#cause almost everyone else lost their weapons or were paralyzed in some way

[im-no-jedi]

sometimes I think about the TBB DnD oneshot my dad ran last year for our fam and how he made the setting “if the characters crashed on a literal medieval fantasy planet” and gave us fairy companions and cool melee weapons and how the final battle had us finding a giant Kyber crystal that the fairies claimed was cursed but I (Hunter) rolled a 16 Persuasion to convince them to let us have it, and my dad, like the dramatic guy he is, ended the game with us presenting the Kyber crystal to Admiral Tarkin, with dad congratulating all of us for making the Bad Batch have a hand in the future creation of the Death Star

Dave Filoni wishes he was as creative as my dad ROFL

[gotmilk5101520]

Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia Watch Episode 7 To Catch a Changeling

How to catch a changeling for idiots.

“All right”

“Do your worst”

The Sword of Daylight. A weapon to kill trolls and cutting watermelon.

“What is this mockery?” Me seeing stupid shit.

“You want to take it for a spin?”

*Cries in Troll*

Yeah, no one will notice.

“Ridiculous garment” Agree.

“Sorry. Draal was training Jim”

“Draal?” “Training?”

“Yeah, he sorta made a home in my basement to look out for the place”

“Of course. When a troll is defeated in combat, it’s completely natural for them to take refuge in the victor’s domicile” So, this happened before?

And it’s gone.

“It was, eh... It was out of focus, and i did forget to turn on the flash” Once again, i went back.

And the flash was on.

Have some Jim is done with this bushigal face.

“I’ve not left the Heartstone in a century” This is what it’s like to be force to go somewhere, cause they say it’ll be worth it. But it’s really not. Wow Vendel is becoming the most relatable character in this series.

“I hate conspiracies”

“That is why i am dedicated to rooting them out” If Trump hired Blinky to root out all the conspiracies of him Blinky will end up making them worse for Trump. #LetTrumphireBlinky

“If it’s everyone, it must be a conspiracy!” I would say Donald Trump, but that would be insult to Blinky.

“Later”

“Oh, no. Claire”

“Claire? A changeling?” Changeling Claire au.

“No. When i thought i was gonna die, i wrote Claire a letter, too, and told her everything”

“Everything?’

“Everything” And what is this “Everything” you speak of? What did you write?

“There you are!” Mission: Avoid Claire. Mission Fail.

“You didn’t run into Miss. Janeth yet, did you?”

“Is she mad i couldn’t make rehearsal yesterday?

“Something kinda came up”

“Heh heh” Good of the episode to put flashbacks in for me, so i don’t have to do it myself. Also Jim implies that last episode happened yesterday (Out of universe, yeah it did) But i thought about it and today would be Monday, and yesterday was Sunday. Jim and Draal’s fight happened on a school day meaning that it was Friday. Jim and Toby getting arrested and Jim making the letters were on a Thursday, and Jim and Toby finding out about Nomura was a Wednesday. And then the school trip to the museum was a Tuesday.

“Steve filled in. That’s what understudies are for, right?”

“Uh, you haven’t heard?

“Steve isn’t the understudy anymore. You are”

“She’s tired of you never showing up”

“So she made Steve Romeo. And trust me, Steve isn’t happy about it either”

“As i was saying, every algebraic equation requires balance”

“Not unlike, say, actors in an ensemble!”

“For instance”

“Every piece of this equation plays an important role”

“That is, unless variable X”

“is a zero”

“X has no role”

“X doesn’t show up”

“X lets the equation down”

“Then, the entire play-”

“I mean, equation- falls part!”

“It becomes impossible!”

“Mr. Lake”

“How would you solve this mathematical problem”

Yeah i’m at a lost.

“Promoting Steve to Romeo wasn’t your idea. Plus, he’s been trying to leave” “Tell me about it. After class he told me off. Steve told me off. Steve. Of all people”

“And, honestly, i’d rather be on stage with you”

I’ve seen that face before. Marinette made that face, too, when Adrien touched her shoulder at the end of The Evillustrator.

New meme template.

“So, we find another changeling”

“Stop saying that so loudly”

“Do you mind?”

“Whatever” Like i said, his name is Changeling.

“Ailment or curse?”

“Oi, numbskull! I;m supposed to answer it!”

“But i already did answer it” Wait are Rot and Gut like one troll sharing a body or no?

“You’re gonna need a gaggletack”

“Unfortunately, you see, we’re a bit short on those. Very hard to get”

“But i got a bag of them right here”

“What in the world? If you’ll excuse us for one moment”

“Ey, what are you doing? I’m trying to drive up the price over here”

“I thought we were trying to help these nice lads” Rot doesn’t understand Capitalism. Good boy.

“Gaggletack?”

“Rare artifact”

“Exceedingly rare. An object of great mystery”

“It’s a horseshoe”

“Made of pure iron”

“Why would you put such a precious thing on a horse’s foot?” Great, what other things are “Rare artifacts” to trolls?

“Beware. Changelings are swapped with their human counterparts at birth. So, it is likely these troll-pretenders have dwelt amongst you for decades”

“They could be anyone”

“Used car salesmen”

“Tax collectors”

“Television executives”

“Donald Trump”

“Yes, especially Donald Trump”

Nope.

Nope.

“Shall i hear more, or shall i speak-”

“Steve!”

“Hey! Who did that? And can i leave the play now?” “No”

Another new meme template.

Nope, nope, and nope.

“You, uh, try this out on Mr. Strickler?”

“Come on. You really think he is one?”

Yes.

So close.

“Here you go, Mr. Strickler. Here’s your horseshoe back”

“Thank you, Miss. Nunez, but that belongs to Mr. Lake”

“Oh. Well that would explain the flying horseshoes” Wait “Flying horseshoes”? You mean Claire noticed the horseshoe that hit Steve earlier?

“So not going to ask” Jim should look on the bright side of this. Claire touched the gaggletack, that means she’s not a changeling, and that the real reason she invited him to her house was not to secretly kill him. Oh wait. That’s not till later.

“Claire” “Still here” When people forget you’re here too. Trust me, i know that feeling.

“You’re still coming home with me, right?”

“Oh, right!”

“Claire and i are gonna go too her house... for math stuff”

Toby is surprised by how that escalated quickly. And it’s not even the second half of season 1 yet.

Series creator, director of The Shape of Water, and the man that said “Monster Fucker Rights” Guillermo Del Toro. Voicing a dentist.

“For the glory of Merlin”

“Daylight is mine to make babies ogle”

“He really likes you” Jim would be a great dad. Wink wink Claire. Wink wink.

“Wonder what he’s thinking about right now” “No idea what’s going through my brothers mind right now” “I’m going to get kidnapped next episode and you will never see me again for a long time. Goo goo”

‘Wow, this novocaine you numbed my mouth with is really strong”

“I can’t even feel my hands”

“That’s because i didn’t inject you with novocaine, dear”

“I hit you up with a potent paralyzer”

“Why would you do that?”

“Well, it’s not everyday someone comes in with a gaggletack” The moment i saw this.

“Why don’t i take that, sweetie? It’s not very hygienic” I knew she was a changeling.

“See, the equation only contains powers of X that are non-negative integers”

“Does that makes sense”

“Is it supposed to?”

“Nah. That’s why it’s called algebra” Algebra never makes sense. It makes Kingdom Hearts make sense. #ReplacealgebrawithKingdomHearts

“I realized you’ve got a lot more going on than people think”

“I do”

“I do?” You may now kiss the bride. Okay guys, Jim and Claire are married.

“You can’t just write a letter like this and not expect a conversation. If you had written something like “I’ve most likely been slaughtered by a troll” I would’ve said: Understandable, have a nice day” “Wait, really?” “No! You are lucky, you’re cute and everything” “I... Uh... It’s... Wait what?” “Nothing”

“You have to battle monsters?”

“Saving the world in which we know? What monsters are you battling? Are they fuckable?” “Well- Wait what?” “Uh... What monsters are you battling?”

Have some Claire being done with her (Not yet, almost, but not really, not for another season) boyfriend’s bushigal.

“I mean, we all have stuff we’ve got to go through”

“But are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I... Yeah! Metaphoric”

“I was...”

“In an exploring stage”

“Not successful” Let it be known that Claire thinks Jim has depression, if not suicidal tendencies. And i did not get this from the wiki or TvTropes.

“There’s some sentimental stuff at the end which i thought was... kinda sweet” Umm. Can we read the full letter? I want to know what he said.

“Really?”

“If you ever need someone to talk to about “the monsters” you can talk to me”

“It can be our secret” Yeah. There are going to be a lot of secrets you two will be sharing. Also, you two could’ve kissed here as well. But whatever you tried i guess.

“Halt, changeling!”

“Or else my giant friend will tear you limb from limb!”

“Maybe later” These things always happens.

“Oh, it burns!”

“Oh, it’s just a painting” Paintings don’t kill trolls confirm.

Huh. After an entire episode of using it on everyone, and making me think it didn’t work, it actually does work.

“What’s that?” “Laughing gas”

*Laughs in Troll*

“Laughs in Troll*

“Hello? Wait how did you get my number?”

“Hey! What’s up, Nunez?”

“Hey Colby”

“Someone named Woby?” Claire can’t remember Toby’s name.

“Fighting monsters again?”

“Who are you, Jim Lake” Claire is getting sus.

Imagine walking into this.

���Perish, you worm!” “Wait, before you kill me, i have something to ask. You know Nomura, right?” “Yes” “Well she has a history with a troll named Draal. Do you know what their history is?” “No, this is the first time i’m hearing about it” “Oh, okay. Thank you. You can die now” “You’re welcome. Wait what?”

“Do you have some magic artifact that can clean this mess?”

“Yes. I believe it’s called a Tobias” Translation: “Clean it yourself”

“It appears Nomura has gotten her way”

“Another changeling has been chosen”

“And look who it is” “Enrich? Enquran? Enquin?” “Oh, for the love of. It says Enrique!” “Oh. Who’s that?” “Claire Nunez’s little brother!” “Which one is Claire again?” “The one you haven’t met!” “Well no wonder i don’t know who that is. I never met them”

Anyone is a changeling. Maybe i’m a changeling.

So who’s the worst babysitter? Jim or Marinette?

[thesilverdragoon]

Griffin, Gryphon, On The Wall Final

The sky had grown dark and the smell of smoke and fuel filled the air. Loud metallic clamors rung out in all directions, along with distant screams and shouts.

A bloody massacre. That’s what it was.

People in Grand Company uniforms who were not formally a part of them, against the Garlean soldiers and their giant and menacing machines, fighting on just about every nook and cranny that Baelsar’s Wall had to offer.

Balthasar could scarcely remember a time when he needed to run anywhere.

His feet hardly knew the lay of the land here. Of the steel floors and metal winding paths littered with bodies or weapons or bits of machinery. Were it not for the lights coming from those still living, he would have never been able to see the path leading up to the top.

No one stopped him, in fact, they hardly noticed him. Likewise, he did not stop for any of them.

Most, if not all, those who had come would die here. There was nothing he could do for them, not like this.

Still…

There! Up there!

He slowed to a stop and glanced around quickly, before directing his attention upwards.

The darkened form stood surveying the chaos below, though...how there was still light coming from him…

Balthasar ran on, up the path along the side of the wall until he’d reached the top. Another cloud of smoke and steam billowed in front of him, obscuring the pulsating dark form before wafting away.

In his hand however- there lied an even darker shape, black and bits of red aether flashing like lightning during a storm.

“I know not how you managed to meander your way up to a place like this storyteller, it doesn’t particularly seem like a place you’d have decided to wander. Though...storytellers need stories to tell, don’t they?”

The miqo’te’s jaw tensed. “You know what I have seen.”

The Ala Mhigan glanced over his shoulder. “Oh? I would imagine nothing at all, not blind folded like that.”

Balthasar said nothing.

“I’m doing right by Ala Mhigo, our home. That’s more than anyone else still left could say, save for the few brave ones that decided it was time to pick their arses up out of the dirt and do something about it.”

“You are taking these people to their deaths, this is a hopeless venture!”

“Hopeless- that’s what everyone keeps saying. It’s what they’ve BEEN saying for years. I’ve seen it, in their voices, in their eyes, their posture- they believe what the Garleans have led them to believe- that we have NO chance of taking back what is rightfully ours!”

Ilberd gave a long sigh, letting his shoulders drop.

“You’re here on behalf of the Scions aren’t you?”

“No.” Ilberd’s brows furrowed.

��I am here, for you.”

The man let out a small sound of disbelief, though it was laced with a humorous note.

“Aye, well I suppose I could use a storyteller, once this is over and through with. Someone’ll need to write us a new ballad, about the real heroes-”

“LOOK AROUND YOU! Surely YOU can see what devastation and destruction you’ve wrought on MORE than yourself!!” Balthasar interrupted him, his voice becoming much louder and unusually forceful. It didn’t fit his image.

Small, meek, scrawny, barely a whisper to most people.

But his voice…

Don’t hurt him- please don’t hurt him-

“All those you have laid low, in the name of becoming a savior of your own lands- that is NOT a noble cause, nor will it EVER be!”

Slowly the miqo’te’s shoulders fell, still rising gently and falling again afterwards. “I have COME to stop YOU, Ilberd!”

For a moment only the sound of battle rang out below them, and the wind ceased to move. The air lied still, filled with the stench of death.

The Ala Mhigan, despite knowing otherwise, held his gaze where Balthasar’s eyes supposedly were.

“...You aren’t really from Ala Mhigo, are you?” He took a step back, catching the miqo’te by surprise. “I should have guessed as much. That or you’ve lost hope long ago just like everyone else. A wandering elegy only fit for reminding people of what they once had.

Well no matter. You’re too late anyway.”

Balthasar cast his hand forward in one quick motion. Ice quickly shot out from under his feet, branching through the floor like a rapidly growing tree and its branches as it headed straight for the Ala Mhigan.

It erupted as soon as it reached him, bursting outwards and sending shards every which way accompanied by a spray of mist.

The miqo’te waited briefly, blinded by the light of the aether in the air- only to be met with a hot and sharp blast that managed to throw him back several paces.

What happened?? Where is he?

Once the mist cleared again, he could see a thin layer of shimmering light surrounding the man. A force field. Emanating from the one- no, there were two now- objects that he now held in front of himself. Despite them being clouded by blackness, they almost seemed to roll in his hands, before opening to reveal a set of slit pupils that dilated briefly.

“You can’t stop what has already been put in motion, storyteller.”

“What do you plan to do with those.”

Dragon eyes.

“I plan to win the war, and put an end to all of this.”

“Then you are a fool.” Regardless, Balthasar stood up straight again and approached him, fists balled, and with a firm frown. “And fools do not win wars.”

It- it doesn’t have to be this way- please- Balthasar ignored him.

I’m BEGGING you-

Ilberd smirked as he backed away from the miqo’te, towards the edge of the platform. The eyes seemed to be watching them both.

“I really believed I had found an ally within you, Balthasar. But you’re just like the rest of them. That’s your talent. Weaving fantastical lies.

If you would, at least, make this one just as entertaining as the rest.”

“ILBERD-”

ILBERD-

He took another step backwards. Balthasar broke out into a sprint, rushing forward at a frightening speed with a sudden burst of aether.

The Ala Mhigan threw himself backwards first.

The miqo’te quickly peered over the edge of the platform, only to hear his vicious cackling on the way down, before there was the sound of the impact. Even at a distance, the noise shot through him like a physical bullet.

He felt paralyzed. Nothing would move, his arms, his legs, his head, his gaze, none of it. Not even his breath.

Until a sudden well of energy began to boil and bubble up from below. Thick and heavy- like slogging through burning tar. A beam shot up into the sky for only a moment before dissipating. The wind began to pick up, being sucked into a focal point that began to form in the sky.

It was blinding- like staring into a sun. Balthasar turned away, holding an arm over his face as he backed away.

There was nothing left to do here.

He ran.

___________________

Baelsar’s Wall had stood silent for many days, and many nights after that.

Even from the Twelvewood, anyone with a view of the area could see that no soul walked among the ruins.

Haunted. Cursed. Those were some of the words the forest’s residents had used to describe the place. Not that it hadn’t been a bad place before.

But to be the birthing ground of a new primal, one to dwarf even the mighty Bahamut’s destruction…

Balthasar stood on a grassy hill, gazing upwards towards the wall in the distance, his fingers curling around his simple staff.

It seemed so long ago.

Ala Mhigo had been liberated after all. But not in the way anyone had expected. So he had heard, anyway. The victory was short lived, as the Garleans had retaliated shortly afterwards, and the fighting continued.

All the while he felt a harsh pang of sadness ache in his body’s chest.

“…Man has always been this way. As I have described to you. And as you have seen, time and time again.” He said aloud.

...They aren’t all that way…

“No...You are right. But, very few turn out differently.”

We could have saved him- maybe I could have- “There was nothing you could have done.” The pain sharped, causing him to hunch over slightly.

You don’t know that. The miqo’te took in a breath through his mouth. A sigh that was more of an inhale instead. “You would save someone who has done many terrible things in the name of good?”

He wasn’t terrible. He just wanted to go home. He just…

It was pointless to argue.

Balthasar righted himself, shaking his head as he turned to walk away. He hesitated in doing so however, glancing over his shoulder to take one last look.

We should have tried...tried HARDER...we… maybe I…

I could have done something, if it weren’t for you.

I could have stopped him.

“...Perhaps, little one.” The sorcerer muttered, as he disappeared into the woods.

[holylangdon]

Moments Silence (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Request: 14D & 10K & 6/8 from the BDSM Michael prompt list by @michael-lives-on

Warnings: Dub!Con-ish, generally NSFW, Fem!Witch!Reader, physical harm to the reader that causes unconsciousness, Michael makes sexual advances on the reader, taunting, brief choking, kidnap (technically), probably more

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: slightly dubcon?? maybe? i've never written anything where informed consent is not 100% there or is a grey area so i hope its good but anyway enjoy

You never thought the world would truly end. You were under the impression that earth itself was an indestructible force to be reckoned with, something that was beyond anything or anyone’s control. When in reality, everything you’d ever known and loved was just like a water balloon; If you apply just the right amount of pressure in the right places, just the right amount of stress and hurt, and it explodes from the inside out. It’s contents spill all over, creating a horrible mess. A horrible, horrible mess. 

That’s what was happening at this very moment in time. 

You’d been at home when the first missile hit. Korea, the news man on Channel Eleven said. but Anne Barnes from Eight said it was in Canada. The next channel said Russia. Ukraine. Portugal. No one had any clear understanding of what was going on in the world, save for the fact that the United States had not yet been struck. They estimated that the major cities would get hit first. New York, Los Angeles, New Orleans. You were in Los Angeles. Coven business had sent you here many months ago, back when the council went underground. You never expected to be smack dab in the beginning of the end of the world. 

The president and vice president appeared on television next with half of their office, making some halfhearted statement about how they’re sorry for the mass tragedy that’s happening in the other countries but that the United States of America is an unsinkable ship. We won’t go down easy. When this is all over, we will donate funds and resources for recovery. That’s what he said, at least, but you could read right through his facade. He was just as scared as everyone else. His uncomfortable seat at the wooden desk in the Oval Office couldn’t protect him now and he damn well knew it. Hungry reporters ate every word from the palm of his hand but you flipped the channel instead, in utter disbelief of his words. 

The newsman was crying. Hysterical. Weak and damn near paralyzed with fear. He began to plead for his life, apologizing to his wife and children that he wouldn’t be coming home, for another bomb had dropped. Here, this time. That’s when you began to hear a faint rumbling in the distance. It grew stronger and stronger until you were knocked to the floor by the sheer force of it’s impact. Another missile had hit somewhere, and it couldn’t have been too far from you, judging by the sound of it. 

Just as you began to stand up, a panicked mess, you reached for your phone. Cordelia. Mallory and Coco. Madison. They needed to know what was happening. You needed to call someone, anyone. You needed to hear a familiar voice. But now, you quickly realized, all of your sister witches were gone. Your mentors were buried twelve feet in the dirt in a deep hibernation. Coco and Mallory were in Beverly Hills, unknowing of who they truly are. Zoe and Queenie and Misty and everyone else you could think of were dead.

There was no one left to help you.

Moments later the door to your apartment was bust open by two tall figures in bulky black armor. They looked like police, almost, except for the hellish and evil aura they exuded as they stood in a military-like position of order, staring over you. You held your palm out in a halfhearted attempt to keep them from crossing any further.

“Y/N Y/L/N, You need to come with us.” The shorter one said. A woman. About six foot tall, she was far scarier than the man next to her. Just her tone was enough to make you shiver.

“We’re sent by Michael Langdon to retrieve you. We are authorized to use force.” Your eyes darted to the nightstick on his waist, the thick leathery gloves around his fingers. The woman had a belt on, no doubt filled with dangerous weapons too. 

“Why wouldn’t he come for me himself? Why would he send you?” You felt yourself backing away from the two bodies, but with every step you took backwards, they stepped forward. You’d trapped yourself in a corner, your mind racing. What would the Antichrist want with you? 

“We belong to the Cooperative.” The man stated simply, not exactly answering your question. He took a small step forward. “Mr. Langdon has given us strict instructions to retrieve you and bring you to a secure lo-”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to send them flying backwards with a flick of your wrist. They stumbled, lost their balance, but were soon back on their feet together. Your magic wasn't strong enough to stop the guards as they each grabbed one of your arms, placing them in thick metal cuffs. You focused, mumbling small Latin words under your breath, not even sure what you were trying to do. Stop them? Slow them down? Whatever it was, it wasn't working.

You fought as they dragged you down the stairs. Kicked, yelled, bit, scratched and screamed until finally, after an exchange of hushed whispers above you, the man slammed your head into the wall. 

When you woke up, you were greeted by no one but the cold air inside of whatever dim concrete hell you'd entered. You were tired, your body aching in pain. The room smelled almost of copper, which you noticed as you stood from the bed to inspect it. Freshly made, the imprint of your body sunken into the duvet. You must’ve been here a while. A wooden nightstand rested beside the bed, a series of candles on top of it. You weakly flicked to light them, revealing the rest of the room as you explored.

It was almost like a studio apartment, not much different than your own. A small kitchen and dining table in one corner, a thin wall separating the two spaces. Directly across from the bed was a door, likely a bathroom, if you had to guess. A large couch and old record player sat in the opposite corner. It was nice, save for the dark concrete walls and floor. You spotted a drain in the middle of the floor. That meant you were underground. A bunker, maybe?

“You’re awake.” A smooth voice echoed from the other side of the room, snapping you from your adventure. You turned around sharply. Michael Langdon, the Antichrist himself, leaned against the entrance to the room that you hadn't yet noticed. He was dressed nicely, a black button-down shirt and red tie with black slacks, beautiful rings adorning his fingers. His messy strawberry waves were tucked behind his ear. Handsome, almost. If he were anyone else you’d be glad to be trapped here with him. “Took you long enough. I started to think maybe you wouldn’t wake up.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked. He stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest as he began to walk around the space. 

“A day or so. Forgive me, it’s hard to keep track of time when the world is ending.” He smirked, picking up a small globe on the table beside him. He inspected it for a moment, shaking it, before putting it down. An eerie feeling loomed over the room. He was up to something. If keeping you in a bunker wasn't enough of a sign, the normalcy that surrounded him was.

“What do you want from me?” 

“How does it feel to know you’re the only one of your kind left on this burned up planet?” The blonde man asked, interrupting you as you finished your sentence. He laughed lightly, gesturing for you to come closer. A disgusted look crossed your face as you took a hesitant step closer to him. “Lighten up, little witch. I’m truly curious, seeing as the two of us are in a similar circumstance at the moment. Antichrist, last witch on earth...”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” You dully noted. 

He visibly relaxed when you spoke, almost a bit too much. “Is that a threat? I didn’t think you’d be so fierce. But when you are the last of your kind... It makes sense. Sit.” By the end of his sentence, you’d moved to stand in front of him across the table. Following his order, you sat in the cold chair. He stood still, letting his eyes roam over you. “I chose you for a reason, you know.”

“And why’s that?”

“Your power. You may not be the next Supreme, but with the power of thousands of your dead sister witches flowing through you... I’m sure you’ll do an exquisite job.” He quietly walked closer to you, his fingertips trailing along the table. 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and swallowing your fear. Pride, too, preparing for an almost certain death as you questioned him. “What if I choose not to help you?” Michael leaned down, just at your eye level, his mouth coming close to meeting your jaw.

“Maybe you didn’t get the memo.” He whispered, his breath hot on your ear. He rose from his position, leaning onto the table instead. He raised his hand, but not to strike you. Instead, he brought his ringed thumb to your cheek, stroking the soft flesh lightly. “Everything is mine now, and that includes you. I’m afraid you don't have an option, Y/N.”

His bright blue eyes were dark and hungry as he looked over you now, his hand sliding down from your cheek, stopping at your neck to feel over your pulse. He let his hand roam your cold skin for a moment before a deliciously evil smirk crossed his lips. He leaned closer to you once more, humming a quiet tune as he locked his hand around your throat. He had done this before, you could tell, by the way he squeezed just perfectly enough for you to feel the intense pressure but still be able to take in shallow breaths.

His other hand crept closer and closer to your top, working to pull the hem out of your jeans. You shivered in disgust under his touch but could do nothing to stop it. He had you in a strong grip, one slight movement away from death. If he moved an inch, or applied just a bit too much force to your delicate throat, you’d be dead within seconds. He clearly got aroused by that idea as he now worked to unbutton your pants.

“I don't want to punish you.” He said lightly. It almost sounded sincere. “You’re going to be a good girl, correct?” You nodded to the best of your ability and he let go. You took in a deep breath, having missed the freedom of doing so. “Take off your clothes.”

You sat still, not moving to follow his order this time. He let out a light sigh and muttered something to himself as he stood from the table, moving behind you. He placed his arms around you, physically lifting you up and turning you to meet his chest. His quick fingers began to remove your top again, but you attempted to take a fall back in resistance. He put his foot out to stop you, but the both of you were shaken by a distant rumbling. Another bomb? 

You almost fell to the ground by the sudden shaking of the earth as it hit, but Michael’s new strong grasp on your arm kept you in place. “You hear that? You can scream all you want, there’s no one left to come rescue you. You’re all alone now, Y/N, so you might as well just submit to me.”

“No!” You shouted, trying to pull your arm away from him. He was far stronger than you. It was useless to try. Michael pushed forward with a certain passion, pressing his lips to yours as his grip on you loosened.

You almost pulled away. Almost. But you found yourself enjoying the simple pleasure far more than you should have. After a moment, your hands instinctively reached for his hair as you nearly arched into his body. His hands roamed your ass, making you gasp as he gave it a rough squeeze. Just enough for him to slip his tongue between your lips.

Rather quickly, you snapped out of whatever lustful trance he’d put you in. This was the Antichrist. He was singlehandedly responsible for the genocide of over seven billion people. Less than one percent of all humanity remained on his Earth. You could smell the sweet scent of death and destruction in the air, but as he pushed you closer and closer to the bed... You found yourself not wanting to fight back anymore.

[lunarwkh]

hello! i’m not saying you have to, but i highly, highly recommend listening to this song while reading this. it was my inspiration for writing this and is a also just an amazing song. 

TW; g*n usage, mentions of s**cide and s**cidal thoughts, mentions of violence

[4:02] The sun began to set, dawn creeping up on you sooner than you had expected. You stood inside of a large mall - a place you and a few others had come to call home over the past… you didn’t even know how long. The concept of time had become foreign to you the longer life went on.

No one expected the apocalypse to come so quickly, but it wasn’t long before earth’s cookie began to crumble. Everyone seemed to handle it in various ways, too. Some people prayed and wished and searched for a cure that didn’t - and would never - exist. Others decided to spare themselves the pain of being turned or eaten alive through different ways of suicide. And some, although few, had made it their life’s mission to live through this. (A hilarious concept, you always told yourself. How could one escape their inevitable death?)

Your cold, frail hands were planted on the Plexiglas doors, though it was hard to see outside with all the objects barricading you in. Even when things were calmer than most days, you were still greeted with a real-life horror show whenever you let your dull eyes peer out to get a glimpse of the broken world before you. But, your curiosity always got the best of you, even if it left you feeling emptier in the end.

“You alright?” a low voice asked from behind you, your ears perking up in response. You turned your head to face the figure the words came from, and you weren’t surprised to find that it was your closest friend, Park Jisung. He was tall and lanky, his brown hair in need of a cut (you reminded yourself to look for some scissors later and take care of it for him) and his clothes baggy, covered in stains of various shades and colors. He once fit into those, but when your food supply began running low and you had to start rationing it he lost quite a bit of weight. You always tried to offer him some of what little you had, but he would promptly decline, saying how you needed it more than him.

You could never understand why he cared about you so much. During times like this, most people just fend for themselves, but he always bent over backwards to make sure you were alright. ‘But that’s just how friends are,’ you’d always tell yourself, trying to be rational, though jumping to conclusions was hard not to do.

Jisung stepped closer, seemingly awaiting a response. “Yeah,” you forced a faint smile, “I’m just fine.”

He nodded, shifting awkwardly. “It’s going to be night soon. We should start heading back to the others,” he told you, eyes scanning the ground.

You fully turned around, crossing your arms as you stared him down. “What is it with you, Jisung?”

He looked back at you, eyes wide for a split second before his face contorted into a confused look. He was hiding something from you and it was painfully obvious, but you doubted he’d admit it.

“Nothing is, Y/N. Why’d you ask?”

“Because, you’ve been acting weird lately. Around me,” you paused and sighed. “Did I… Did I say or do something to upset you? Because you can always tell me if I did.”

By this point, the latter looked like that of a lost puppy. His tone, however, was cold and defensive: “I don’t know what you’re on about. Stop assuming shit, it won’t make things any easier.”

You scoffed in response, feeling like you just got stabbed in the chest. “I have to find a pair of scissors,” you explained. “Your hair needs a trim; it’s getting too long.”

“And that matters because..?”

“It’s going to get in your eyes and soon you won’t be able to see. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a pair with us.” Jisung couldn’t argue with that, so he instead softly nodded.

“Then let’s go,” he spoke.

You spent the next twenty-or-so minutes searching around, coming out unsuccessful each time. It had grown dark, the sky outside a shade of pitch black. You knew it would be best to quit now and search again the following morning, but Jisung insisted that the two of you find what you had been searching for in the first place.

You followed behind him, his pace rather quick. “Jisung, are you sure it wouldn’t be best to turn back now? I can find the scissors tomorrow, so there’s no need to rush.”

He stopped for a second, looking down as he seemingly pondered something. Sighing, he parted his lips to speak. “If you want to turn back, then fine. I just…” his deep voice trailed off until there was no sound left, making it so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Jisung, cut the bullshit,” you spat, annoyed with how distant he had been lately. You stepped closer to him, the soles of your sneakers squeaking against the laminated flooring. “You’re hiding something from me. I thought we agreed that, no matter what, we would always tell each other everything. What happened to that, huh?” You had no clue where all this pent-up anger was coming from, or why you were unleashing it on the person you loved most.

He went silent, pupils darting to direct their attention anywhere else but you. “Jisung!” you snapped.

“What?” he sharply retorted, a sorrowful tone dripping from his words like poison from the fangs of a snake. You felt like you had just been bitten, your eyes starting to water. “What do you want me to say to you?” he continued, “That you mean the world to me? That without you I think I might as well be better off dead? The only reason I’ve been able to make it through each fucking day without trying to blow my fucking brains out is because of you. You’re what makes living in this shithole and breathing in this shitty, disease-riddled air so much more manageable.”

Your breath was caught in your throat, the feeling of being constricted making it hard for you to let any oxygen enter your body. Warm, salty tears flooded from your eyes, pouring out onto your red, puffy cheeks. Your sobs were soft, but could still be heard.

Jisung had seen enough, feeling that he’d caused enough damage by that point. He couldn’t stay there, not for the time being, so he turned on his heel and ran as far away as he could.

Turns out, that was going to be the biggest regret in his entire pitiful life.

It wasn’t very long after he went to make his escape that he heard a blood-curdling scream coming from where he had left you. He could physically feel his heart drop into his stomach, body going paralyzed. He couldn’t move, speak, much less breathe for what felt like an eternity - though it was only a few moments.

He thought he knew pure terror, the feeling of fear, but nothing could even hold a torch in comparison to whatever it was he was feeling right now. There’s was nothing more that he wanted than to wake up, silently begging for his body to do so and let him escape this hell of a nightmare.

But nothing happened. He found himself still standing in the same spot, your chilling screams still ringing through his ears. At this point, he couldn’t even tell if they were real or just his mind playing tricks on him. It took much longer than it should’ve for him to come back down to earth, but, the moment he did, he turned around and whipped his gun out from his back pocket. Holding it in his hands, he stared the monster tearing and eating away at your flesh, not hesitating to shoot the damned thing down. He shot his gun many times, though he had laid the creature to rest with the first bullet, but he was so angry and hurt and blinded by his emotions he didn’t realize that he was actively wasting his ammo.

Once he snapped out of his moment of rage, he dropped the gun, the weapon hitting the floor with a thud. Then he ran - harder than he ever had, faster than he ever thought he could, rushing to get to your body… or whatever would be left of it. For all he knew, you could’ve become a pile of blood and bones by the time he had gotten around to expelling the thing that had got you in the first place.

Upon reaching your bloodied form, Jisung felt the urge to look away, a slight taste of bile rising to the back of his throat. The stench was the worst thing he had ever smelled in his entire life, and he couldn’t tell if it was coming from the zombie laying sprawled out beside you, or if you had slowly started rotting in the time he spent blindly shooting his pistol around. The former made more sense, but Jisung was so out-of-touch with his surroundings that obvious things suddenly had giant question marks in front of them.

Trying to not cry, he knelt (more like fell to his knees, but he wouldn’t admit that he had let himself get so weak) beside you. Your thin fingers reached out to grab his face, but he linked his large hand with yours, pulling it to his chest. His brows furrowed, lips quivering as he tried to hold himself together, repressing the strong urge to just break down then and there. You were dying with every single second that passed and he thought that, if it would at least ease the dire situation a bit, he should stay strong for you in your final moments.

He wanted to say so much to you, but he was so broken even the mere thought of trying to verbalize all he felt for you was so far from his reach. It didn’t help that your grip on his hand was getting weaker quickly, your eyes opening and closing repeatedly. You were barely holding on and seeing you like this felt like a stab straight to the heart.

“Ji-Jisung…” you began to croak out, his eyes watering more as you tried to force the words to come out your throat.

“I… I lov-,” your breathed hitched and you began violently coughing, blood dripping from the corner of your pale lips. “I love y-you. I al-always have. Please… P-Please carry on. For… For m-me. Please?” Jisung nodded his head almost violently, not quite processing all that you had said to him.

Your hand went limp, only being held up by his own; your eyes became hooded, barely open, but just enough that one could see the light vanish from them. You were truly gone, and Jisung never got the chance to tell you how much he loved you.

And then it hit him like lightening - you loved him and he mentally cursed himself for not taking the chance to say he felt the same.

He didn’t want to have to clean up this mess, or discard of your body once he had put you out of your misery a second time. He just wanted to lay with you and curl up behind your warm body, holding you close to him and whispering the sweetest of things into your ear until you would fall asleep. He wanted to be happy with you because he knew that he wasn’t ever going to get a chance at that again. But his dreams were shattered, torn down quicker than they had been built up. Your body was cold and your bright smile gone, never to appear again. You were just a corpse, nothing left of you except a million memories and a million wishes.

And, for the first time since the apocalypse had begun, Jisung cried.

[therealandian]

Spoilery as hell essay about Tony Stark I did for my English class:

Please do not read it if you haven’t seen ENDGAME, because everything is spoiled. EVERYTHING!!!

This essay explores how Tony Stark is a tragic hero more than anything else.

The Tragedy of Tony Stark

The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) is a titanic movie franchise spanning more than a decade with over 20 movies to its name. As a franchise based off of comic books, it has its share of wacky characters, witty one-liners, and ridiculous costumes. But as a movie franchise, it also has its share of dark, profound plot elements. One such element is the tragedy of Tony Stark.

Tony Stark is no ordinary hero. He is, as he once boldly proclaimed, a “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” (The Avengers). Beyond that, he is Iron Man, legendary hero in his personal weaponized suit of mechanical armor. But this is only scratching at the surface of the man who has carried the entire MCU since its infancy. During this time, he has been beaten down and betrayed, has suffered and struggled, and has been abused and ignored. Despite all of his achievements, Tony is much more of a tragic hero than he has ever been just a hero.

A tragic hero is defined in the dictionary as “a great or virtuous hero…who is destined for downfall, suffering, or defeat.” Commonly, they’re set in dramatic tragedies, such as Oedipus Rex or Hamlet. Although the MCU doesn’t quite ring true as a “dramatic tragedy,” the “hero destined for suffering” part perfectly describes Tony, who struggles against foes far more powerful than himself, only to lose a piece of himself in the process. Jennifer Wallace puts it best when she states “The source of a tragic hero's greatness is also the cause of his destruction. The overriding desire for honor that motivates tragic protagonists also results in their shame and demise” (Wallace). This also describes Tony very well; many of Tony’s enemies are of his own making, and people tend to get hurt when he takes matters into his own hands and attempts to solve the problems himself.

Almost everything that happens throughout the MCU involves the tragedy of Tony Stark in some way. He is a walking, breathing catastrophe who can barely hold himself together. He is guilt-ridden and anxiety-plagued, yet everyone still expects him to be Iron Man. When he snaps and lashes out at people, or otherwise ignores their requests for assistance, everyone tends to be surprised. One of the most clear examples comes from the most recent MCU film: Avengers: Endgame. After Tony had just returned from almost starving to death during his month-long space trip, the other Avengers immediately want to talk strategy with him. He’s still hooked up to an IV while they discuss all the things he’d predicted was coming long before they ever came to pass. He snaps at Steve Rogers, saying “I got nothin' for you, Cap! I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options! Zero, zip, nada. No trust—LIAR!” (Avengers: Endgame). He collapses shortly thereafter, completely, utterly defeated.

In a world of supersoldiers, monsters, aliens, and supervillains, Tony is a bit of an odd man out—he’s still human. “The Tony Stark character is memorable in that he was someone who could readily comment on the insanity around him” (“First-of-its-Kind…”), says the Targeted News Service. Rather than being a supersoldier, ultra powerful gamma monster, or highly trained assassin, Tony is just a “man in a can” (Iron Man 3). He has only his intelligence to aid his hero’s journey, and he carries the burden of it with him everywhere. In every movie after the first Avengers film, Tony struggles with the knowledge that something like the attack on New York will happen again (Iron Man 3; Avengers: Age of Ultron). His greatest fear is losing everything because he failed to do enough, and it shows the most in his most vulnerable moments. Even worse, his fears become reality before his very eyes (Avengers: Infinity War).

Further setting the burden of tragic heroism on Tony’s shoulders is the sheer amount of villains he’s created. Justin Hammer, Ivan Vanko, Aldrich Killian, Ultron, and Adrian Toomes are all directly linked to Tony and his bad decisions. Killian is ignored by Tony completely after he makes a promise to meet him, Hammer attempts to replicate the Iron Man armor for military use and personal gain, Vanko gets Tony’s personal advice on how to make his weapons more efficient, Toomes loses his job because of Tony’s handling the aftermath of Loki’s attack on New York, and Ultron comes into existence because Tony let his fears control him (Iron Man 3; Iron Man 2; Spiderman: Homecoming; Avengers: Age of Ultron).

Tony’s ego is certainly one to blame, but so is his carelessness. He often lets the situation dictate his response, rather than forcing his actions to dictate the situation. In other words, Tony is a reactionary character. This can be seen best in Captain America: Civil War (CA:CW), when he reacts to the death of his parents, and in Avengers: Age of Ultron (AoU), when he experiments with Loki’s scepter to streamline the creation of Ultron.

Tony also faces two life-shattering betrayals and several smaller ones, further placing him in the “tragic” category. In his debut movie, Iron Man, he learns that the terrorist group called the Ten Rings was hired to kill him by Obadiah, his trusted friend and mentor. Obadiah later paralyzes Tony and physically rips out the one thing that keeps him alive—his arc reactor. Tony manages to survive on an older model, but is almost killed in the ensuing battle. He even resigns himself to death and forces his personal assistant to blow the reactor beneath them. He fortunately survives, but his former friend does not (Iron Man). In this movie, not only does he survive a torturous three months in Afghanistan, but he comes back to almost immediately die at the hand of one of his closest friends.

In CA:CW, Tony learns that his parents were murdered by Bucky Barnes, who is unfortunately standing next to him at that time. He’s understandably distraught, but becomes enraged when Steve reveals that he already knew about the murder and never told him. This moment is especially ironic given Steve’s line in AoU, when he tells Tony in frustration that “sometimes my teammates don’t tell me things” (Avengers: Age of Ultron). Tony attacks the pair, who proceed to nearly beat him to death. At one point, Steve rips off Tony’s face mask, then stabs his arc reactor with his shield. They then leave him, beaten and alone in Siberia, with Steve having chosen one friend over the other. Tumblr user @teamsharoncarter notes that “Tony Stark lifted up his arms, covering his face when Steve was going to hit him with the shield, subtly showing that Tony is used to anyone he trusted to betray him and try to kill him” (“Tony Stark…”). While this point could be debated as mere headcanon, it is true that Tony is betrayed often. It’s fascinating to see a side-by-side comparison of Tony’s facial expression when he discovers the two major betrayals.

Tony also deals quite a bit with mental illness. It becomes most prevalent in Iron Man 3 (IM3), and looms on the sidelines in other movies. Given at the start of IM3, he has been kidnapped and tortured (Iron Man), has nearly died of radiation poisoning (Iron Man 2), and has flown a nuclear missile into a wormhole to kill an alien army with no hope of surviving (The Avengers), it’s a wonder PTSD isn’t a major topic prior to it. Much of IM3’s secondary plot revolves around Tony’s mental state post-Avengers, and he never quite resolves it. Later on, he begins a multi-million dollar project to help “clear traumatic memories” by recreating them in a pseudo-physical format and altering them as the user wishes (Captain America: Civil War).

Tony tries again and again to do the right thing, yet he somehow makes everything worse in the process and loses something very dear to him. These attempts and subsequent failures are the most telling mark of his tragic heroism. He saves his life with the arc reactor, but it winds up poisoning him with radiation (Iron Man 2). He enters the clean energy market to make up for his company’s history of weapons contracting, only for his building to be partially destroyed during the Battle of New York (The Avengers). He tries to be better to his girlfriend, only for her to be kidnapped and tortured after their home is blown up because he ditched someone on a roof in 1999 (Iron Man 3). He tries to build a peacekeeping A.I., but it turns murderous and tries to drop a city out of the sky to wipe out humanity. He winds up losing much of his certainty, Bruce Banner, and J.A.R.V.I.S., his personal A.I. based on a childhood friend (Avengers: Age of Ultron). He signs the Sokovia Accords to try and redeem himself, but according to Rogers, it is the moment he signs it that he destroys the team (Captain America: Civil War). He tries to retire from being a hero and settle down, but he winds up lost in space with half the universe disappearing from existence because someone wanted to spare his life (Avengers: Infinity War).

It is rather fitting that when Ultron asks him if he’s come to confess his sins, he answers with “I dunno, how much time you got?” (Avengers: Age of Ultron).

Yet no one stops him from doing anything, and it often ends in disaster. And then when he tries to right these wrongs later on, his former teammates turn on him and abandon him in the cold of Siberia, halfway beaten to death by two supersoldiers. His contributions to the team and efforts to protect it are overlooked and forgotten the moment he signs the Sokovia Accords. Clint Barton says “you better watch your back on this guy. Chances are he's going to break it” (Captain America: Civil War), despite having fought alongside him only a year before during AoU. Even Tony’s plan to take the fight to Thanos, rather than returning to Earth, backfires and results in the loss of the Time Stone to the Mad Titan (Avengers: Infinity War).

All this being said, there is no denying that Tony is a hero. Incredibly, despite everything he goes through, he still keeps being Iron Man. As pointed out by Marvel Comics editor Axel Alonso, “he perseveres because of his winning combination of brains and heart” (”Iron Man Insider”). Tony himself even proclaims “I shouldn't be alive, unless it was for a reason...I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right...there is the next mission, and nothing else” (Iron Man).

In almost any story that’s called a tragedy, the protagonist(s) dies at the end. Take, for example, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and The Fall of Icarus. Unfortunately for Tony Stark, this trope still applies. The final nail in the coffin for Tony’s tragic-yet-heroic narrative is his battle against Thanos in Avengers: Endgame. After having survived wave after countless wave of attacks against both himself and his planet, Tony is forced to make the ultimate sacrifice, despite having finally achieved all but one of his goals throughout the MCU: “Peace in our time” (Avengers: Age of Ultron; Avengers: Endgame).

Despite everything, though—all the pain, suffering, torment, betrayals, and losses—he keeps getting up and coming back to fight the bad guys in a bid to make the world a better place. And perhaps this is the most tragic part about him. It’s not that he keeps losing, it’s that he keeps believing that someday, somehow, he’ll get his happy ending. And now that we know how Tony’s character arc ends, we also know that he never truly finds it.

Works Cited (for things that aren’t the movies)

“First-of-its-Kind Course to Examine ‘Universe’ of Cinematic Storytelling, Perspectives in Ongoing Marvel Films.” (2014, Sep 16). Targeted News Service.

“Iron Man Insider.” Discover, vol. 34, no. 4, May 2013, p. 23. EBSCOhost.

@teamsharoncarter. “Tony Stark lifted up his arms, covering his face when Steve was going to hit him with the shield, subtly showing that Tony is used to anyone he trusted to betray him and try to kill him.” Tumblr, http://teamsharoncarter.tumblr.com/post/144019313080/tony-stark-lifted-up-his-arms-covering-his-face.

Wallace, Jennifer. (2012). “The Tragic Paradox.” Comparative Drama, 46(4), 545-548,581.In almost any story that’s called a tragedy, the protagonist(s) dies at the end. Take, for example, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and The Fall of Icarus. Unfortunately for Tony Stark, this trope still applies. 

[taaroko]

Post-IW MCU Rewatch: Captain America: Civil War

Time for a bunch of in-fighting!

Was there any significance to those code words?

Howard and Maria. :(

Freaking Runlow.

I read something about how they’re all being very bad at undercover, sitting around in sunglasses and hats. They’re being like actors undercover from paparazzi, not low-profile spies. Whoops.

Runlow’s team is kinda lucky the rubble from that crash didn’t block their entrance.

This is some top notch fighting from both Cap and Sam. Sam’s wings are super versatile.

Whee, Steve getting a telekinetic boost from Wanda!

Ohh, it’s Nat who used the motorcycle as a projectile in this one. Okay. I thought it happened at least twice.

Heeeey Cap’s shield is half covered in soot. Symbolism.

FREAKING RUNLOW.

That blast was either going to kill everyone in the square or the people in that building. If it had been the former, it wouldn’t have been a big international crisis.

Aged-down Tony is easily the best of that kind of special effect we’ve ever seen. *suppresses memories of CG Leia*

I think that seminar was the first we've seen of the "philanthropist" part of billionaire genius playboy philanthropist. (Donating a collection of modern art to the Boy Scouts is too weird to count.)

Hi Dean Pelton.

Awkward actress recycling! But it was worth it. She’s so good as Mariah.

Vision’s social graces are so funny.

Uggggggh General Ross. Who is now Secretary of State.

Man that footage would’ve made Bruce so sad.

“For the last four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision.” Wait does that mean it’s been four years since Winter Soldier? This timeline is a freaking mess.

I know where Thor and Banner are!

Okay, Zimo talks about painstakingly decrypting the Hydra files Nat leaked on the internet, but did he start doing that before Ultron or after? How long has it been since Ultron?

Tony’s face.

What makes this movie so good is that both Tony and Steve have very good points and multiple movies of backstory that brought them to those positions. The Tony of IM1 would’ve been anti-Accords, and the Steve from the ‘40s would’ve been pro-Accords, but here they are now. And the Accords were very inevitable after Ultron.

Noooo Peggy.

Headcanon: the non-Steve pall-bearers were Peggy’s son and grandsons.

“Plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say ‘No. You move.’”

I love that Nat’s priority is sticking together as a team, but she does get Steve’s position. (I mean obviously; she defects to his team halfway through.) Steve’s friendships with Nat and Sam are so wonderful.

Hey T’Challa!

Does the actor who plays T’Chaka have a glass eye? *internet research* Holy crap, he does. This is from John Kani’s IMDB page: Kani lost his left eye during a beating by South African police after returning home from a Broadway production of "Sizwe Banzi Is Dead", which was critical of Apartheid. He survived after being left for dead and subsequently won a 1975 Tony Award for his performance.

They did a really good job introducing T’Challa, and his arc in this movie is excellent.

Dangit Steve and Sharon would’ve kissed if Sam hadn’t interrupted.

More hats and sunglasses. You guys look real suspicious wearing hats and sunglasses INDOORS, especially when you start passing files around.

Man, Bucky just wants to buy some plums. Also, so cool that Seb got to go home to Romania and speak his native language for this bit.

Isn’t it easier to shoot out the lock than all three sets of hinges?

Bucky just came here to buy some plums and honestly he’s feeling so attacked right now.

So much multi-storey falling! I know these guys are all tougher than normal people but it’s still very stressful to watch!

These movies are always doing ridiculously cool things with motorcycles.

Rhodey makes a pretty good enforcer.

Vis and Wanda are adorable. But the conversation about the Mind Stone is really painful now.

The heck?! Tony thinks Wanda is unstable enough to cause another “incident” just by going to the store? Do Tony and Wanda still dislike each other or something? I guess they never reconciled over the whole thing where his tech killed her parents and she used her powers against him.

A fancy pen is not a convincing argument, Tony.

Steve was so ready to be thrilled for Tony if he and Pepper were gonna have a baby!

Tony just called Wanda a weapon of mass destruction. Either he’s playing devil’s advocate or he’s being really unsympathetic right now.

Bucky! Plug your ears and go LALALALALA!

I like how every time someone does the sleeper activation codes, he walks around Bucky in a circle. Is that part of it or just a cool filming thing?

Aaaaargh that elevator shaft fall.

Tony’s face when Bucky fires his gun into his glove.

Nat’s signature move is useless against Bucky.

RECOGNIZE YOU FROM WHEN?! The mission he foiled, or something else? I must know. Please answer this question, Black Widow movie.

Okay. The helicopter thing. It does not make sense. It should’ve just lifted Steve right off the ground. It is capable of carrying several passengers. One dude hanging onto it when there’s only a single occupant would not weigh it down. The part where he holds onto the railing and keeps it from flying away does work, though.

Heeeeey the scene with Bucky’s arm in the clamp is the exact midpoint of the movie. I don’t know why I find that interesting, but suddenly I very much want to analyze the significance of these moments. This one is a major turning point. The revelation of other Winter Soldiers. Team Cap now has an urgent mission.

Tony has an arc reactor scar!

HI PETER! *hug attacks him*

I love every single second of Peter’s intro scene.

“It’s a long story. I was—” “Lordy! Can you even see in these!” Bahaha, Tony cut off even a conversation of origin story.

Okay, the moment Tony leaned forward while Peter was talking obliquely about great power and responsibility. That was when he became emotionally invested in this kid. They’re both motivated by a sense of guilt and obligation.

Wanda and Clint’s methods for getting past Vision makes their team lose a bit of high ground.

Steve and Sharon’s kiss could’ve been handled less like an afterthought, but the reason I’m still cool with it is Sam and Bucky’s reactions.

How’d these three big dudes end up in a little VW Beetle anyway?

Hahaha, each team has a fanboy on it. Scott on Team Cap and Peter on Team Iron Man.

“Thinks for thanking of me!”

Yessss. Airport fight.

Um, why did Tony not even pause when Cap mentioned the other five Winter Soldiers?

Oh Peter I love you so much. And I love that Tom has this rivalry with Anthony and Seb in all the behind the scenes stuff.

“He also said I should go for your legs.” Man this is almost a vine reference.

Scott in Tony’s suit is hilarious.

Scott’s reaction to becoming Giant-Man is probably the single greatest two seconds in the movie.

Man, Clint just wants to make new friends, but T’Challa isn’t interested in this Avenger nonsense.

More tasing!

100%, Peter is trolling these geezers by pretending he’s not a gigantic Star Wars nerd.

It took me several watches to realize that when Scott says “Does anyone have any orange slices,” he’s making a reference to little league sports, and how the moms bring orange slices for after the games.

Tony went to check on Peter even though they hadn’t caught Steve and Bucky yet!

Rhodey’s fall is horrific. And the way they frame it so that you only see the ground when he hits it. Agonizing.

Part of me thinks Rhodey should’ve died right there, but there is rather a lot of precedent for falls not being fatal if you’re in an Iron Man suit. And if he’d died, I don’t think they ever would’ve been able to get past this split. Getting kinda paralyzed is an acceptable compromise.

“Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?” Okay that is a really interesting line. Tony is being pretty egotistical about the concept of surrendering accountability to the UN. He has been rather bad at considering alternatives. Admittedly, he’s on the clock, and then worse people will go after his friends, but he’s allowing for zero nuance here. He knows these people. He knows they don’t do things without good reasons. Steve was right that you can’t let accidents stop you from doing the right thing. Tony is letting it cripple him.

Tony is practically on Team Cap at this point, with the secretly flying after him and all.

Hahaha, Nat has a labeled gun rack. And Bucky is using her guns!

I’m freaking pissed at the trailer for this movie. It would have been a very good twist that instead of going to Siberia to fight five more Winter Soldiers, they were walking into a trap where the in-fighting was about to become far more personal. But I didn’t get to experience that twist, because the trailer includes shots of Tony fighting Bucky and Steve in this location. That trailer made me stop watching trailers entirely for over a year. I do think trailers can be good so you know at least the type of movie you’re about to see, but they should not give away stuff like this. I think Marvel has gotten better at that since then.

Okay, so it’s been over a year since Ultron.

Green is not a flaw in blue eyes, jerk. It’s cool.

Surveillance cameras don’t usually have sound. But oh boy this is devastating.

This moment. Tony coming apart and attacking Bucky. This is exactly the same thing that Peter Quill does to Thanos. This is the reason Tony figures out what Peter’s about to do before he does it and tries to get him to stop and think. But he knows pretty well that there’s no stopping and thinking in a situation like this.

Zimo is a lot like Frank Castle, except that his family died as accidental collateral damage, not a targeted setup.

“The living are not done with you yet.” Such a great line.

“I could do this all day.” Tony has taken the role of the bully from the first one now.

I think for a second, Tony was legit afraid Steve was going to kill him. But Steve was never the one driven to that point. This still does not count as Steve having a dark side.

Okay, Steve dropping the shield was pretty much a concession. You don’t want me using the shield your dad made if my best friend killed him? Fair enough.

TONY STANK.

Tony trolling Secretary Ross will never stop being funny.

Okay, on the whole, while I sympathize more with Cap, I think I’m actually on Team Iron Man when it comes to the Accords. The Accords are an overcorrection of long-running problem. There should have been oversight this entire time, and I think the idea is that SHIELD was that oversight until Winter Soldier. Steve didn’t want to be the dupe of a corrupt system again, so he no longer tolerated oversight, but that really can’t be his call. How transparent are the Avengers being about their missions? He doesn’t run around saving people from street thugs, he does military-style operations all around the world. That’s not the kind of thing anyone should be able to make unilateral decisions about. He’s doing what Tony used to do in his solo films. But now that the PR has gotten bad enough and the novelty of superheroes has worn off, suddenly everyone realizes it’s not a great plan to let them run around unsupervised.

But Cap’s side of the argument is valid too. Superheroes save the world. Collateral damage is a much better outcome than what would’ve happened if they hadn’t been there. Obadiah would’ve continued supplying both sides of conflicts in the Middle East, stoking the fires of war for his own gain. Red Skull would’ve blown up most of the major cities in the US and taken over. Killian would’ve had the world on its knees with his scam. Malekith would’ve destroyed all the nine realms. Loki would’ve taken Earth. Hydra would’ve wiped out anyone who could challenge their reign of terror with Project Insight. Etc. Some of the villains rose up as consequences of the heroes (Ivan, Ultron, and Zimo, for instance), but most of the threats exist independent of the heroes’ actions, which is why we need heroes.

After how much I’ve loved Tony in all the movies so far (though he was a bit iffy in Ultron), I was really surprised by how many moments he has of being kind of a jerk in Civil War. But it doesn’t make me dislike him. This is his guilt complex on overdrive. And losing it over finding out about how his parents died is heartbreaking. But the most redeeming thing for him in the movie is Peter Parker. He recognized a similar guilt-based motivation in Peter while they talked, and in that moment, he became extremely protective of this kid. He brings him in because he knows he’s got a really handy method of incapacitating people without harming them. He’s not recklessly endangering a child, because he knows none of the Avengers will use lethal force. And his concern for Peter’s well-being is actually what costs him victory in the airport fight. He could’ve apprehended Steve and Bucky, but instead he had to make sure Peter was okay.

So...if Thor and Bruce had been in this. Thor wouldn’t be cool with being beholden to Midgardian governments. He cooperates as a courtesy, but he doesn’t actually answer to Earth authority. And I’m pretty sure he’d be very sympathetic to Steve about Bucky, given that it’s a rather similar situation to him and Loki. Bruce, on the other hand, has never felt confident about his ability to stay in control, and he was a major source of collateral damage in multiple countries in Ultron, not to mention the extra footage Ross showed the team. He’d probably think Bucky needs to be under guard for the same reason. I think he’d not only side with Tony but be relieved that Tony was on the side of the Accords. However, you really can’t have two powerhouses like Thor and Hulk in this fight. On their own, they could demolish the entire opposing team. The only option would be to keep them fighting each other the whole time, which would be kind of lame. Much better for them to have a gladiator battle on trash planet where no on else can steal their thunder. (I am not sorry.)

My mind is pretty much blown by how well the MCU has traveled the path from the first few movies to here, and from here to Infinity War. The Avengers have pretty much been getting broken down since Ultron. This was where they fell apart. Infinity War is the consequences of falling apart.

[haunting-kind-of-high]

The Shadows In Our Minds (Part 1)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warnings: angst, nightmares, fire, blood mention, death, decapitation, panic attack

Tag list (message me if you want to be on it): @musicphanpie-b, @imin-loveanon, @ordinary-chaos, @sandersandthesides, @ajumbleofwords, @demonickittykat, @zadi-jyne, @serenefreakgeek, @fandons-mangoes, @leesacrakon, @gayfagg

(I tagged everyone on my tag list, but if you aren’t interested in this series, let me know and I will take you off the list for this one)

Notes: This is the sequel to What Lies Beyond The Shadow, you should read that before reading this. It’s also found on AO3. You can also read this fic on there. 

After days of traveling, the trio finally arrived in front of the Royal Palace. With a relief, the three men brought their horses back to the stable and then, they entered the Palace. As soon as they stepped inside, chaos erupted at the sight of the three men. Personnel and friends came up to the trio, hugged them and told them how glad they were to see that they had all safely returned. Of course, they all wanted to know what had happened and the males answered all questions as well as they could. Not long after this, Roman managed to escape the crowd and walked to the throne room, where his parents were waiting for him. 

The king walked up to his son and hugged him tightly. Roman returned this hug, albeit stiffly, almost coldly. 

“I am proud of you, son,” the king told Roman. He smiled down at his son with a mix of pride and something that seemed to be pain, regret, maybe. Roman smiled in return and looked down. 

“Someone had to do it,” he said softly, looking up at his father again. The king nodded, but he quickly averted his eyes. Something about his attitude showed that he was overthinking something, it showed he was upset about something. But what could it be? Could it be - 

“We are glad you are safe, Roman,”  his mother said as she stepped forwards, embracing her son. 

“Yeah,” Roman replied, returning the hug, for the first time since he came back from the Cursed Woods, completely comfortable and willingly. “So am I.” 

After a long day of talking to people, and answering the same questions over and over again, Roman was finally able to retreat to his room. After he had announced that he wanted no one to disturb him, he walked into his room and sat down on his large bed. The light of the candles the illuminated the chamber flickered for a few moments as the prince’s hair grew more purple and his clothes changed back to his usual black ones. Roman - or Virgil, I should say - got up and carefully locked the door. 

“Now for plan B,” he muttered as he disappeared in the shadows around him. 

Not even one second later, Virgil found himself in the bedroom of the royal pair, who were just getting ready to sleep themselves. Virgil enhanced the shadows around him, hiding him from the royals. It felt like ages before they finally got in bed, and even longer before they fell asleep. Virgil waited a few more moments before concentrating his thoughts and all his powers on the sleeping king. In just a few seconds, the reality around him seemed to fade to black and another scenery took its place.

The king and queen were stood in a field full of colourful flowers, their arms wrapped around each other. It was nighttime, but the moonlight was bright enough to illuminate the field. Virgil watched them from a distance. He could see the royal pair, but they could not see him. 

The sorcerer knew what was going to happen; the king had told the tale of this ‘magical night’ more than a few times. And Virgil knew exactly how to make it even more magical. 

After just a while, the fireworks started. Right on time. But, instead of bursting out into the most beautiful and colourful shapes, the fireworks changed direction and flew in the direction of the royal couple, who scrambled to their feet as the fireworks hit around them. The sparks set the grass and flowers ablaze, igniting an enormous fire that quickly closed in around the two. Almost too quickly to be natural. The king looked around in a panic, hoping he’d see someone to help him out, and for a moment, he thought he saw a deep shade of purple in the darkness, but it faded away the moment he laid eyes on it. 

The flames caused a big pillar of smoke to rise up and soon, the entire field was covered in a grey blanket. And out of that thick smoke, a beast emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, as if it had spawned from the flames. Its grey fur resembled a wolf’s, but its body reminded one of a bear. A gigantic bear. Its eyes glowed a deep crimson as the beast let out a growl that would make a dragon cower in fear. Even standing on its four feet, the beast towered above the royal couple. The two royals were now standing next to each other in the middle of the ring of fire. Mysteriously, the fire seemed to have stopped spreading and it was now just a way to keep the two closed in. The queen looked at her husband in shock as the beast approached her. Neither of them had anything on them that could work as a weapon. Unless-

The queen fell to the floor, dodging one of the beast’s paws that was swung at her, and quickly undid the straps of her heels, taking the shoes in her hands. She rolled to the side to dodge another attack and tried to stab the beast with the heel of one of her shoes. She did manage to wound it, but it was only a small injury; it hardly even drew blood. The animal growled as it quickly pinned the queen down. The king awakened from his temporary state of paralysis and rushed to his wife’s side, picking up the shoes she had dropped. He clumsily managed to stab the footwear into his foe’s back. But, unlike he had hoped, this did not draw the beast’s attention to him. Instead, the animal only increased its pressure on its victims shoulders and its cries of pain mixed themselves with hers. Then, the beast decided it had had enough and with one quick move, it bent over and with nothing but its enormous maw, tore the queen’s head away from her body. 

The king wanted to run away, to scream, to cry, to fight back. But he was, again, paralyzed. The beast had dropped the queen’s head and had now turned his attention to its next prey. It slowly made its way to the king. It steadied itself on its hind paws and growled. And then -

The king woke up, panting and covered in beads of sweat. He looked to his side, to find his sleeping wife, still very much alive, and a sigh of relief escaped his mouth. He took a deep breath trying to calm down his wildly beating heart and his panicking mind. The dream had felt so real. So much more realistic than any other dream he had had before. And that purple colour he saw… no. It couldn’t have been him. It must have been something else. Besides, the colour faded after he saw it. Surely, it wasn’t real. Right?

With a sigh, the king lay down and closed his eyes again. It was just a dream, he told himself. There was nothing to be scared of. It was just a dream.

When the king had woken up, Virgil had quickly faded out of the room to make sure he couldn’t be seen by the royal. Then, he made himself reappear in Roman’s large room. With a sinister smile, the sorcerer changed his appearance back to the prince’s and prepared for the night. For real. 

Early the next morning, Virgil made his way downstairs. He still recognised some of the hallways he used to love so much. It almost made him nostalgic. Almost. If only these beautiful hallways and the good memories weren’t infected and corrupted by one big event. If only the memories could remain as pure as they once were.  But life could not be that favourable to him. It never was. 

Soon enough, Virgil found himself standing in a dining hall that was virtually empty. It had been twenty years since he last saw the vast hall and it had never changed one bit. Even the candles on the large table stood where they always had. It was as if he had never left. And as he stood there, Patton entered the room behind him. 

“Roman?” Virgil heard a voice call out to him. “What are you looking at?” 

“Just… glad to be back,” he answered, not looking at the man next to him. 

“Yeah, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” Patton looked at Roman with a smile.

“Too long.” 

An hour later, after they had had breakfast, Virgil found himself in the town of Darlea. The town he had ruined a little over two week prior. The civillians were doing their best to rebuild their homes and though they had made a lot of progress, they still had a long way to go. People ran up to their prince and thanked him for his effort, asked him about his battle against the Shadow Sorcerer or asked him for help in building up their lives again. Virgil put up a fake smile and answered their questions as well as he could for as long as the questions flooded in. As soon as the interrogation had ended, Virgil excused himself and he hurried off. He walked through the streets of Darlea. People came up to him every once in a while. And if they did, he would smile at them and listen to what they had to say. They told him about what they had to endure and about what they had lost in the fire. They told about what they had gone through in the past two weeks and how they were forced to live on the streets, not knowing they were actually talking to the perpetrator of all this. And as he listened to their stories, he… didn’t feel anything. You might have expected him to feel sorry for what he did, for everything he brought onto those innocent people. But, in reality, he didn’t feel bad at all. Sure, he knew that it wasn’t fun to live like they did; without a house, with barely any clothes and no money - he had experienced that firsthand. It just didn’t make him regret his actions. What was the point in feeling bad about it anyways? It had happened and there was nothing to be done about it. There was no point in grieving now.   

Patton had just made it back to the Royal Palace. He, along with Logan, Roman, the king and queen, had spent the day in Darlea. Just like before he, Logan and Roman had left for their quest, they had talked to the Darleans and helped them out where he could. It was nothing he hadn’t done before. That’s what made it so curious that he felt so drained today. He felt weak and his mind seemed to be all over the place. 

“Are you okay, Patton?” Logan asked carefully when they had reached the safety of the Palace. “You seem… absent.”

“Yeah,” Patton said shakily, not fully convincing, “I guess I’m just… tired.”

“Are you sure?” Roman inquired, “You seem… on edge, Pat.”

“No… no I’m fine,” Patton breathed, managing a smile. “Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Roman nodded. Patton smiled and quickly excused himself. He left the two behind and headed to his room. As soon as he knew they couldn’t see him, he fastened his pace. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t fine. He was scared. He was panicking. And why? He didn’t know. 

Patton entered his room and slammed the door shut. He fell down on his soft mattress and clutched onto his pillow, as if that would ease his mind. His breathing became more and more rapid and more and more shallow.Tears burned in his eyes and they quickly rolled down his cheeks. He didn’t know why he was panicking so much, he didn’t know why he was so anxious or why his chest felt like it was going to explode. He had felt good all day, why did he feel so panicked all of a sudden? Patton couldn’t see it through the tears in his eyes and his blurry vision, but in the very corner of the room, there was an odd shadow present. It had a darker colour than the rest of the room, but the difference was so minimal, it was hard to notice. 

As time passed, Patton’s breathing seemed to be getting more irregular. He became dizzy and his ears started ringing. His heart started beating faster and faster, as if it was trying to find a way out of his ribcage. Patton was so scared. And of what? He couldn’t tell. All he knew, was that he was scared. Scared of failing, scared of losing control, scared of disappointing others. Scared of anything and scared of everything. Shaking hands reached up and covered his ears, as if that would drown out the voices of worry and fear he heard in his mind. He wanted it to stop. He wanted the panicked and anxious thoughts to stop flooding his brain. Where did they come from? Why wouldn’t they stop?

He sat there for what felt like hours. In reality, it was only several minutes until the shadow in the corner of the room left and peace immediately returned in Patton’s mind. It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders and he could breathe freely again. After this, it took him a while to get his breathing back on track, but when he did, he slowly got up and walked to the bathroom to splash some water in his face. When he looked in the mirror, Patton saw his face was red and blotched. With a sigh, he rubbed the last tears out of his eyes and took a few sips of water. He stayed there until he looked presentable again.

Dinner that night was… unusual. As always, the three members of the royal family dined together, along with Logan, Patton and some other important members of the staff. Patton didn’t speak; instead, he focussed all his attention on the plate in front of him. This in itself was weird, as Patton was usually the most cheerful and the most talkative person of the company. The king seemed to be absent, too. His mind was somewhere far, far away, And also Roman acted unlike his usual self. He was more quiet than usual. Darker, even. Most of the meal was spent in a silence that was only interrupted by the cutlery ticking against the plate. It was weird, unusual. There was an odd atmosphere in the room, as if something dark, something bad was about to come, What they didn’t know, however, was that that something was already amongst them.

[ion0ra]

Unknown Origins, Pt. 1

[nascentesxmorimur]

Reunited

Get up, get dressed, get armed, and come with me. 

Sky opened her eyes, internalizing the groan that was aching to spew from her mouth. She hadn’t slept much and the little that she did manage to get was interrupted by noise and nightmares. She was exhausted, in truth, but it hadn’t mattered as Sky functioned best on minimal sleep; although minimal sleep ideally was a straight four hour stretch. Not intermittent ten minute intervals.

The brunette, now tired and cranky, stretched out under her blanket before sitting up in the darkened van. She didn’t want to do a damn thing that man ever said. He acted like the universal nice guy but he’d sooner ask for your weapon and then plunge it into your chest. He wasn’t a good man and Sky hated him. She watched him make shitty decision after shitty decision, horrible call after call and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She didn’t believe a word he said from the moment she met him, but she had nowhere else to go and until recent events, Woodbury was mostly secure.  She couldn’t help but wonder where he was taking her this time. No matter where it was, she knew it was going to suck. Maybe they were just moving again, which was smart. But she usually didn’t have to tag along for that, they just woke each other up when they reached a new location. She had a bad feeling about this... Not to be a negative bitch, but each time Sky had been brought anywhere by the man himself, it always ended badly. 

*   *   *   *   *

The day started out peacefully enough, quiet... the eye of the storm. The wolf sat in her cot against the cold, stone wall of her old cell. Rick had gone outside along with most of the others. The sun was out, which made people feel hopeful; Ash, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe it was nothing. It didn’t feel like nothing.... She almost voiced her concern to Rick before he left this morning, but she didn’t want to burden him with a hypothetical bad scenario that she had no specifics and no proof of. Just some really bad vibes from the second she laid down the night before. 

Eventually, events would unfold to prove her right...and she hated being right about this. The prison walls shook and suddenly, it was the beginning of the end. Ash ran outside where half their gate had been torn down and trucks were lining up one by one. As people descended each vehicle, the wolf held tight to her gun while she watched the Governor emerge onto the scene with two of their people undertow, bound and set in front of each group on their knees. Her breath caught in her throat as she witnessed Hershel and Michonne being lined up execution style. Nobody would be ready for what came next... .

*   *   *   *   *  

Sky stood in the middle of the field, listening to Philip with a clenched jaw and a growing migraine. Every time he spoke it was like nails on a chalkboard, slowly grinding and breaking with each overly emphasized word. She stared at his eye patch, hoping to make him as uncomfortable as possible, but it didn’t work. He didn’t even seem to notice as he gave his speech to the small group they still had. She looked at Tara as he carried on about talking them into something, Tara returned the look before asking him what he wanted them to do, what they supposedly had to do.  A ball of cement sank deep into the pit of her stomach when she heard his plan. It was insane. Disgusting.. Not to mention completely unnecessary. How could he possibly think that this was something that had to be done? And how were the rest of these people just going along with it?  Maybe it was because they were lemmings... they all thought they owed Philip something. Sky saw him for what he was; an ego maniacal, self absorbed, murderous level ten wack-job with a chip on his shoulder and too much access to heavy artillery. She wanted zero part in this, but if she walked away or said no, he’d kill her on the spot. Maybe it’s worth it. Her pride was telling her to walk, but her survival instinct was telling her to shut up and go along with it...and maybe she could figure out a way to end this all before it began. 

As soon as they rolled up to their destination, Sky looked out the window to see a huge prison with fences and a guard tower. Huh.. Smart. If there really were people living in there, it seemed kind of brilliant. Prisons were meant to keep bad guys inside ... it would definitely keep walkers outside. She waited for a moment before she hopped out of the truck, keeping low the ground. She almost gagged though seeing the old man and the woman Philip was talking about... tied up and walked towards the fence like lambs to the slaughter. This was wrong. She felt sick as she ducked next to another truck, behind its door. She didn’t care to see any of what was happening. And right now, her main priority was not to vomit, so she focused her thoughts on how to potentially save the old man who now had a giant freakin’ samurai sword to his throat. She didn’t know him or who he was associated with, but she knew that he didn’t deserve this. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

The whole prison watched in paralyzed fear as the Governor began talking. What the hell could they do? If they tried anything, made one shot... Hershel was dead for sure. All they could do was stand and listen. When Rick began to speak, Ash hoped desperately for it to work. Maybe he could talk some sense into the senseless. Or at the very least make a deal with the Devil incarnate. He almost seemed to be getting through but then the unthinkable happened... a flash of sunlight shone off the blade of the katana before it was thrust into flesh and covered in blood. Multiple screams erupted from their side and all bets were off completely. Rick fired at the Governor, hitting him in the arm---before everyone from every angle began shooting almost blindly in both directions.  Tanks began tearing through the fences, firing at the prison walls that caused irreparable damage. Vehicles were driving into the prison yard, men on foot firing automatics at her people. Ash began tearing through the crowd, running for the other side and shooting anyone of the Governor’s men that came within firing distance. She jumped behind a pile of fire wood, using it as a barrier. She’d use this gun until she ran out of ammo and then move through the crowd on foot with a pistol and her knives. She worked better in hand to hand combat...granted she was significantly outnumbered in this case. The storm was here... and it was lethal.  Everyone was fighting for their lives now, it was a mess. She lost sight of most of her people in the crossfire which made her nervous, but she couldn’t think about it and focus on fighting at the same time. She had to go ghost, so to speak, dead inside as she ripped through human lives like they meant nothing. It was the worst feeling in the world... so the feelings had to go. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

The young woman on the ground wretched as she fell onto all fours watching the old man’s head lob to the side. Sky wasn’t queasy in the slightest and she was quite used to gore, especially now.. but this? This couldn’t have been more disgusting, vile... A human man killed by another human man over what? A town? A title? It brought something out of her that she didn’t know she had to begin with. But Sky stood in that moment, the moment gunfire shot across the field and vehicles began to invade the other territory. She burned inside and out with a rage like she hadn’t felt before, letting her powers flow through her arms as she walked towards the prison. She wouldn’t fight with the Governor... no. But she was going to fight. Bringing her arms up to her sides, she focused her anger as she gathered the energy she needed to throw one of the trucks off its track with her powers. She watched the truck skid and roll over onto its side before she knocked two of Philip’s goons off their feet entirely, shaking another’s pointed gun out of commission and out of his hands in many useless metal pieces. She was making her way for the Governor himself, luckily nobody other than her victims had seemed to notice or care about the totaled truck or her abilities at all. Good. The bad news was that she was on a war path for Psychoville..the good news for Psychoville was that Rick got to him first. Sky was knocked back by a stray bullet to the shoulder that ricocheted off a tank to her left. She yelped hoarsely as it tore through the muscle, exiting as harshly as it came, if not worse. She grunted as she brought her gloved hand up to the wound, applying pressure as she looked around. The man she was after had disappeared. Damn it! She ducked behind a pile of stacked wood and took a second to look at the new hole in her shoulder. That was gonna leave a mark....  Before she could push herself away from the wooden barricade, three bullets had been fired off into her direction and she realized that someone was above her behind it that those bullets were intended for. She quickly stood up, despite the fierce shooting pain through her arm and chest, and pushed the bullets straight back into the man who’d shot them. He fell to the ground and as she turned to see who it was he was shooting at, the person was already on the move. She didn’t know anyone who could move that fast except... Her heart sank even lower as she remembered the woman she’d been staying with over a year ago... She missed her. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on dreams and memories. The battle was far from over. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Ash was in attack mode, ready to wolf out any moment and fight tooth and claw until she ripped every single one of them to shreds. She’d had enough. As she fired her last rounds off, she ducked as she saw a man in her line of sight shooting directly at her. Leaning against the pile, she took a few breaths and left the gun in her place as she pulled the pistol from her leg holster and the knife from the sheath at her hip. Hit, shoot, slash. The mantra of her next few moments as she ran full speed from behind the barrier. And she did. Punching, shooting, and slashing with her blade was exactly what she did as she ran through the thinning crowd.  She finally caught a glimpse of Rick on the ground and panicked internally. No.. No no no!! She saw the Governor fall to the ground shortly after, Michonne hovering over both of them. The wolf continued running towards them, sliding on her knees as she all but dove to the ground by Rick’s side. “Oh thank God,” She mumbled shakily, emotions pouring back in that moment she realized that he wasn’t dead. She tried to keep them in check, however, because he was badly injured, and even though the Governor was dead...this wasn’t over. 

Sky saw a streak of red and brunette hair in the distance as she continued making her way through the chaos. She could swear she recognized the hair...and the run.... Call it wishful thinking, but Sky followed the woman into a clearing where she saw that same man who she helped at Woodbury, the man who was trying to talk down the Governor, on the ground. Along with Philip a few feet away, face down in the dirt and the chick with the sword standing above him. She watched as the woman ran to the Prison’s leader and fell to the ground beside him, cradling him before she and the other woman hoisted him up--a young boy joining them soon after. Sky was on the opposing team, so to speak...if she went over there, they’d probably kill her. They didn’t know that she wasn’t on Philip’s side...they only knew that she wasn’t one of theirs, so she must be one of his. She wanted desperately to talk to them...The leader had to know she wasn’t like the rest of them..right? But the others didn’t...and he didn’t look like he was in much shape to talk. And they didn’t look like they would listen.  It wasn’t until the dark haired woman she followed out here turned around and Sky almost heaved again. It couldn’t be...She felt temporarily paralyzed as she saw the woman’s all too familiar face, streaked with blood and stray hair sticking to her forehead. Her eyes were colder, darker... but they were those same eyes she’d known for years. And they looked as if they softened the slightest bit when she seemed to recognize the girl staring her down from ten yards out. “Sky.” She whispered, almost as if the word was brand new to the wolf. The younger female read her name clearly on the other’s bruised lips as she stood for another moment, almost waiting to see what she would do first...if she was still her. When Carl came to take hold of his dad to hold him up, asking if she knew that girl. When she replied with an emotional yes, the boy  gave her a nod and she began to walk at first, towards the girl before breaking into a run. Ash hadn’t seen Sky in over a year. She looked for her when she came back but the girl was gone. She continued to look, even after she got to the prison...it was why she went out most nights and what got her into a lot of shit with Rick. She never told him why she was going out every night, probably because she felt that it would jinx everything and she’d never find her...but then she never did. But she never gave up and here she was...right in front of her. Sky ran at her ‘legal guardian #3’ and the two females crashed into each other as they embraced the other in a bone crushing hug.  “Where the hell ... have you been with him this whole time?”  Sky nodded, tears pricked her eyes as she awaited the disappointed look from Ash but it never came. Instead, Ash looked her over with relief and concern---noting the gunshot wound to her shoulder and the blood on her leg. “You can tell me everything later.. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Sky simply nodded again, an inaudible okay from her dry lips as she walked hurriedly with the wolf back over to the other three. “She’s with me,” Ash said bluntly as Michonne glared at Sky. She pulled her closer and glared right back. “You touch her, and I will not feel bad about putting a bullet through your skull. Keep that in mind.” She spoke low enough so that the child present couldn’t hear her threat and only Michonne and Sky could. Ash didn’t like throwing around blame, but she was sincerely bitter with the other woman for starting all of this with the Governor. She couldn’t help but feel that a lot of it was because of her and her inability to not play the hero. The wolf would keep that to herself, for now... as long as she left Sky alone. Besides, they had more important things to worry about in that moment. Like where the hell they were going to go now.... and where everybody else was. 

[neurowonderful]

ASAN Vancouver’s 2017 Disability Day of Mourning Vigil Address

[Image: A single candle. Its golden flame illuminates the total dark.]

Hello, friends and allies. My name is Amythest. I am autistic, and I am disabled.

We live in a world where, wrongly, some lives are considered to be worth less than others.

Where disability is so synonymous with tragedy that people say and mean things like, “If I became paralyzed I would kill myself,” or,

“I don’t think life would be worth living if I couldn’t see,” or,

"If you know your baby is going to be disabled, the only humane thing to do is make sure they aren’t born in the first place."

We live in a world where wheelchair users are approached and told that they are inspirations, simply for being outside of their homes or attending to their jobs or grocery shopping like everyone else.

Where visibly disabled people are openly told, “I don’t know how you do it, I would not be able to do it." As if our lives are so bleak that the average abled person cannot fathom why we have not yet committed suicide.

We live in a world where disabled people with cognitive and developmental disabilities are spoken down to, patronized, and treated like children — or worse. Regarded as incapable of thought or motivation, denied even the opportunity to try to communicate.

Where disabled people are institutionalized, segregated, stripped of our autonomy and right to choose for ourselves. Where disabled children and adults alike are abused and traumatized, all in the name of “treatment”.

Where disabled people are routinely denied equal opportunities for education and employment, medical care and organ transplants, the right to adopt or to raise their own biological children, the right to autonomy and self-direction, and equal protection under the law.

This is ableism. It is a most insidious enemy. In our society its reach is all-encompassing. Our medical establishments, our educational systems, every department of our government- all of it is informed by prejudice against and ignorance regarding people with disabilities. The pillars of our country have been built on a foundation of ableism.

Ableism is present in our sociological framework and in the day-to-day beliefs, values, and actions of the average Canadian citizen. And it must be questioned, countered, and smashed at every opportunity.

While an abstract idea to the abled majority, to the disabled community, ableism is a very real oppression. It is something we know intimately and something we struggle against every day. And it is this culture of ableism— this pervasive, ongoing devaluing of disabled lives— that has led us to this point.

In the past five years, over four hundred people with disabilities have been murdered by their parents or caregivers. Those are just the ones that we know about. In North America alone, almost eighty lives have been lost to the violence of ableism.

These are not isolated incidents, separate and unconnected. The truth is that there is a deep, ingrained prejudice in our society that asserts that a disabled life is not worth living. The worst lie of all is that to be disabled is to be worse than dead.

And so when one of our own is murdered, little attention is given to the victim of these horrific crimes. Media coverage and public discourse surrounding these killings overwhelmingly supports and even defends the actions of the murderer, calling these killings “understandable”, “inevitable”, or even, “merciful”.

The murders of three disabled Canadians were publicly reported in 2016. Cynara Ali. Melissa Couture. Ronald McCabe.

Cynara Ali's death was not understandable. Her mother, Cindy, killed her by suffocation, and then lied and claimed that a stranger killed Cynara during a home invasion.

Melissa Couture's death was not inevitable. She was developmentally disabled, like me. She was chronically ill, like me. She needed care and medical attention. Her mother, Patricia, killed her through neglect.

Ronald McCade's death was not merciful. Despite what the erasure of his obituary would have you believe, he did not "pass away after a long illness". His son, Adam, took a gun to the long-term care home where Ronald lived and killed him.

The most utilized quotation in all of the articles I read about Melissa's death came from a neighbour of 30 years. Of Melissa's mother, he said,

"Pat spent her whole life taking care of Melissa," and,

"You know when you get so exhausted from looking after somebody like that for so long, maybe something happened," and,

"I don’t know a more dedicated mother than Pat was to Melissa."

Of Melissa, he said much less.

" ... but Melissa was just, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t hear, she was mentally challenged."

And that was it. This person was the Couture's neighbour for thirty years, which means that he knew Melissa for most of her short life. Of Melissa, the person who was killed by neglect, we know of this one sentence fragment.

And that sentence fragment speaks nothing of the loss of her life, or of her as a person. He highlights Melissa's impairments. He makes her out to be a burden. He rationalizes. He quietly condones the murder, blaming Melissa for her own death.

This is vastly different from the reaction when a non-disabled person is murdered by their parent. The media's tactic of focusing on everyone but the disabled victim is irresponsible journalism. This kind of reporting stokes the flames of prejudice and it is disabled people that get burned.

Further demonstrating how these murders are sanctioned by society is the fact that parents who murder their disabled children are much less likely to be charged at all.

If they are charged, their sentences are consistently shorter or less severe than the sentences received by parents who murder their non-disabled children. Some never see any jail time at all. This directly leads to more murders of disabled people.

This is the greatest injustice. This is where the devaluing of disabled life has brought us. Because our society’s understanding of what it means to be disabled is informed by the prejudiced opinions of the abled majority, it is easy.

It is easy to objectify and dehumanize disabled lives. And we become exactly that—objects of pity, burdens on our families, less than human.

If we want to stop this horrifying trend, we must resist. We must educate. And non-disabled people must listen to us. It is critical that society shift towards a person-centred view and understanding of disability. Listening to disabled people is the only way to do that.

Because if people would stop, and they would listen to us, they would hear what we are saying.

That our lives are worth living. That our lives are valuable. That we want to live.

They would hear our voices saying, see our hands signing, feel our hearts aching for justice.

And my hope is that then, our society would stop seeing us as a collection of impairments. That they wouldn't think of us as scary statistics, as a disease or epidemic, or as shameful deviations from the norm. That everyone could see us as individuals, wholly human and deserving of the same rights and personhood as everyone else.

And there is hope.

Patricia Couture was originally charged with failure to provide the necessaries of life for Melissa, which carries a maximum sentence of five years in prison. Her charge was upgraded to criminal negligence causing death.

Cindy Ali was charged with the first-degree murder of Cynara and sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole for 25 years.

Adam McCabe was only charged with second-degree murder, which is defined as a murder that was not premeditated. I do not know how one could prepare a weapon, get in a vehicle, and drive to your father's secure long-term care home to kill him without meditating on it beforehand. There is much I don’t understand.

But there is hope. Hope for those still here and for those yet to come. And for those who have been taken from us: We will remember you. We won't let you be forgotten.

It is ignorance that leads to fear and hate. It is education that is the cure for ignorance. As an autistic person, that’s the only cure I want. It is my greatest desire that the disabled community and our allies can move the conversation away from negativity, hate, and fear, and towards acceptance, love, and equality. 

It is my dream, and the dream of so many other disabled advocates and activists, that one day we will live in a world where disabled lives are understood to be worth just as much as non-disabled lives, and that reality will reflect that understanding. 

I believe in a world where the murder of disabled people is seen as injustice, not our lives. Where our loss is the tragedy, not our presence. Our work is creating this reality. 

I believe in a world in which disabled people are leading the conversation about disability, and in which abled people are listening and our allies are lifting us up. We have already come so far. 

I believe that we can make a safer, fairer world for the next generation of disabled children because I can see what we have accomplished. We just have to keep going. 

And I know that if the disabled community keeps faith and works together, we can amplify our voices and drown out the lies. That even in the face of such adversity, such violence, such hate, together we can make the whole world hear what we have to say. 

There is hope. 

Thank you.

[annoycd]

was he weeping? he wasn’t sure. he felt clean, sated in his anger. any tears he might have had dried up with his body. he was burning, seething. he was everything his mother had taught him not to be and all for her. that was the irony of it. for so long kihyun’s mother tried her best to keep him locked in a bottle thinking no one would try to shake him up and see what pours out. she would lock it with expectations and her idea of love until he was breaking the glass himself. he would whine and weep and wither at his own wishes and maybe once upon a time he wept at the words. maybe once upon a time when someone mentioned his mother he would cry and he would sniffle and snivel at their feet.

his mom wouldn’t like that. but then again he’s not sure what she would like or what she would approve it. she’s always been so careful so particular with her words and her teachings and he still has trouble grasping it, still has trouble becoming it. expectations are suggestions and orders are possibilities. kihyun never stayed completely on the path laid out before him and he knew she despised it but she also allowed it. if kihyun were to come home bleeding from a fight at school she didn’t coddle him and ask him if he was okay, but she didn’t smile when he said he’d won. it was all his fault and nothing could ever be perfect. he could win and get scolded for being ungentlemanly, he could lose and be scolded for ruining reputation. there was no dancing around just disappointment. she might smile if he came home clean but he wasn’t a boy who came home clean. she might smile if he said he didn’t throw a punch but kihyun wasn’t a boy who didn’t.

once upon a time she did let her hand linger on his cheek, young and bruised and sporting a fair pout. at that time kihyun decided his mother liked parts of it. that’s the problem. she only ever seemed to like the parts not the whole, the shoved and the leaking but never the full or the bare. kihyun was tired. visibly tired. he wasn’t weeping he was breaking.

“I’m not asking for take backs. I’m telling you to take it back before you can’t.” there’s something so ironic about the position here. kihyun has always been violent after someone provokes him but he always makes sure that he isn’t the only one looking wild, he makes sure it looks like two animals and not one and that way he can lose himself even more. it’s not because he’s concerned about onlookers but because he can’t stand the thought of being too different from anyone else. he can’t stand thinking he’s some ticking time bomb while everyone else is content. everyone has discontent in their hearts, everyone has something akin to what he feels. he’s not the only one and he can’t be. he’s not that different! so he struggles he keep his grip on the lighter, his teeth digging into his lips and effectively the threat doesn’t die out. it’s simply subdued.

“Compose yourself. Bear your troubles. Stand tall.” he repeats it as mockingly as possible. he spits it past his lips and his fingers curl even tighter against his side. knuckles turn white, vision turns red and for a moment kihyun isn’t sure why he bothers listening. he is composing himself, this is him composed! any other day he would have launched himself at the female but it’s been a long day and he can’t keep up with what he should do and what he would do and could do. he’s tiring out second by second. “who are you talking to?” it doesn’t click as quick as it should, that she’s ordering him around and treating him like a kid as everyone else does. usually it clicks immediately and he’s got a fire of a response to give people but that’s when kihyun’s body starts to move in sync with everything around him.

he’s composed and that’s not him. he’s concealing his troubles in his palm and that’s not him. he’s slouching, curving his anger in his body like a disease. that’s not him. kihyun’s going against all her words because he’s used to it. he’s used to going against everything thrown at him because that’s how he survived. here is someone asking him to strip himself bare for the first time in years and who is he to deny? he’s been pulled so tight, woven so deep that he almost forgot who he was.

the white dies down. the red spreads through his body and his hands shift out his pocket. the movement is nonchalant, he’s got this silly smile on his face, something like freedom in his eyes. wild. primal. he wonders what his mother would say if she saw him, taking steps to the woman with the lighter now brandished in his hand, spray can in the other. would she smile? laugh? reprimand him? for the first time he has time to think and he chooses not to, let’s his body and words work on their own.

“you want me to compose myself? bear my troubles? stand tall.” he does. he holds both items up for her to see. he’s standing straighter than he has in weeks and the strength is from adrenaline pulsing in his body. all he is is before her and all his cares are out the window. the tip of his index finger dances around the can with a promise but his thumb? his thumb flicks against the lighter, baiting, waiting.

“be very careful what you ask for.”

The world is full of hostile magic and it cannot survive much more. It wears disguises like him and her; both of them in their self-involved phases. When one seems to get away with it, it rebounds twice more. It’s an illusion that ricochets in physical existence. Just as it was happening to her. Now it had decided to take its toll after decades of exploitation; decades of misuse and abuse. Now, after taking its time, it had ruled to use Arabella for her own ends. She, and everything she cared about, has and will become ashes. What sunders between herself and everything else will come to be incredibly permeable.

She knew the weight of her words. She knew none of it was a game. She knew she can’t hurt someone without harming herself, otherwise she doesn’t really understand magic, or reality for that matter. Opening up to the spirit realm and attempting to command forces for a negative cause meant opening herself first to all harm that will be caused. At the end of it all, it becomes herself that she seeks to harm as the true danger was on the impact it has to her soul; the karmic debt she’d accumulate in just the few remaining moments of her life.

Regardless, he shouldn’t have said such a thing. No matter how much she spits and hisses, he shouldn’t entertain it. Yet what was he to do? How should he comply with an unannounced rule? His downfall isn’t to blame on himself. The fault was in his unfamiliarity of the hazard that she is. A fight would mean disaster, and the reason she wouldn’t want it happening was because she’s lost all control.

Her semblance had slackened, unwilling to be triggered: it unleashes without warning or precedent. There was no guarantee of safety for anyone, not even for her. The destructive force comes through her. It fills, and becomes her, before it can go anywhere else. As much as she had less and less of a concern for her own welfare, it’d mean taking another life along with her, and if not, maybe leave equal damage, or damage on an immense scale that could last a person’s entire existence. As much as she didn’t care for the boy who carelessly threw taunts and what seemed like empty talk at her, she couldn’t let it be. For despite her recurrent bad habits and false virtues to the eye, guilt wasn’t something she could live with, much less bear to her grave.

It wasn’t him or anyone else, it was for her peace of mind. How much more selfish she could get at this point would deem immeasurable. She swore to never live with regrets. Having to commit atrocity before her inevitable death would put thousands of years risking all that she had to waste.

She shivered despite the clammy warmth building under her quickly heating hands. Her stomach began to sink. A familiar odd feeling crept into her belly, and she realized it had been rising, slowly and gradually, for some time. It started as an itch, then became a dull ache, and now that ache was sharpening then amplifying. Only something had temporarily plugged all of her senses; a mysterious thing that had magnetized her hand into a grip on the telltale bulge of her concealed weapon and tuned the bounds inside her to his scornful gaze.

Her conscience reaches to her, warning her of the repercussions, repeating them over and over, chanting: do not drink your own poison of grudge. Without any more spiteful words to send back, instead she shoots a menacing stare, triggered by his indifferent, albeit perceived slightly arrogant, behavior and diminishes right when she slinks into a decisive stance. Her hold on the weapon looses with her eyes closing solemnly and a sigh escapes her. Once the eyelids flutter open, she summons a projection of her aura, fueling what manifests into a duplicate of her yet in a form of a tangible shadow. She charges forward with haste, chopping his arm forcefully with the blade of her hand to send the lighter slewing away. Behind her, the shadow becomes engulfed into flames and dwindles into ashes. She grabs his face before brutally raising him above her height and slamming him to the ground once, but it was enough to cause debris to fling around.

Lost in her unwarranted and uncontrolled fury, the male became trapped under her weight as she slams his head against the hard concrete once more and it was only then that she had realized Kihyun was already unconscious. Her hands trembled in subdued rage mixed with remorse. It consumes her, little by little. She sat rigid and paralyzed. With all her will, she prevented herself from choking out of her own breath. Through her parted lips, she drew only tiny gasps. She couldn’t stand to see what she had done. In her guilt, she resorted to sparing a few drops of her healing potion, the exact potion she’d literally and figuratively die to run out of, pouring it into the small gap between his chapped lips.

As soon as his skin grows warm, she takes the chance to flee from the ruin she had caused before he could wake up again. She leaps out the window accessible as it is with its glass broken, and falls to her knees the next moment her two feet touches the ground. She could feel herself weaken in each step but she’s lost enough of the concoction brewed by a friend so hard to reach in just a day. In the small deed that follows a catastrophe, she still hopes at least to be able to sleep with ease in the night. Only this way would she not attempt another act of self-destruction.