me a reason why this isn't a little escape ploy of yours? Or even worse, a game of his."

"Now, now, you wound this old snake so, why would he ever free that 'better-than-thou' bitch?"

"Because you like to see me squirm."

"That he will not deny. But no, pretty prince, you should not be alarmed. This is no game. Merely a bitter taste of medicine."

"..." Ralnor glanced at Scarlet and then to the Anagari. "Fine. But you go with her. And my spies will be watching."

"Even pretty faces can tell lies." Ralnor started working his way back up the hidden staircase the two of them descended. "I'd advise you not to listen to Adda. No matter what she says."

“I understand.”

As Bonegrinder showed her the correct way through the tunnels to the prison cells, it was a maze underneath the castle. It was built that way in case of a prisoner escape. One would be hard pressed to find an exit. "He will remain back here, little lady, to spare your friend a fright. But heed the pretty prince's words," Bonegrinder warned her. "Don't let her get into your head. Keep it short. If you do not return within 5 minutes, he will come get you."

The door creaked behind Scarlet, and she felt her shoulders dropped.

________________________________________________________________

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse

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#Crossover #Scarlet #Captain Adda #Bonegrinder

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angelnumber27 · 5 years ago

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I know ypu get a lot of mean asks (litcherally like, why??) but your blog always brightens my day! you have a lot pf positive text posts, and a really comforting aesthetic!! i wish people wouldnt give you such a hard time!

It’s literally one single person babe it’s been the same person every day for three years she’s pure fucking evil and has done this to multiple people like every girl she’s found out has been a victim of rape that she disagrees with in the slightest she goes out of her way to tell them she hopes they get raped again it’s not just me she’s a toxic hateful disgusting person and I truly just wish she would grow up and get the help she needs because this shit is not fucking okay in any way like it makes me physically sick that someone can do this shit every day and be so filled by evil and actually be proud of themselves for it I actually wanna cry knowing that she’s probably doing this to other people as well and that it will continue probably forever like nobody else needs to get hurt it makes me so sad and I don’t understand how anyone could be so completely and totally evil and have absolutely no regard for anyone and literally think that telling people to kill themselves and using their trauma against them is funny. She’s seriously fucking ill and I don’t know if there’s help for that level of insanity and hatred but I hope there is because what the fuck?????? I hate it so much it’s not okay like I know it all comes from her own sickness and self hatred but it’s so awful and she’s completely obsessed with me she has stalked me to the point of finding my parents house by asking around for my number then looking it up on a search thing to find my fucking parents home and sending it to me anonymously with death threats when I don’t even live there she tells me she hopes I die every day she lies and plays the victim and has other people harass me too I cant imagine being like that it’s all so fucking sick and I know she’s in a ton of pain and will continue to be for the rest of her life because you don’t do the shit she does and not suffer immensely. I know the universe will not let that happen. I’m glad you enjoy my blog love, thank you so much for the support. I try so hard to spread love and positivity wherever I can regardless of the abuse I’ve experienced my whole life (I’m not just talking about her I’ve been through so much trauma and I’m still healing from so much shit I don’t talk about) and the people who add onto it knowing how much pain I have already experienced. I can’t control the hate and evil in someone else’s heart and soul and I can’t force anyone else to get help but I know I can always choose to be loving myself and fucking rise above the hateful abusive shit and keep healing and shining my light even though there are external forces continually trying to break me. I won’t be broken. I’m incapable of giving up. I have a purpose and I’m here to stay until it’s fulfilled and the people who want to see me dead are just gonna have to deal with it. I’ve got too much love to give and too much knowledge to share and too much art to make and too many people to meet and touch with my experiences I’ve got so much to do so many things to heal fully and I refuse to let anyone, no matter how much they hate themselves, take my healing or joy or my progress or my ability to have a happy and amazing life because I deserve that shit.

#vent

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ink-flavored · 5 years ago

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11/11/11 Game (Triple Threat)

Tagged by @multimousenette and @bogbodybitch and @nectareouswrites! Thanks!

I’ll put my questions at the top here so you don’t have to scroll through 33 questions lmao

Questions

Do you like to cook or do you prefer going out?

How meticulous do you like to get in your world building?

How do you relax when you’re stressed?

Do you have a creative hobby outside of writing? What is it?

Luck or chance?

Is there something that you’ve decided to keep in your WIP(s) even after someone told you to get rid of it?

What’s your battle music?

What are you most proud of yourself for?

What’s your favorite dinosaur?

What would you grow on a farm?

Blood family or found family?

Tagging: @royalbounties @rainy-rose @aesopsrachaels @purpleshadows1989 @frankensteinn @shadeshadow234 @startroubled @farrradays and anyone else who wants to!

Alright. Now comes the doozy.

1. What’s your preferred writing and reading genre?

Fantasy for both, though I like to read a lot of different genres

2. What’s your favorite thing about your least favorite character?

Least favorite is tough. The character I’ve been having the hardest time writing recently is General Zhai from The God-Dragon’s Wife, mainly because I haven’t solidified her motivations yet, but if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she takes no shit. Which is very difficult for me, because she isn’t taking my shit either.

3. What’s your least favorite thing about your favorite character?

Again with the favorites! Teconia is fun to write, but I feel bad about making bad things happen to her and making her sad. She gets sad a lot and then I feel guilty. Stop doing that.

4. Which of your characters do you feel most indifferent towards? Why?

Right now, it’s Park. I don’t think we’d be friends if he was a real person (robot?) because our values are so misaligned, but he’s not a bad guy.

5. Which of your projects means the most to you and why?

Firesoul, no doubt. It’s been an idea I’ve had since I first started writing, and the fact that I’ve been continuing to write it after all these years is a huge deal for me (i.e. a person who comes up with ideas and then abandons them forever)

6. Is there a theme that can be found in all of your projects? Was it intentional or dd you realize after the event?

Usually there’s a theme of overcoming – whether that’s overcoming self, overcoming oppression, or overcoming adversity. I don’t do it intentionally, but I think it’s definitely informed by experiences in my life, so it would feel odd to not have it.

7. What’s your favorite book to read? Does it have any similarities to your any of your writing projects?

The Inheritance Cycle is my favorite book series of all time and it absolutely informs my writing style. I’ve read the first book, Eragon, eight times, and seven of those times was before I turned 16. I’d be shocked if it didn’t.

8. What have you learnt while writing that you hope everyone knows?

That I can write whatever I want, and someone will like it, even if it’s not the someone I thought would like it.

9. What’s your biggest strength in writing?

Description, for sure.

10. What about your weakness?

Too much description.

Seriously, though, it’s plot structure. I suck at that, and I’m awful at outlines.

11. How many questions do you answer on character profile sheets when creating new characters?

I try to shoot for all of the ones that apply! But I don’t do a lot of character sheets so…

12. What do you love most about your writing?

I love my worlds and settings. I pour blood, sweat, and tears into them, and I think it really pays off.

13. What’s your favorite type of character to write?

Smart dumbasses, people who Can’t Handle Feelings, and people who Have Too Much Feelings. I have no middle ground.

14. What inspires you to write?

Life. That’s probably the most cliché answer on the planet, but I’m very informed by the things I believe and the experiences I have. Even my horror pieces (short as they are) come from places of feeling helpless in my own life, struggling with an undiagnosed anxiety and panic disorder for most of my life.

15. If you could talk to your protagonist, what advice would you give them?

I would gently hold Park’s metal robot face in my hands and tell him to Stop Taking All Responsibility For Everything. Good God. It’s not all about you, all the time.

I would tell Xinya that it’s okay to feel emotions sometimes. Yes, even that one.

I would tell Teconia that trusting people isn’t always a good thing.

I would tell Hayden that he is capable, no matter what he tells himself.

16. If you had to do an escape room with one of your characters, who would you choose and why?

Park is a robot and therefore would be very logical about all possible solutions. This could either be a great thing or a terrible thing, but I’ll take my chances with the guy with a computer for a brain.

17. How did you come up with the plot for your current wip(s)?

The God-Dragon’s Wife is inspired by a (perhaps not astoundingly written) fanfiction I read and said “Psh. I can do that.” That, and my deep held desire to marry a dragon.

Firesoul came to me at an audition for a role in my dance company’s annual Christmas show. I heard this epic, haunting music, and had a vision, essentially, of a scene from the book. Teconia herself is literally a D&D character that I liked so much I gave her a book.

Out of the Park is inspired from way back when I used to regularly play Overwatch, and my main, Zenyatta, had a skin release that was a baseball team. The rest is history/

Dragon Raising actually started as a novel that I never did anything with, because something always felt off about the delivery. When I took a comic writing class in college, everything clicked at once.

18. What’s one line/paragraph you’ve written recently that you’re proud of?

This is from a submission for a prompt month in a fandom I’m in:

Yugi didn’t believe in ghosts. It was fun to think about, sure, but he’d never seen any “real” evidence to support the idea. His friend Ryou claimed otherwise, but they’d long since learned to agree to disagree on the subject. Of course, they were both partial to a good scare – his second favorite genre for anything was horror – and they could talk about the coolest ghost stories they’d heard for hours. Still, he had never latched on to the idea of the “soul persisting after death.” It was ridiculous, for a lot of reasons. The idea of a ghost in his house – in anyone’s house – was almost laughable.

But he didn’t have a lot of other ideas to explain this.

19. Do you ever draw concept art for your writing?

I can’t draw, but if someone made me art of my WIPs, I would die LITERALLY for them.

20. What do you like most about one of your protagonists and what do you like least about them?

Xinya is a powerful woman. She’s capable and smart and will kick your ass in chess. But she’s so emotionally constipated it’s actually painful for me.

Teconia is kind, strong even if she doesn’t know it yet, and loyal to her friends and family. But she refuses to use her strength until it’s too late, which is frustrating for a lot of reasons.

Park is a dumbass. This is both the reason I love and hate him.

Hayden can do remarkable things, but he never gives himself credit for them.

21. What’s the setting of your current wip(s) and why did you choose it?

TGDW takes place in a fantasy Imperial China, which I chose because I am so sick of Fantasy Medieval Europe #4564

Firesoul takes place in Fantasy Medieval Europe #a billion, but I’m not romanticizing it. Teconia is the poorest of the poor, a racial minority, and has to keep her mage identity a secret to avoid persecution. You see exactly what that’s like in Ethallia for the average citizen, and it’s not pretty, unlike most fantasy settings where Everyone Is Good Except Our Evil King, Who Is Evil For Vague Magic Reasons.

OOTP is my personal idealized Future America, which means there is So Much Socialism. Everywhere.

Dragon Raising takes place in modern day Chicago, which I chose because wouldn’t it be hilarious if someone had to raise dragons in the middle of Chicago?

22. What are some of your strengths that make you a good writer?

I pride myself on my description and world building, as I’m sure people have picked up by now, but I’ve also been told I’m good at writing character interactions. I’ll take it!

23. Do you listen to music/have playlists to get you writing?

I’m one of those people who can’t write without music to block out the sounds of the real world. I don’t have any specific playlists for writing – I usually just shuffle my whole library.

24. Who is the character that is least like you and why?

Personality wise, it’s between Park and Yu-Qi who are the least like me.

Park thinks he has to be the one to change the world – him and him alone – which is just. Come on man. Dismount from your high horse.

Yu-Qi is closer to being the opposite of me because of our similarities, ironically enough. She’s obsessive, possessive, and in a true dragon fashion, she hoards and hoards and hoards. These are qualities I share, but desperately afraid of.

25. What is the maximum word count you are hoping for your project(s)?

Oh, this is a good question. I’ve never sat down and thought it out specifically, but I think a good novel length is 80k-200k words, so I’ll shoot for that!

26. Do you write better in the day time or at night?

Night owl. I blame it on being born at 1:30am

27. What are your OC(s) zodiac signs?

Well, considering only two of them exist in our star system, I’ll just guess!

Xinya: Virgo

Teconia: Pisces

Park: Scorpio

Hayden: Libra

28. Where do you fall on the beige to purple prose spectrum?

My prose is indigo, man. I am so close to purple it’s unreal.

29. Are you well read in the genre you hope to go into?

Absolutely! I’ve been reading fantasy since I was in first grade.

30. What are your goals for your writing career?

I want to open people’s minds and make them think about stuff that they might not have otherwise thought about. And entertain them, of course.

31. How comfortable are you with critical feedback?

PLEASE give me critical feedback, I’m begging you. My life has been plagued by minimal to no feedback on my writing and it’s so frustrating.

32. Do you enjoy reading or writing romance?

Reading it: depends. Writing it: yes, but I’ve only just gotten into it!

33. Do you annotate your books?

Depends on the book. If I’ve read it enough times to quote direct lines, then yes. I’ll never annotate a new book.

#annika talks #ask game

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littlelovelyspiderling · 7 years ago

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The Experiment

Peter Parker agrees to help Black Widow test a new device. When he gets stuck, some of his fellow Avengers decide to have some fun. Post Infinity War so SPOILERS!!

Word count: 6,713

“Hey kid, how strong are you?”

Peter blinked and looked up from his homework, which was strewn across the coffee table in a chaotic jumble. “Who, me?”

“No, the other kid sitting criss-cross on the floor eating three orders of In-and-Out french fries.”

The teen smiled shyly, licking the salt from his fingers. “Oh, right. Well, um, strong? Yeah, I’m pretty strong.”

It was a long weekend. After a lot of begging and bribing, May had agreed to let him spend it at the Avengers compound. It actually took less convincing than Peter had expected, seeing how May had doubled down on strictness ever since her nephew’s impromptu field trip to space and the catastrophic fallout that had come to pass. Now that everything was back to normal, everyone seemed a lot more tense and protective. It took weeks before she let him go back to his evening patrols. But when he brought up Mr. Stark’s invitation to stay at the upstate facility for a few days, insisting that he’d get all his homework done and do the dishes for the next month, May had voiced her approval surprisingly readily. Maybe she was sick of having him cooped up in the house with her for so long: school had been canceled for a spell as the world tried to piece itself back together.

Or maybe she’d noticed how shaken the experience had left Peter, and she thought the weekend getaway might help cheer him up a little. If he was being honest with himself, Peter still wasn’t fully recovered from the whole ‘dying then coming back to life’ ordeal, and he felt like he’d never be back to his old self again.

But he refused to let anything spoil this trip for him. Because he was at the Avengers facility. Training, studying, and hanging with the Avengers for an entire three days. He could hardly contain his excitement.

“On a scale from Tony Stark sans suit to the Hulk, how strong would you say you are?”

“Hey,” Tony groused from the opposite side of the room. He shot a glare over his shoulder before turning back to the dizzying screen of 3D displays in front of him, which his fingers danced across like keys on a piano. “Why you gotta do me like that, Romanoff? I’m strong. I lift. I drink protein shakes and wheat grass and all that shit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Peter giggled.

“I would guess I’m somewhere between Captain America and the Hulk. Probably closer to Cap. Definitely below Thor.”

“You think you’re stronger than Steve?” Natasha asked. He was expecting judgement, but her tone carried an air of curiosity instead.

“Only because I was able to hold an entire ferry together,” he said. He glanced at Stark and lowered his voice. “And I sorta lifted an entire building off myself.”

“Really?” Natasha mused. “Well, in that case, I’d say you’re the perfect candidate.”

Spider-Man frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Candidate? For what?”

“Stark, you mind if I borrow the kid for a minute?”

Tony waved his hand in acknowledgement, murmuring under his breath as he continued to work. Peter hadn’t seen the man this busy since he’d gone about sorting through the complicated situation between Secretary Ross’ government agenda and the newly-reformed Avengers. Now, nano-tech was the word that kept popping up time and time again. He had no idea how his mentor could possibly make his Iron Man armors any cooler than they already were, yet he always found a way to make it so.

“Sweet,” Natasha said, taking the young hero by the wrist. “Come on, this way.”

Peter Parker had to admit: he was a little scared of Black Widow. He’d seen her fight, he knew her rep, and in her presence he always felt a bit uneasy, like she could break his neck at any moment and he’d never see it coming. Not that he expected she would—in general, Ms. Romanoff was nice to him. Certainly nicer than Sam or Dr. Strange, who never missed a chance to poke fun at him due his age, his height, or anything else they decided to find amusing at the time. Of course, Peter always had a witty comeback to counter with, and he knew deep down they didn’t actually hate him. At least, he hoped not.

But Natasha was close to impossible to get any kind of read on. She could seem very kind and relaxed one minute then serious and deadly the next. And no matter what she was doing, it always felt liked she had a secret ulterior motive at play, one that Peter could never guess.

She brought him to the next floor down. The elevator opened to large lab, which was packed with all sorts of machines, equipment, vehicles, and weapons. Most of them were covered by sheets and blanketed in a thick layer of dust, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Others looked like they’d just been used, and some of the large machines were currently hard at work, creaking and grinding with progress.

“Wow,” Peter said. “What is this place?”

“Storage unit for all of the Avengers’ new tech,” she replied, stepping through the doors and on to stained concrete. “Some of its ancient, outdated. Lots of old Stark tech. We get new loads from S.H.I.E.L.D. every week.”

Peter followed, gazing around in awe. He trailed his fingers along the rows and rows of tarps, squinting to try to see what treasures lied hidden underneath. His touch caused one of the sheets to slip off to one side, and he froze in place.

“No way,” he gawked. He reached out and pressed his hand to the cold metal. “No freaking way! Is that—is this—Mr. Stark’s Hulkbuster armor? The giant Iron Man suit he used to stop Dr. Banner when he went crazy in South Africa?”

Natasha smiled at his childlike giddiness. “Yes, it is. Just the helmet, though. The rest is still under repairs after the fight in Wakanda.”

Peter squished his face against the dim lens and cupped his hands around his eyes. “This is so cool! I bet it’s like being inside a Transformer, or one of those huge Pacific Rim Jaeger things!”

“Probably,” she said, turning around to stifle a laugh. Geez—no wonder Stark was so destroyed after losing this kid. She pushed a lock of hair out of her face. “But that’s not the tech I brought you down here for.”

Spider-Man glanced up eagerly. “Which one? Am I gonna get to test some of the weapons in here? Is there, like, a strength-tester type machine or something?” For an instant, his excitement deflated. “Wait. You didn’t bring me down here just to make me move stuff, did you? Is that why you asked how strong I am? Because you want me to carry a bunch of heavy things around? I mean, I’m not saying no, I was just kinda hoping—”

“I’m not making you move things,” she assured him. She walked across the room to a counter that housed a wide assortment of tiny devices. She grabbed one from the line and tossed it to the ground where it materialized into a new shape in an instant, expanding like a high-tech version of those capsules you leave in water that grow into colorful dinosaurs. She nodded towards it. “I need you to help me test this thing out.”

Peter grinned and ran to her side. He skidded to a stop and beamed at the strange contraption. To his surprise, it looked like nothing more than flat, metal, slightly slanted table. A wrinkle formed along his brow as he tried to understand what the big deal was.

“A…table?” he said bemusedly. He poked at it, expecting it to grow legs or something. “What are we testing? How many cups I can stack on it before everything falls?”

“It’s from Wakanda,” she explained. “It’s made of vibranium.”

Spider-Man’s eyes widened. “Whoa, seriously? Like, the stuff Cap’s shield is made of?”

“Yes. Which means it’s hella expensive, so if it doesn’t work, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“What does it do?” he asked.

Natasha leaned against it with both hands. “It’s supposed to be able to completely immobilize enhanced individuals. In a situation where someone like you or Thor or an enemy possessing superhuman strength needs to be restrained in order to keep others safe, this thing can stop them in an instant and hold them for as long as we need.” She turned back to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure would’ve been nice to have something like this back when we were fighting those alien freaks.”

Peter stared at her then back at the table. “So…it’s like…a cage…?”

“In a sense. It’s more like an instant straight-jacketing machine. Here, let me show you.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and moved him to the open space in the center of the room. He stumbled awkwardly over his feet until she had him place, feeling a little silly. Pulling two small beads from her belt, Natasha walked towards the back wall to stand opposite of him. She stopped when there was about twenty feet of space between them.

“All right, so let’s pretend we’re fighting.” She rolled the pair of beads between her fingers. “You’re an evil murderous alien monster with super strength. I’m the heroic Avenger who needs to stop you.” She coaxed him forward with a twitch of her hand. “Now, run at me like you’re going to attack me.”

Peter had no idea where this was going. He was a little afraid, but also incredibly curious. He swallowed his fear, then balled his hands into fists at his side.

“Um, okay. If you say so.”

Without allowing himself to think on it longer, Spider-Man charged. He didn’t know what she expected him to do once he reached her. Fortunately or not, he didn’t get the chance to find out. Before he had cleared ten feet, Natasha flung the beads at him. They split in half mid-air, then zipped towards him as tiny streaks of light. Peter was startled when he felt both of his wrists and ankles get hit with something. He staggered to a stop, staring down at his hands to find thick metal cuffs latched around both arms. They weren't attached by a chain or anything—they were just stuck there, like two heavy bracelets. He looked to Natasha with a scowl.

“Wait, what the hell are—?”

A beep sounded from what appeared to be a watch she was wearing. She had her thumb against a button in the center. Instantly, Peter was yanked sideways by the metal clasps. He yelped in surprise. He didn’t even have time to register what was happening before his back collided with a cold, smooth surface, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling, stunned.

“W-what the—?” Spider-Man tried to lift his arms, but they were pinned down by the metal wristbands. His legs, too, had succumbed to the same fate: arrested flat and completely immobile. Two bands of silvery-looking material shot out from underneath both of his shoulders and stretched across his collarbone, connecting in the middle of his chest to form a belt that restrained him even more than he already was. The same restrictive bands also formed around both of his knees. It took him a few moments to register that he was stuck to the vibranium table that had looked so innocuous only minutes ago, and he could barely move.

“M-Ms. Romanoff?” he called out fearfully. He strained to lift his head, which was about the only movement he was capable of. His terror subsided a little when she stepped into his narrow frame of view, looking just as surprised as he was.

“Holy crap. That was…wow.” She stared down at her watch, which Peter concluded was some kind of controller for the restraining device. “Those are some seriously strong magnets.”

“Is it working? I mean, is this what it’s supposed to be doing?” He squirmed and shifted as much as he could. He wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but being rendered so completely incapable of moving definitely rubbed him the wrong way.

“Yep. Perfectly. It’s designed to rapidly capture and contain opponents. It’s amazing how they manage to fit so much stuff inside such a tiny container.” She held out the device on her wrist as she spoke. “The base plate can shrink or grow to accommodate different kinds of combatants, from Antman-sized to up to twenty by twenty feet. It also has different levels of containment for more powerful enemies.”

Peter nodded, trying his best to look relaxed. “That’s—yeah, that’s really impressive. For sure.” He attempted to shrug, but even that was beyond his ability. “Seems a bit overkill, though, don’t you think?”

“There’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to protecting the world from aliens, kiddo.” She clicked a few of the buttons on her wrist controller. “I could set it so that you’re entire body is electrified stiff, or where every joint and tendon have their own personal restraints. The highest setting is essentially that scene from Star Wars where Han Solo gets stuck in carbonite, except with vibranium.”

“Really?” Peter beamed. “From The Empire Strikes Back? That’s actually possible? That’s insane!” Then he winced, flexing his fingers nervously. “But, um, please don’t do that to me.”

“I won’t,” Natasha said. “All I need for you to do now is to try your hardest to break out.”

The teen blinked. “Break out?”

“Shuri claimed that on the lowest security setting, not even the Hulk should be able to escape. In the event I need to use this thing in the future, I want to make sure that’s true. But since Bruce is still having trouble ‘hulking out’ and Thor would probably end up short-circuiting the whole mechanism, I figured you’d be the best test subject.” She gestured towards him with a wave of her hand. “So, whenever you’re ready.”

“Just…go crazy? Like an animal caught in a trap?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Scoffing, Peter turned to look at the ceiling. “Okay. I’ll, uh, do my best.”

And he did. Peter summoned every ounce of his spider strength to try to break free of the bonds, straining and wrenching and twisting with all his might. He even tried getting his fingers around the cuffs and bending the metal so he could wriggle his way out. All of his efforts were to no avail. The vibranium restraints had him beat. He was stuck. Knowing that Shuri had designed the device, it didn’t exactly surprise him.

“So I guess that means it works,” Peter concluded, panting softly. “Yay.”

“It’s a very sturdy contraption,” Natasha agreed. “It should come in handy in the future.”

Spider-Man bit the inside of his cheek. “So, um, does that mean I can get out now? Or are there other things you need help with?”

“No, that’s it. Just give me a second. I need to write something down.”

Peter nodded, and she walked back to the counter, tapping at one of the screens. He rested against the metal table, more than ready to be able to move freely again.

A moment later, the elevator at the back of the room dinged and opened. As the person entered the lab, it took Peter a second to determine their identity from his unconventional position. The figure stopped when he saw him, furrowing his brow.

“Peter? Is that you?” Sam glanced to his right. “Uh, Nat? What’s going on here?”

“Science experiment,” she replied, not looking up.

“We’re testing to see if I can break out of this restraining thingy with my super strength!” Peter said enthusiastically. “It’s supposed to catch bad guys who have enhanced abilities and whatnot.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

The young hero pouted. “No. But it’s made of vibranium, and it’s meant to stop people as strong as the Hulk, so…”

Sam walked to stand beside him, placing his hands on his hips. “Huh. Interesting.”

“All right, all done,” Nat said. She trekked across the room with her wrist held to her eyes. “Ready to be free?”

“Yes please,” Peter said sheepishly. But before she clicked the release button, Sam held up his hand.

“Hold on, Romanoff,” he said. His lips twitched into the tiniest sliver of a smile. “How exactly were you testing to see if he could break out?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? I just told him to try to escape, and he couldn’t.”

“But that’s so unrealistic,” Sam insisted. “If you had a bad guy trapped in that thing, they would be fighting to get out like their life depended on it. He’s got no incentive to escape.”

Peter shifted against the restraints. “I mean, I am pretty uncomfortable. And my pride’s a little hurt that I wasn’t strong enough to get out.”

Sam shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-uh. If you really want to test this contraption’s integrity, you’ll have to give the kid a compelling reason to escape.”

“Like ice cream?” he suggested a little too quickly. When Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, he faked a cough. “I mean, um, a steak? Two steaks. And a cold brandy on ice.”

“Go ahead and try if you want,” Natasha told him. “But I seriously doubt there’s any way he’s getting out of this thing on his own. Even with ice cream on the line.”

Sam laid his hands on the metal table. A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, like he knew something that nobody else did. “Well, that wasn’t really the type of incentive I had in mind, Romanoff. You’re suggesting we give him an award for escaping, which is one way to go about this. But I think punishing him for not getting out would be much more effective.”

Peter frowned. “Punish me? How? Isn’t being stuck in this thing already punishment enough?”

Sam drummed his fingers against the table. Peter could feel the short vibrations humming against his back.

“I’ve got one idea in mind,” he said, raising his hand over Peter’s midsection. “Are you ticklish, kid?”

The question took him by surprise. It was not something that came up in casual conversation. He wondered why Sam thought the information was pertinent to the experiment, until he realized what this was leading to. His first instinct was to guard himself, because experience had taught him that no matter what answer you gave in response, you were going to get tickled. But his wrists simply strained against the clasps. His arms were locked in place, splayed out at both of his sides. His feet and legs were firmly glued to the table. He hadn’t expected anyone to take advantage of the helpless situation Ms. Romanoff had placed him in, so he hadn’t even considered just how vulnerable he was in his current state. Until now.

Peter’s ears went red.

“I—um—I don’t—w-why—”

Those were the only words he got out before a finger poked him in the belly. A high-pitched squeak jumped from his throat before he could stop it. The grin that overtook Sam’s features made him want to die.

“Oh, so you are,” he said mischievously. Peter’s face flushed four different shades of pink in a matter of seconds. “In that case, this ought to give you a very big incentive to escape, don’t you think?”

“W-wahahait!” Peter stammered. Sam had literally touched him once, but knowing what was about to come was filling him with so much anxiety that he couldn’t contain the laughter already seeping into his voice. He pulled against the cuffs as hard as he could, but he knew it was hopeless. “I—I can’t get out! It’s impossible!”

“Aw, come on now, Spider-ling,” Sam said, swirling his finger just above his stomach. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. I know you can do this. I believe in you. All you need is a little motivation.”

With that, Sam started poking his belly with both index fingers, moving up and down his torso with teasingly casual movements. Within seconds, Peter was reduced to a helpless bundle of giggles, recoiling at every touch as much as the restraints would allow. Peter had been tickled before, so he knew he was pretty sensitive, but never like this. Being unable to defend himself made it a hundred billion times worse than all the times Uncle Ben had pinned him to the bed when he was little, or when May would trap him in the corner of the couch and tickle his neck with her fiendish nails. Here, stuck inside an inescapable restraint machine, there was nothing he could do but laugh himself into a frenzy.

“Nohoho! Plehehease!” the teen begged. Sam only grinned wider.

“Are you kidding? I’m barely even touching you.” Suddenly, all ten of Sam’s fingers convened on his stomach at once and began to scribble all over mid-section. “Now, if I was doing something like this—yeah, that would make sense.”

If Peter was able, he’d be thrashing all over the place, kicking his legs and hugging his arms around his body. Instead, the only thing he could do was desperately try to angle himself away from Sam’s merciless fingers. To his dismay, his efforts did nothing to dampen the onslaught of tickles, and his light giggling transformed into heavy, uncontrollable laughter that racked his entire frame. Off to the side, Natasha watched the poor kid amusedly. Not even she could deny how adorable he was.

“Ms. Rohohmahahanoff!” Peter squealed, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face against the table. “Hehahahehehelp!”

Sam looked up from Peter without slowing his attack. “Yeah, Ms. Romanoff. Why don’t you help? I could use a hand over here.”

Natasha hinted a smile. “That’s okay. I think you’re doing just fine on your own.” She snagged a can of beer from the fridge in the cabinet and cracked it open. “But keep it up. I think it’s working.”

“You know what? I think you’re right.” He leaned towards the kid’s bright red face, tickling every inch of his tummy. “You hear that, Spidey? Nat believes in you too. Just try a little harder, and you’ll be out of here in no time!”

“Shuhuhahat up!” Peter laughed. “Y-you—you—ahahahahasshole!”

Sam stuck his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “What was that?” he said threateningly, grinning from ear to ear. He moved his hands down to Peter’s sides. “What did you just call me?” He started kneading his thumbs into the kid’s hipbones, going faster and faster with every passing second. “No, go ahead. Say it again. I dare you.”

Poor little Peter began to shriek with giggles. Clearly name-calling in his defenseless position was not a wise idea. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at how high-pitched and childlike the young hero’s laughter was. He was too cute for his own good.

“Is someone dying in here?” a voice called from across the room. Sam turned to see Clint Barton standing at the foot of the stairs, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, hey B,” he greeted him. “Naw, no one’s dying. I’m just trying to motivate the kid to get out of this device on his own. He’s got really bad self-esteem issues.”

The archer strolled over to the metal table where Spider-Man lied. He was relieved to find that the noise he was hearing wasn’t from a murder scene, but instead the shrill, happy laughter of a ticklish teenager. He smiled and shook his head.

“Aw, buddy, what are they doing to you? Is the big, mean Falcon bullying you?”

Peter squirmed and squealed, knowing well there was no point in asking Hawkeye for help. Despite being a father, the master assassin was not very keen to pity, especially when it came to Spider-Man. He tended to lean towards the Sam and Strange side of the spectrum when it came to interacting with the younger hero. And from the smug grin plastered on his face as he watched Peter laugh helplessly, he assumed that wasn’t changing any time soon.

Nonetheless, groveling was pretty much his only option.

“Hehehehelp! Hehehehehelp me! Plehehehease!” Sam’s cruel, wiggly fingers never gave his ticklish tummy a break. “Ohoho my gahahahad! I can’t—I cahahahahan’t!”

“See? What did I tell yah? All he keeps saying is ‘I can’t do it’ and ‘it’s impossible!’ Even though he knows Nat and I both believe in him, he still doubts himself. Isn’t that heartbreaking?”

“Truly,” Clint agreed. To Peter’s horror, he felt a single fingertip start twitching against his left armpit. “Maybe he needs just a little more encouragement to give him that final push.”

“Maybe,” Sam concurred, smirking. Another finger found his right armpit, and Peter fell to pieces.

“Nonononohohohoho!” he pleaded piteously. “I can’t—I cahahan’t—I can’t!”

“Does Petey have ticklish underarms?” Clint teased, brushing his fingernails up and down the sensitive skin. Try as he might to guard himself, Peter was defenseless against the second layer of torment.

“Ahahahahaha!” he screeched. “Nohohohohahaha! Stahahahap!”

Clint smiled. “Hmm. I’d say he does.” He switched to digging all ten fingers into the hollows of each pit, the kid’s loud and giggly protests quickly teaching him which techniques were most effective and where his most ticklish spots were located. He knew applying his experience as an highly skilled interrogator to tormenting an innocent kid was a little harsh, but Peter’s laughter was so adorable and uplifting, all he wanted was to make more of it. One person tickling his vulnerable body was bad enough, but Peter was certain that two would kill him. Starting from wrists, Barton scuttled his fingers all the way down the teen’s arms, pausing just above his pits to build anticipation.

“Damn, you’re really making him squirm,” Sam chuckled, watching the poor kid crumble beneath Clint’s upper body attack. He continued to squeeze and pinch Peter’s sides and hips. The way he twitched from his every touch was amusing. “How are you going to survive as an Avenger if you can’t even take a little tickling, Pete? What if your nemeses find out your weakness and you spill all of our secrets to them?” He noticed Peter’s shirt had hiked up a little from his constant twisting and shifting, and a very evil idea popped into his head. He slipped his fingers underneath the material and started spidering his nails against his bare stomach. “One way or another, they always figure out how to get under your skin.”

Immediately, Peter’s laughter jumped three octaves and several decibels higher. “NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He threw his head back and arched his spine against the table. “STOHOHAHAHAP! STAHAHAP IT!”

“Uh-oh,” Clint giggled. “You’re in for it now.”

Ten deadly fingertips moved freely over his tummy, exploring every inch of the soft, unbearably ticklish skin. They dragged up and down his sides, clawed at his midriff, and drew ruthless circles round and round his sensitive bellybutton. And all Peter could do was laugh and laugh, balling his hands into fists against the table.

“What does that feel like?” Sam asked him. “Like a bunch of itsy-bitsy spiders? Crawling all over the itsy-bitsy Spider-Man’s belly?”

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” he cried. “NOHOHO MORE! NOHOHOHO MOHOHORE!”

“Hang on, I want to try something,” Clint said, taking his hands off his underarms for an instant. Sam’s fingers gave his tummy a moment’s break, and Peter thought he might faint from relief. “I always do this to Cooper whenever he’s being a little punk.”

Peter didn’t even register Barton moving from the head of the table to the middle. He was too busy relishing in the feeling of not having twenty fingers simultaneously digging into his most sensitive areas. He didn’t think there was any better feeling in the entire world.

“P-please, hehe…” he giggled weakly, fighting to catch his breath. “Just…just gimme a minute…”

Not even three seconds later, Clint lifted up Peter’s shirt, wrapped his hands around both sides of his torso, and blew the biggest, longest, most insufferable raspberry directly into the kid’s exposed belly. The sound that left Peter’s throat the moment Barton made contact was less like a laugh and more like a scream.

Natasha glanced at the kid and shook her head with a chuckle. “You guys are so mean.”

While kneading his fingers into his sides and hips, Clint assaulted the kid’s tummy with raspberry after merciless raspberry. Peter bucked and shrieked, whipping his head from side to side.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! AHAHAHAHAHAAA!”

After six in a row, Barton smiled down at the puddle of laughter that used to be Peter Parker. “What do you say? Are you motivated yet? You almost ready to break out of this thing?”

Peter had hoped after so much tickling his body would start to get used to it, but no. It seemed as time went on, his skin only became more sensitive to every poke and touch that came his way. Which meant with each passing minute, the increasing intensity of the tickling was driving him that much crazier. This was not at all how he’d expected his weekend with the Avengers to go. He cringed beneath the fingers scratching and stroking his defenseless tummy, bubbling with laughter.

“What’s the matter? I’m just giving you a belly rub. Like you’re a puppy. A teeny-tiny spider-puppy. I thought puppy’s loved getting belly rubs. Don’t they?”

He scribbled his nails up and down his entire midsection. While Clint was busy teasing his tummy, Peter felt someone pull both of his shoes off.

“Maybe we need to try something new,” Sam suggested. “Maybe we need to give his arms and his legs a compelling reason to get out.”

“WAHAHAHAIT!” Peter squealed, but it was no use. Sam held his foot still with one hand and started tickling it with the other, skittering his fingers along the sides tracing the arch from ball to heel. Peter tried so hard to kick himself free. The vibranium restraints were too strong.

“I feel like most people are just ticklish in some places,” Sam chuckled, watching the kid twist and twitch and giggle as he viciously strummed his nails against the center of his foot, as if he were playing a guitar. “But you, my friend, are ticklish all over. I think there’s something biological at work there. Maybe you should see a doctor.” He peeled back Peter’s scrunched-up toes and started worming his fingers between every single one, making sure no piggies were left out of the tickle attack. Once he’d finished tormenting that foot, he switched to the other one, starting the entire cruel process all over again.

“I’M GOHOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIHIHIE!” he cried shrilly. “P-PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHOHAHAHAHAHOP!”

“Who’s going to die?” Steve Rogers asked. He and Rhodes descended the stairs into view. They’re faces were clouded with concern.

“Peter,” Natasha said, pointing. “They’re tickling him to death.”

Cap glanced at the laughing, beat-red kid sprawled across the table. Sam and Clint were teamed up on the helpless teen, kneading his sides and tickling his feet. Steve pulled his phone from his belt and frowned.

“Then why did you text us ‘come 2 basement if u need a pick-me-up’?”

Natasha smiled and shrugged. “Because his laughter is probably the most contagious thing in the entire world.”

A moment later, Tony Stark appeared behind them, standing on his tip-toes to see over Cap’s shoulder. “What pick-me-up, Romanoff? Did my tanning bed finally come in?”

Sam winced. “Uh-oh. Daddy’s here.”

Steve stepped to the side to let him pass, masking a smile. “I think they’re bullying your kid, Stark.”

Tony glanced across the lab and spotted Peter between Barton and Sam. The sound of wild, high-pitched laughter met his ears.

Once he realized his only potential savior was in the room, Peter abandoned any dignity he had left. “M-MIHIHISTER—AHAHAHAHAHA!” the teen screeched. “MR. STAHAHARK, HELP!”

Tony jogged to his side, and Sam and Clint stopped tickling him, sharing a nervous look. He stared down at his poor little mentee, strapped to a table like an asylum patient, red as a tomato, panting and wheezing and giggling all at the same time. He looked so small and exhausted and desperate, like he’d do anything to be free. Stark felt pity swell in his chest for the hapless teen. But in a way, the kid also appeared…happy. He knew it was artificial, that it was a happiness being completely forced upon him. And yet, ever since Peter had returned to the world after disintegrating into dust in his arms, the smile that normally occupied his face at all hours of the day had become noticeably absent. He was quieter, more distant, less excitable. After everything he’d gone through, it was a lot harder to make the kid laugh.

Tony lifted his gaze to the group of people in the lab, honing in on Sam and Clint. A deep wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. He looked like a dad about to scold his children for picking on their little brother. Everyone waited to see how he would retaliate.

“Come on, guys. Seriously?” He traced his glare across every face in the room. Even Cap felt guilty for some reason. Then, slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of his lip. “If you really want to make the kid laugh, you’ve got to go for his ribs.”

Everybody blinked in astonishment. Peter’s relief reeled.

“W-what?” Mr. Stark?” His mentor looked down at him apologetically.

“Sorry, Pete,” he said, giving his hair a ruffle. Then he locked his fingers around his ribcage.

Tony understood that Spider-Man was a strong and nimble individual who had the ability to detect attacks before they even happened. His skill set made it difficult to ever catch him by surprise, including the occasional times Tony had tried to poke or pinch his sides to help ease the constant tension he carried in his shoulders. Despite the kid’s happy-go-lucky facade, Peter was an incredibly anxious person, and sometimes needed to be reminded to relax a little, especially in the presence of his fellow Avengers. But Stark rarely succeeded in loosening his nerves, and he’d never had the chance to make him fully, authentically laugh before.

But right now, Peter was trapped, and he had an aunt who loved to share embarrassing facts about her nephew. This was an opportunity too rare and wonderful to pass up.

So the genius billionaire started drilling his fingers into the kid’s ribs. The response was immediate and hysterical. He watched Peter’s face shift from shock to betrayal to denial to defeat in the span of two seconds. For the first few moments, he laughed like crazy, squirming and shrieking as Stark switched between tickling every rib and grinding his knuckles into his entire ribcage. His adorable, uncontrollable giggling filled Tony with endearment. But then, the laughter suddenly stopped. The kid fell completely silent. Stark thought for an instant that he’d hurt him or something, until he heard the new sound he was making.

Squeaky, violent hiccups began to leap from his throat and shake his whole frame. They punctured the silence sporadically and made his body jump against the table. During the spaces in between, he just lied there, laughing so hard he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth was wide open, smiling the biggest smile in the entire world. But the only sounds escaping him were hiccups.

He couldn’t believe how much it tickled. He couldn’t believe Mr. Stark, his hero and idol, was the person tickling him to tears. He’d be burning with embarrassment were he not so busy laughing to death. By that point, Peter figured, yep, this is it. Things can’t possibly get any worse than this. Then two more sets of hands descended on him, one on his feet and the other on his neck. Clint and Sam were back with a vengeance, and they didn’t hesitate in picking up where they’d left off. Before collapsing into a mess of hiccups again, Peter managed to squeal out one short word.

“SHIHIHIHIHEHEHEHAHAHEHEHIHIT!”

They only tickled him that way for about thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Tony was the one who finally put an end to it, certain that any more would make the kid burst. Even after all thirty fingers had lifted from his sensitive skin, Peter continued to laugh. Natasha clicked the release button, and the cuffs fell from his wrists and ankles, shrinking back into beads. Immediately, Peter curled into a ball, hugging himself around the middle and pulling his knees to his chest. Tony placed a sympathetic hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I know that was mean. We’ll find a way to make it up to you. Want to get some ice cream?”

To his surprise, Peter was still giggling. His shoulders bounced as airy laughs sputtered from his lips. Stark smiled bemusedly.

“Kid? Are you okay? Look, no one’s gonna get you anymore. I promise.”

His reassurance did nothing to stem the continuos stream of giggles flooding from the teenager. He didn’t seem able to stop.

“I think you guys broke him,” Natasha said. Tony pulled Spider-Man to the edge of the table and tried to make him sit up.

“Peter, it’s all right,” he chuckled amusedly, holding him upright and rubbing his shoulders. It was like he was under an unbreakable laughing spell. “Come on now. Can you really not stop?”

The kid’s weight tipped forward, and he staggered off the table. Stark flinched and caught him with a start. Peter slumped against his chest, giggling into his shirt.

“I c-can’t breathe, hehehe…” he laughed weakly. “Please. My sides. Ohoho my gosh…”

Tony patted him awkwardly on the back. The others watched with small smiles.

“You’re fine, kid,” Sam snorted, giving his head an affectionate nudge as he walked by. “You definitely needed that laugh.”

“That has to be the happiest you’ve been in months,” Clint agreed, trailing behind him and tousling Peter’s hair. They both left via the stairs, satisfied with their work.

“We’ll be in the lounge,” Natasha said. The rest of the Avengers followed her. The sound of footsteps clomping upwards eventually faded. The room would have been left relatively quiet, were it not for Peter’s continuous giggling.

“Can you walk?” Tony asked, relaxing a little now that there weren’t so many eyes around. He held the kid with both hands against his back. Peter laughed softly, leaning into his embrace without answering. Stark sighed and smiled. “All right then. Up you go.”

Swiftly, Tony scooped the teenager off the floor and into his arms. Peter was too worn out to protest, too worn out to care. He wheezed tiny giggles into his mentor’s shoulder as he carried him into the elevator and up to the room Mr. Stark had intended to be his Avengers living quarters. Tony walked him inside and pulled back the sheets, then gently laid the kid into the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow and the blankets were tucked around him, Peter’s laugh attack began to subside, even though his skin still tingled all over. His eyelids grew heavy, and exhaustion seized him full force.

“I know you probably hate all of us for that,” Tony chuckled, watching the kid practically melt with fatigue. “But Clint was right. I think that was the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.”

He pulled the sheets up to the kid’s chin, then walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked just a hair. Spider-Man succumbed to sleep in minutes, his breathing finally steadying out.

Although he would never admit it, Peter knew it was true. In a convoluted sort of way, he was happy. The walls he’d built up based on the fear and trauma he’d went through suddenly felt destabilized, like reclaiming his old, lighthearted self wasn’t so impossible after all. He knew a long road of healing still lied ahead, and he hoped there were other ways he could go about breaking down the barriers he’d built up. But for now, in the quiet of his heart, he was happy. And it was a happiness he hadn’t experience in a very long while.

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sircannibalgod · 3 years ago

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I originate from Texas. I don't like that I do, I don't plan on keeping that backstory, but it is currently the truth. I bounced between Oklahoma and Texas for a little bit before I finally ended up here in Ohio today. I have been here for 2 months and so far it hasn't been fun. I had to give up my pet spider, living with a control freak that clearly dislikes me, the only person who has been pleasant is a man who helped me moved here and gave me a bike for free.

The roads here are fucking awful. I get so deeply annoyed and angered when it jostles me around like I'm taking off into space. It's ridiculous, these roads are the worst.

On top of this, I also experienced being cheated on and dumped by my fiance of 5/6 years. Being cheated on being the worst experience and being dumped the most freeing of my life.

The individual I live with attempted to control my entire life, treating me like a child who doesn't know how to do the simplest of things in life. Saying I need to effectively give them progress reports on my job search (that was established wasn't happening due to unrelated issues). Additionally after I had been cheated on but not yet dumped they pushed me to get over it immediately and when my preexisting lifelong depression was brought up they not only said "I've been depressed, I got over it, you'll be fine!" but also "if you hurt yourself or anybody else you have to leave" like wtf? What makes you think I'm doing any of that? Additionally, what makes you think someone who has such severe issues that they injure themselves should be kicked out onto the street? Is that the right thing to do?

When I decide "no, I'm not going to be walked on & controlled yet again by another person" all the sudden I'm just too evil and unreasonable to even look at or be around at all. Suddenly everything is wrong, suddenly I'm just the worst to live with. Suddenly there are all these problems that weren't so much as hinted at prior. Suddenly every little honest mistake or delay in changing deeply ingrained habits is too much. Suddenly I'm so awful that you have to give back all the gifts I've given you and keep your kid from even looking at me. When I tell you a simple and respectful "no" the whole damn world falls apart, eh?

Even when I received the bike, not even 24 hours afterwards I got a message "I'm just gonna sell the bike if you don't want it" When IF it is to be sold, it is mine to sell. Regardless, when it arrived I was asleep, when I woke up it was no time to go look at it. I've never been one for all this stupidity.

My good experiences in Ohio so far have been when I go outside away from people. Walk around and discover new plants I'm unfamiliar with, take photos, learn, study with something that's not a book. I did that today, I found a tree covered in lichen as well as a tree that had spikes all over it. I enjoyed that, it made me feel at peace to do something I was interested in. If I had been alone it would've been even better. I like the plants and trees here in Ohio, I even stumbled upon a geocache that had a little spider living inside it.

People are so god damned stressful. I'm sick and tired of it. The day I am able to take off and build my cabin (or long house or whatever I decide it'll be) and live out my life 100% alone will be the best day of my life. Terrifying and exciting...

#vent #antisocial

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braindumpsterfires · 6 years ago

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“Like cubic zirconia, I only look real. I'm an imposter. The fact is, I am not like other people.” ― Augusten Burroughs, Dry

I got pretty good at faking it, I guess. There was a time when “are you okay?” was a pretty often question I’d hear from the few people I had in my life. I’d zoned off again, disassociating. Maybe somebody glanced my way weird and it seemed they could be judging me. There goes my mood. The only thing I can do is look away and stay quiet, legs shaking, goosebumps all over... Nausea so bad I can’t help but gag from time to time... Sometimes I’d answer the question, often to be dismissed as “just being sensitive” or “nervous” and just to “forget about it” and “focus on something else.” They didn’t get it. Not to get into the gross details, but my bowels have been greatly effected by my illness, and I had thought it was “just nerves”. It had happened as long as I can remember. I was an “anti-social” kid. When I was real young if you’d talk to me and you weren’t somebody I’d see on a regular basis, I’d lose my shit. Not like literally... But, I couldn’t handle strangers. I’d start to freak out and cry and shut down. I wouldn’t communicate with them. I didn’t know what anxiety was then.

Mentally ill meant crazy... I wasn’t crazy, and I knew that then. To me that’d mean I would hear distinct voices or do weird twitches or hoard or something like on TV. Like One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. Because my thoughts didn’t match up with what I felt mental illness meant, I had accepted I was just “sensitive”, “shy”, “quiet”, “weird”, “moody”, “dramatic”, “obsessive”, “manic”, “hard to love”, “exhausting”, as I was told time and time again. Left undiagnosed, it only got worse and worse. Life didn’t know it had to be a little gentler with me. That I was sick. The adults in my life pushed me harder when they needed to sit me down and talk with me and just try to understand that my brain is different. They couldn’t see my brain was sick and needed help.

I’d grab hold of anyone who would give me the time of day and wouldn’t let go unless they rejected me. I thought love meant somebody who could tolerate being around me and say what I needed to hear at the time to soothe the fucking demon that is my illness. I got into relationships with people I should’ve kept as friends. I misinterpreted connections and charmed my way into the situations I thought I needed... to feel something. Something to fill the void of emptiness I had felt for so long. If it meant me having to do all the work in the relationship, I did it. That’s why my name is still on a house that I will receive no equity in when sold, despite the fact I paid the mortgage for a long time. Hell, go back even further... I was married at 19. I’ve often considered having a child with partners in the past with a direct goal in my head that that meant they wouldn’t leave me ever. That’s an unhealthy way to think. But it isn’t my fault... All I can say is, I’m sure glad somehow nature was kind to my broken-brained self and kept me fairly safe. I have credit card debt. But I don’t have any STDs or diseases, I don’t have any kids... The divorce actually was finalized (forced by a partner at the time, but it was the push I needed to get it done, so whatever.)

It’s not easy to sit here today and accept the fact that all the people I’ve had hate in my heart for for so long just didn’t know how to deal with me. I can’t blame them completely, though I’ve pushed a large portion of my insecurities on them and their actions in my life specifically. They say a lot of recovery begins with forgiving people. Forgiveness is a concept I haven’t explored much, not when dismissing my feelings as not real is far less anxiety-inducing. I mean sure, some who have meandered in and out of my life deserve to stay gone, because their actions, while overlooked at the time, can now be looked back on as unforgivable. In no way blaming myself, the thought does occur to me that perhaps my chemical imbalances are the spark of many of the traumas I’ve experienced. I don’t give those people that much power, honestly. It isn’t “all their fault.” What I am saying is if I caught this thing before it ran my life for this long, things would be way different. My life has been quite the cocktail of undiagnosed, ignored, dismissed mental illness and life events that would devastate a person who would be considered, generally, mentally healthy... It’s no wonder everyone is in awe of how much shit I’ve experienced in 25 years. I’ve lived through things many people probably never even will experience, and 90% of it was set into motion by my mental illness. It strapped me to a bad situation and wouldn’t let me leave until I couldn’t handle it any longer. Cutting the ties had to be very abrupt and as impersonal as possible, (cant handle somebody being mad at me...) Getting out meant sending a text or even an email, then throwing my phone across the room, ignoring the world for as long as possible. I know breaking up that way is the asshole way to do it. But I literally couldn’t handle that kind of pressure with another person.

Weed wasn’t a thing then, I was too afraid because I had been raised to associate weed with prescription pain pills... They were evil, and had made it so my childhood was never stable and I lived in a car for a minute and never had my own room and spent 7 years sleeping on an area rug on a living room floor. And no one paid attention, so I stayed unhealthy mentally. And it got worse. And worse.

As I think so deeply about it, things make more and more sense. These deep inner thoughts about MYSELF seemed so foreign before. Maybe I could imagine it for a flicker of a second, but then the lack of self worth would come into play and I’d obsess over how poorly I did something or how those in my life didn’t truly love me and that I felt so empty and bored and just wanted to feel...something. Faking love is fucked up. It’s fucked up to have done it a lot throughout your life. I’m done with that shit...

I believe the mental illness itself has been passed to me from my mother. My dad was mentally healthy, aside from abusing alcohol for a time (which he sought AA for because of me and recovered from and remained sober from when I could walk, on.) My mother abused sleeping pills at the end. She killed herself accidentally... She just wanted peace from the disorder that she never was allowed to understand. But I can see it now. I won’t let myself not get help for this. I want a life worth living, damnit. For once in my life I fucking feel like I deserve that. And that’s a really, really new and cool thing for me.

I don’t feel empty today. I’ve had fun and have been pinpointing things I enjoy that make me, well...me. It started out with spending a good portion of my day with W, and that friendship is going along real well. It’s cool being able to share my sudden self discovery with somebody like I was able to last night and today. I’m totally ready to develop more healthy friendships. For the first time I want to put myself into social situations on purpose. I want to interact with likeminded people and have fun. That sounds so obvious as I reread it to myself... But before this breakthrough I really couldn’t enjoy that (masks are great coping mechanisms, fooled ya.)

And if love finds me eventually, that’s cool. I do hope it does. But for now, I’m just going to keep being me, especially now that I have stuff I genuinely want to experience and do now. I see how I’ve forced things I didn’t even want in the past, just to have someone, and I won’t do that shit again. I hope certain people stick around, but I’m not bending over backwards for people who don’t deserve it anymore.

I suddenly want to start creating things again... building models, reading, photography... I’ve wanted to look into going back to school, but always dismissed the thought because the impulsive decisions I’ve made in my life never allowed me to do things for me. Or, rather, I could have... If I had the self confidence and love for myself to want things for myself enough to push on. Instead I’d do what I needed to do to keep my partner and my routine, even if it meant exhausting myself and forgetting what “relaxing” even felt like. I could lay around all I wanted, but my brain wasn’t like a dog. It wouldn’t sit or stay or anything else. It did what it always did... Negative thoughts, obsess...obsess...obsess....

When I’ve slept for 13 hours straight or spent a day doing absolutely nothing, I’m not being lazy. My body isn’t tired. My soul is. But my levels must be okay because I like doing things again today. The depression is gone, (for now. I don’t expect to be happy forever, that isn’t realistic, nor should it be.) It’s very brief departure made me go and get medicated that day in 2015 saved my life, I think. For a moment I cared about myself and wanted to try. Something then must’ve given me hope. What I had accepted before as character flaws that I was stuck with were really mental issues that I now see and understand and accept, and, better yet, now can manage properly. The next step is getting diagnosed by a specialist (a second opinion), and perhaps talk to a therapist, (at least until my thoughts are sorted.)

I guess I’ll allow myself to research this a bit more before I go do something else. Or maybe sleep... It is 12:17 AM and, while without anxiety and actually happy, I’m exhausted from how much deep soul-searching I’ve done the last 24 hours. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m excited about life. The thought of “I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to exist anymore” seems kinda insane to me right now. There’s so much out there I haven’t seen or experienced yet. Like so fucking much. And well, I’m kinda cool. I’m starting to like myself today. I won’t say love... We’re just seeing how things go. Baby steps. One day at a time...

-AEL

#bpd #mental illness #borderline personality disorder #depression #anxiety #life #therapy #actually borderline #borderline #mental health #journal #healing

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troglobite · 3 years ago

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like i get

“i dont’ wanna hear about anymore sad things”

like okay fine

i mean i’m the one being materially affected by them, also my friends

and you’re the one who could do something about it

but fine. i won’t talk about it. i WASN’T talk about it. but i won’t anymore.

but fucking

“don’t get angry around me at all, even if it’s not directed at me, even if it’s temporary, even if it’s for legitimate reasons”

is fucking HORSESHIT

AND I’M TIRED OF IT

but i’m wrong

i’m clearly wrong

and everyone else is right

my anger is evil and sick and toxic and i shouldn’t ever experience it or lean into it and i’m not allowed to

everyone i’ve ever known has hated me for being angry about ANYTHING

it makes them scared and uncomfortable

even though i’ve never hurt anyone ever at all on purpose

i don’t raise my voice that much, sometimes i’m a little loud but i don’t yell or scream

i don’t cuss people out

i try to keep a level head and make it clear what i’m angry at/about

but it doesn’t matter

because i’m a sick and evil fucking person

i’m a monster

everything i do is wrong

and i can’t ever experience anger

i can’t ever be wrong

i can’t ever make a mistake

i can’t ever ask for help because if i do then i’m a selfish and evil person

and i’m just taking advantage of someone or manipulating them into doing something they’d never do

i’m so evil and sick and fucking awful and manipulative and i’m just a fucking monster everything i do is wrong

i wish i was dead i wish i wasn’t here i don’t do anything good in this world

every time i think i’m in the right i’m just AWFUL and MEAN and WRONG

i’ve never been right about anything and no one should fucking listen to me about any of this shit

don’t listen to my advice i’m just wrong and listening to me will just make more people hate you

i’m wrong i’m wrong i’m wrong i’m wrong i’m evil i’m sick i’m fucking awful i’m a monster i deserve to die

i’m so tired of being here

i don’t deserve it but i want a house of my own and a life of my own

but it would be a complete fucking waste of resources and time and everything

but maybe if i was by myself and everyone stopped thinking about me or “caring” or seeing me at all then the world would just immediately take me out on its own

because i’m too much of a coward to do it for them all

i’m sorry i’m here

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irondevilpunisher · 6 years ago

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ultraericthered replied to your post “My Jessica Jones S1&S2 Review”

GTFO with all you said about Kilgrave there. He's a wonderful character, a wonderful villain, and a wonderful performance by David Tennant, but good lord did you ever miss the point if you think he's a sympathetic, not-too-horrible person and even REMOTELY "loves" Jessica. He was given exactly what he deserved at the end of S1.

Unbelievable. I am not in the mood for this today. I’m having a crummy month as it is so getting something like this does not help improve the circumstances. In fact right after I make a response I’ll be sure to send my regards to the blocking mechanism to further prevent this account from wanking up anymore of my posts in the future.

First of all this is based solely on ONE review of a series I enjoyed. A personal opinion which is mine and mine alone. And believe it or not its allowed. Second I’m in no way excusing Kilgrave’s actions whatsoever. I think he is cutthroat, sadistic, manipulative, evil and menacing but just as you’ve stated he’s a very exceptional villain. One of the things that made Jessica Jones so compelling in S1 was the arc between Jess and Kilgrave because it allowed the audience to not only understand, sympathize and relate to her but also him.

Its not like Kevin Thompson asked to be experimented on by his parents for years. Regardless if they insisted it was necessary to help him their actions created a monster. Parents are supposed to love and protect their child not psychologically, emotionally, mentally, and physically traumatize them. Kilgrave is the result/consequences of their breakthrough as scientists but failures as parents. Even Jessica after she learns about this disturbing piece of history, despite what he’s done to her, tries to understand his position. She too was a victim of genetic experimentation [IGH]. Yes at first she mocks and is disgusted by him [and later these feelings fade fast] but at the very least feels slightly empathetic to what he’s been through. Kilgrave says it best in 1x08:

“How am I suppose to know? I never know if someone is doing what they want or what I tell them to [...] I didn’t have this. A home. Loving parents. A family.”

Ironically Kilgrave was being genuinely serious. He doesn’t know how to interact with or treat people without causing them physical or mental harm. He doesn’t trust anyone, why should he? He’s never had a family or real friends which means he’s never experienced any meaningful connections with another person.The closest to resembling such would be his mindless drones which he controls. Kilgrave was never shown affection, compassion, kindness, self-control or had boundaries which explains why he abuses his abilities to the point of exploiting, torturing and eventually killing his victims. How do you expect someone as damaged as him, who’s only known the life of a lab rat, to be capable of functioning normally in society. Its just not logical I’m sorry and this is exactly why I and many others found him not only fascinating but ‘sympathetic’.

In his own twisted sick way Kilgrave did love Jessica or at least convinced himself he did, it wasn’t just about controlling her. He really wanted her to love him and was determined to make her happy regardless if she wanted him to [hence when he got her house back and designed her room the way she had it as a teenager]. Yes he’s creepy I don’t deny that nonetheless a very tortured and tragic individual but I’ve never downplayed his maliciousness. I’m not one of those naive fans who just dismisses the awful things he’s done. I condemn it however part of the actor’s job is to make the viewer feel empathetic towards their character whether they’re good, bad or neutral. If they can’t accomplish this difficult feat they’ve failed. Luckily Tennant succeeded here.

And finally I didn’t miss anything. We all have different interpretations.This was just MY interpretation of what was going on in the show and the characters in that world. FYI there is no right or wrong way to analyze a tv series and for you to suggest otherwise is fallacious. I don’t disagree that Kilgrave deserved to be stopped but there were other creative methods the JJ writers could’ve gone about without resorting to the usual “shock value” death. What if they designed Kilgrave’s S1 arc to end with his powers being stripped and him going to prison until his next encounter with Jessica? Or maybe that stuff he injected himself with could’ve had a side-effect that left him either comatose or his powers temporarily suppressed.There were plenty of options to keep him around for the future and instead they took the easy way out which ultimately was part of what hurt the second season. Getting rid of David Tennant like that was in my humble opinion a mistake.

As the old saying goes “a hero is only as good as its villain”. Wilson Fisk on Daredevil is an excellent example of a beloved villain who was granted more story and airtime because he was just so damn awesome, charismatic, larger than life, cunning but also [like Kilgrave] he’s sympathetic and he’s the perfect foe opposite to Matt Murdock. He’s a psychopath yes but he’s likable and the DD writers found a solution to detain/delay his return to the series so he’s not just running rampant. Kilgrave could’ve been shown the same courtesy as I felt there was more story to tell with him. And lets face it that villain in Jessica Jones S2 was a joke.That’s all I was initially getting at but you somehow managed to twist around my words into something filthy.

I’m finished with this discussion now. For the record if you’re going to ‘like’ than leave rude comments such as this on someone else’s post you might want to try thinking it through before hand. Have a nice day.

#kilgrave #kevin thompson #Jessica Jones #David Tennant #irondevilpunisher response #jessica x kilgrave #wilson fisk #Marvel's Jessica Jones #so done with this wank

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cougardraven · 7 years ago

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A Life Through Actions, or Who I Am is What I’ve Done

When I was fifteen, my grandfather passed away. To date, he had been the closest thing I had had to a father figure in my life. My own father wasn't really in the picture (for a lot of reasons that boil down to "two people who probably shouldn't have had kids at that point in their life did anyway, and it destroyed them both"), so it was kind of a big deal. So I collapsed in on myself and shut down, and stopped going to school altogether, and got expelled for excessive absences some weeks after I turned 16, and had to go through summer school to get back in.

Two weeks after the start of that new school year, though, I wasn't feeling well, and I decided that I needed to stay home because I was sick. This happened to be the second time that had happened (I'm still not sure if it was emotional bullshit or a legit physical thing), and my mom decided that I had become unreasonable, and sent me to live with my father (who had come back into the picture during that summer) in a completely different state. I uprooted my life literally overnight. It wouldn't be the last time. (Fun fact: one thing that may have made a larger difference, may have not: on my way from my old home in Michigan and my new home in Illinois, I took too long while packing and my father was thus unable to take me to a football game at the Big House in Ann Arbor. Who knows? Maybe that would have put us off on a better foot and paved a better path. It's been almost fifteen years now, so it doesn't matter, but it's a bit of food for thought.)

During the summer before my senior year of high school, now in Illinois, a friend of mine introduced me to this website that was fairly popular among people our age. It was called Gaia Online. (Don't sweat this, I'm laying some groundwork here.) At that point, I was 18, pining hard for the recent ex-girlfriend of one of my closest friends (but not for long), and living in a homeless shelter, as I'd been kicked out of my dad's house less than a week after I turned 18.

The next summer, a few months after I'd graduated high school, I got word that my grandmother was on the cusp of passing away, so I was bundled back to Michigan with the intent that I would stay a week to attend the funeral, and then return to Illinois to resume...whatever it was I was doing. (Waaaaaay too much drinking and smoking, of various substances.) Instead, I stayed in Michigan for the better part of a year, couching it with friends.

While I was there, I cultivated a few relationships on said website, Gaia: the first, with a guy who shares a lot of my fractured understanding of the world, and the second, with a woman I'd met through friends, and the next summer, she came up to visit and we spent most of a three-day period in a hotel room. On the last day, I had a dispute with my best friend at the time that was fairly bad, and I decided then and there to leave, and I moved, on the spot, to North Carolina, with my future wife (and also future ex-wife, because life's just funny like that).

About a year and a half later, we'd bounced from place to place, not just in an apartment sense, but in a North Carolina -> Arkansas -> Oklahoma -> Alabama sense, and we were living with her mother at the time. Now, my former mother-in-law is a crazy drunken evil person, so it was difficult on the best of days, but in late December, shit came to a head and she drunkenly decided to try to force us to live in the uninsulated garage (and shit, I know it's Alabama, but my ex was *pregnant*, and it did get a bit chilly that winter), and when we balked at that, quite reasonably, I felt, she flipped the fuck out and kicked us out of the house altogether. So we bailed on Alabama, and drove back up to Illinois. (We considered Michigan, but I had had previous experience with the homeless shelter structure here, and to this date I'm not even aware if one exists in the Detroit Metro outside of the city proper.)

Fast-forward to a year and a half later, where two things happened, in some order: the friend I made on Gaia years before introduced me to a little webseries that had been popular on Something Awful, and was starting to spawn similar series: Marble Hornets; and I went up to the local community college and took a calculus placement test with the intention to start school in the fall. I did not.

A little over a year after that, my ex left me and forced me out of the apartment with a restraining order. I, being in no state of mind to really do much of anything rational, ended up in a psychiatric hospital for a little over a month. While I was in there, I made a contact with a local support service provider, but nothing really came of it. When I got out, having nowhere to go, I entered the homeless program. Again.

During the first winter I was homeless, I met a dude who seemed chill and shared my love for comic books and other generally nerdy bullshit, including things like Red vs. Blue. We became friends, and when he got a place at the end of the next summer, he let me crash there sometimes when the weather was really harsh. He also introduced me to another friend of his, who also became my friend.

After the second summer I was homeless, I was put back into contact with the service provider I'd talked to two years before, in lieu of going back to the hospital, and they got me into housing, where I still am. The next winter, I started school. At the beginning of the following fall semester, in the second or third week, someone joined my calculus class from another section that they couldn't actually be placed in. I took note of them, and after a couple of weeks, they took note of me and we started to hang out occasionally.

About eight months later, at the end of the spring semester, we had taken another class at the same time, and I was at their house for some gathering or another, when their stepfather happened to be outside and asked if I could use some extra work helping his company pull wires.

That was three years ago. I just attended an A/V industry expo in Chicago today, and in a few weeks I'll be able to put "professional audio engineer" in my work information on Facebook. (Technically I probably could have done it sometime early last year, but I didn't.) I have a nine-year-old daughter that I never see because she and her mom live across the damn country from me, and my own piss-poor living situation has led to my parents straight up not letting me know when she's in town. I have ridiculous trust issues and maybe four real friends. (Who they are depends on the day, sometimes.) And I have this life because of one decision.

Except I don't, not really. The decision to not go to school when I was fifteen may have been the thing that opened the door, but I walked through it. Others walked through it. It's odd that I can trace the course of my life to one thing. To my giving up on trying to be a social being. I accept that. I accept that things would have been different, would have *had* to be drastically different. I would have graduated a year earlier than I did. I very likely would have gone to college. I would probably have lived at home with my mom until I got a degree, and then I would probably have started teaching math, or been cajoled into going to law school or some shit. At least, that's the best guess I have playing out from that timeframe.

But I'm okay with that not being my reality. Changing the decision points in my life might not feel like they would have made a huge difference at times, but they would. Staying in Illinois after high school wouldn't have changed me ending up with my ex-wife, I was already on that path before I left. But it might not have happened at the same time as it did. If I hadn't bailed to North Carolina, I would have eventually (probably) moved down there eventually anyway. Even if I didn't move to Oklahoma, we almost certainly would have ended up in Alabama sooner or later. But without that experience, I wouldn't have a Zippo that's probably the only actually significant "thing" I own, because it's been with me longer than anything else I own that isn't clothing. If we'd moved to Michigan instead of Illinois when we came back north, I wouldn't have been in the places I needed to be to have anything else happen. I certainly wouldn't have come here to visit.

If my friend hadn't introduced me to Marble Hornets, I wouldn't have met a community of people that supported me when I needed it most, but then cast me aside. If I had gone to school when I originally intended, I wouldn't have been in a calculus class a few years ago that introduced me to someone I've worked with for years. If I hadn't met my friend in the homeless system, I wouldn't be on the verge of starting a second YouTube channel with him and our other friend.

Everything that I am is the sum of the things I have done. All the little things that don't seem to make much sense at the beginning, add up to the picture of a complete person. Broken, dejected, volatile, sure, but complete.

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