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sserpente · 5 years ago

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As a deposit | Part (1/2)

Synopsis: “Come now, don’t be like that. There must be something else I can appease you with. How about an alternative? A deposit? Be a guest in my house. You’ll get your own room, your own bed and as much beer and ale as you like. Beef, chicken, pork… I can get you everything. You must have appetites like any other man.” Geralt remained silent, making your father clench his fists. “What about a woman?”

With a start, he looked up. You frowned. He would never invite a whore to his home, now would he? He cared too much about his reputation. But to your utter shock and surprise, he suddenly glanced at you. “My daughter is still untouched.”

A/N: Finally! I realised 2000 words in that this will need a Part II at some point but for now… please enjoy my first Geralt of Rivia Imagine! I hope I managed to capture his character, I love how pensive he always seems. Have fun reading and—if you haven’t seen “The Witcher” already, please do so now! Find the Spanish version of this story translated by @along-the-lines-of-space here!

Words: 2537 Warnings: mentions of prostitution and violence, bad parenting

The rumours had been true. He was here. You had heard so many stories about him—terrifying yet breath-taking stories. His appearance… Geralt of Rivia had been described to you as a tall and intimidating man. Some even said he had horns, and claws instead of hands. No one had ever compared him to a Greek God. He was… stunning.

Long blond, no… white hair, muscles which surely could make you feel safe in his embrace, an angular jawline, dark eyebrows… and a pair of piercing, yellow eyes. You gulped. They had not been entirely wrong though. He did look intimidating.

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage and stepped closer. He was tending to his horse, a beautiful brown stud. You gaped at it in awe, your sweaty fingers clutching at your cheap dress.

“I’m sorry… are you… you are… you are Geralt, of Rivia.” He peered at you from the corner of his eye.

“I am.” A shiver went through you. His voice was dark, low… menacing.

“I need your help. Please.”

“I don’t have time, I’m just passing through.” He grumbled, eyebrows slightly raised as he fiddled around with one of the battered leather saddlebags, turning his back to you.

“No, wait, please!” Your eyes caught sight of the tavern in front of him. “I’ll buy you a drink!” Vigorously, you rummaged through the pockets of your dress. The old widow living across the bridge at the other end of the forest had given you a coin for helping her digging over her garden for the upcoming season this morning. It would be just enough for one pint of ale.

Geralt’s mouth twisted, a sigh making him halt. For a brief moment, he seemed to contemplate his next words.

“Fine,” he eventually growled. He headed straight towards the tavern, expecting you to follow him without looking back.

“My father is devastated. If he loses any more men, he will have to close the mine. They…” You swallowed. “…keep finding new corpses every day. One night he came home drenched in blood, traumatised… whatever monster is in there, it’s savage and it’s bloodthirsty.” You shivered only thinking about the horrors unfolding inside the mine. And of course, there was a fear residing deep within you that eventually, it would grow tired of the cave and slaughter the entire village… but that was not why you had asked Geralt of Rivia for his help.

Your father was a cruel man who despised you deeply for your mere existence. Unlike his other daughter, your half-sister, you were not of his blood—and when your mother died, it had been her last wish for him to care for you as much as he would care for his own flesh and blood. You had long been of age now—and he had already threatened to sell you off to the nearest brothel if he truly had to close down the mine.

“So you want me to kill the monster in the mine.” Geralt concluded, his big hands playing with the bulbous jug. You nodded sheepishly.

“Please… I’ll take you to my father’s. He can tell you a lot more about it than I can.” Licking his lips, his gaze drifted away for a moment, almost as if the entire situation displeased him. It was a moment you wished to look inside his head to find out what it really was he was thinking. When his captivating yellow eyes met yours again, your heart jumped involuntarily.

“Take me to your father then.” With one last big sip, he emptied his ale. Upon his question of why you had not gotten anything to drink for yourself, you had simply claimed you were not thirsty.

“Father? Father, I’m back! Father—“

He stepped in sight mere seconds after, eyeing the Witcher behind you suspiciously. Hideous man, Geralt thought. Full of spite, hatred, self-righteousness and selfishness. Nothing like… you.

“Have you lost your mind now?” He snapped. “Bringing strange men into my home?!” Geralt crossed his arms before his broad chest behind you, observing your father with a scrutinising gaze—like no movement would escape him.

“No! Father, this is—“ You were cut off by a sharp slap on your cheek, your head forced aside as a stinging and burning pain spread on the left half of your face. You gasped. But it was not the first time he cuffed you for your alleged disobedience.

“F-Father, it’s not what you think. This is…”

“Geralt of Rivia,” he interrupted you with a powerful voice—it seemed to echo through the entire room, shrinking it down to make him look like a giant. “Your daughter begged me to help you with your monster. In the mines.”

Your father’s watery eyes widened.

“You? You’re the… Witcher?” He swallowed, pausing for a moment. With a start, his entire demeanour changed, a feigned politeness and hospitality supporting a fake and eerie smile. “I’ve heard tales about you… songs… Come on in then… you must have had a long journey. I have food and drinks.”

Geralt replied nothing as he followed your father into the kitchen were your half-sister was already waiting, at the served table. It was dinner time already. Bread, meat and cheese had been spread on it, along with some beer from the brewery whose owner your father had befriended, inviting you to sit down and dig in.

Your half-sister’s eyes widened when she spotted Geralt enter, hands folded in her lap intimidated.

“Please sit. Eat with me—I’ll tell you all about my misery.” The Witcher hesitated but sat down at the table regardless. You joined him only reluctantly. Suddenly, you wanted to be as far away from this awkward and stifling situation as possible. Had it been a good idea after all, to ask such a dangerous man for help?

“So tell me, Geralt. Are all those tales about you true?” Your father began, pouring himself some beer and biting into a piece of meat. The crunchy sound made you shiver rather than your mouth water.

“Some of them are… others are not.” He responded dryly. One piece of meat was all he took to eat.

“I hope you’re the man for the job then.”

He hummed. “If the payment is right.”

“How much?”

“Three-hundred.”

Your father snorted. “A proud price for someone who remains a mystery even with his feet under my table. But be that as it might. My daughter already told you that ugly monster made itself comfortable in my mine. I keep losing my men. You’ll get the money as soon as we can start harvesting coal again. Should be a few days at most.” He suggested carelessly.

“I can’t wait that long,” Geralt grumbled fast, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He clearly felt as uncomfortable in this house as you did. “You either pay me when the job is done or you find yourself another Witcher. Good luck with that.” He concluded, a hint of sarcasm playing in his dark voice.

He clearly didn’t like your father—and you could not blame him. He was a despicable man. Mutely, you kept listening to the tense conversation, hope drifting away from you with every word spoken.

“Come now, don’t be like that. There must be something else I can appease you with. How about an alternative? A deposit? Be a guest in my house. You’ll get your own room, your own bed and as much beer and ale as you like. Beef, chicken, pork… I can get you everything. You must have appetites like any other man.” Geralt remained silent, making your father clench his fists. “What about a woman?”

No… You had brought the White Wolf to your father to save yourself from prostitution, not run straight towards it and receive it with open arms.

“Do we have a deal?” Geralt gave your father a dark look.

He couldn’t possibly agree to this. You had heard so much about him but… but you knew he respected women and their strength, didn’t he? He wouldn’t…

“Fine. Three days.” Your heart skipped a beat.

Your father didn’t have a spare room. Instead, he had offered Geralt yours—since you would be sharing a bed with him tonight anyway. You had been shivering ever since, excused yourself from the table and given in to your tears and terror in the small bathroom in the house.

You did not want to lose your virginity to a man you could barely trust, regardless of how attractive he was. Should you run? Where to? Your father knew the whole village. If he didn’t catch you and brought you back… then wat if the brothel owner did? And if you stayed… who said your father wouldn’t just keep selling your body to strange men after Geralt had left for good anyways?

You considered the alternative—homeless, cold, starving, begging and hiding from the man who was supposed to protect and raise you.

With your heart in your mouth, you entered your bedroom about an hour later, when the voices in the kitchen had finally ceased. Would he be upset if you slept in your dress? Naked skin against naked skin… it felt too intimate. You wanted—if you were going to do this—preserve at least some sort of dignity and privacy, some sort of distance from him.

Geralt was already in your room. He had taken off his black shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. You blinked, unable to stop yourself from admiring the many muscles and scars on his body, along with that fascinating silver necklace—the Witcher necklace.

Your eyes met—yet he did not say a word.

You were not ready to do this… With a shaky breath aiming keep yourself from fainting, you climbed in bed, fingers clutching at the soft bed sheets. Then, having closed your eyes for a moment to gather your remaining strength, you nodded at him.

Geralt approached the bed so slowly you tensed up, swallowing thickly; when the mattress sank, so did your pounding heart.

He did not look like someone who would be gentle in bed… or would he? Still trembling, you reached for your skirts. It was only then Geralt finally spoke again and much to your surprise, his voice had grown… mellow.

“No. Stop.” Taken aback you froze, looking up at him insecurely.

“I don’t rape women.” He explained seriously. “And you’re not doing this of your own free will.” He was perceptive—incredibly so, probably had to be as a Witcher. Most men would not have cared, even if they had noticed.

Geralt lied down when you responded nothing, only gazed down sadly at your hands in your lap as relief crushed over your body like a tidal wave. He didn’t want to ravish you tonight…

His body felt so warm next to yours, made you feel so secure. Just as if, with Geralt by your side, you were actually safe. Protected.

“My father… he’ll think we, um…” You paused.

“Don’t worry about him. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

“W-what?” Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? You… you won’t help us?”

“No,” he growled quietly.

“But… I thought… is it because my father can’t pay you? Please, he will. He might not be a very decent man but he never breaks his promises.” If anything to uphold his reputation. “He will pay you.”

“It’s not that. The monster your father described to me is not a monster.” You frowned. “It speaks, it’s intelligent. It lives in the mines and your father and his men are carving out the entire cave for coal. He’s defending his territory.”

“But he’s still killing people! Innocent people! What if he gets angry, what if he leaves the mine and wreaks havoc in our village?”

Geralt sighed, his bare chest heaving as he turned in bed to face the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Geralt, please… at least… at least go talk to it… he… whatever it is. You must have dealt with… creatures like this before. Please…”

You were shivering again—not just from the usual chilliness in this room, but also from the growing fear returning to your body, clawing at your guts. Finally, the Witcher opened his yellow eyes again, his forehead decorating an almost disturbed frown.

“Why are you so keen on helping your father? He obviously treats you like shit.” He spat. You flinched.

“He’s… he’s not my real father. He is… was my mother’s new husband, before she passed. My half-sister is his only child.”

“Then why are you helping him? Are you afraid you’ll continue to live in poverty?” You snorted. If only that was the case.

“No. He… last week he suggested to sell me off to a brothel for a ‘nice sum’ to make up for his growing losses with the mine. He knows the bordello owner, he’d… he’d be very interested in having me.”

Geralt breathed in audibly. Your eyes locked.

“And now he offered you to me.” He concluded. You nodded sadly, your trembling intensifying. With a shaky breath, you buried yourself under your covers. Geralt was right. Your situation was pretty hopeless. Swallowing, you turned your back to him, biting back the stinging tears forming in your eyes.

Your shaking did not cease—not until you suddenly felt his strong arms around you, his muscly chest pressing against your back. His bare skin on yours seemed to be singeing yours wherever it made contact with your body.

“Thank you…” You whispered, another wave of security and comfort washing over you, making you tired. If he wasn’t going to help you… you would at least accept his offer to keep you warm for the night.

And then the last thing racing through your mind before you fell asleep was that maybe—just maybe, having Geralt of Rivia take your innocence might not have been so bad after all.

When you woke up the next morning, Geralt was gone. Blinking right into the rising sun fighting its way through your curtains, you sat up, looking around your sparsely decorated room without expecting to find him.

Your sister was staring at you curiously by the time you entered the kitchen. When did not respond to her gaze, she beamed at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“How was it? I heard it hurts the first time. How did it feel? Did you bleed? He’s a Witcher, I doubt he was very gentle with you.” You remained silent. Before she could urge you on to reply to her, your father joined you at the breakfast table.

“Where is Geralt?” You asked instead, even though you feared you already knew the answer. Surely that was why his response caught you off guard.

“Well, where do you think?” He snorted. “He left for the mines before sunrise. Slaying that fucking monster killing my men.”

A/N: Cliffhanger. I know. No, I’m not sorry. *giggles* I hope you enjoyed that! Let me know what you think! Part II can be found here!

Also, check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #netflix #henry cavill #geralt imagine #geralt x you #geralt x reader

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hymn2000 · 6 years ago

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Freeze - MCU AU Fanfic - C2

(Title subject to change)

Previous chapter(s): 1

Story synopsis:- When a burst gas main destroys everything and leaves Peter with nothing, the Stark’s take him in. Thrown together by necessity, they then need to try to keep it together and build a new life. Devastated by loss, Peter doesn’t make things easy for them, and Loki and Tony struggle with their own grief and the responsibility of having someone completely dependant on them.

Chapter description:- With the funeral out of the way, it’s time for Peter to return to school. The return to education is far from ideal

Chapter warnings/themes: character death, hurt/comfort, trauma, grief, depression/mental health issues

Relationships: Frostiron (Loki x Tony) (romantic), Tony and Peter (platonic), Loki and Peter (platonic)

From the same AU as Called To Be A Rock

Chapter 2 - How Did It Come To This?

Custody of Peter’s was assigned legally to Loki and Tony. They kept the official side of things to themselves. Peter had other things to think about. Deep down, he was grateful he hadn’t lost everything – he still had his phone, and a load of clothes and some books and other things he’d left at school and at the Stark’s. He had privately hoped that he’d be able to go back and salvage some of their belongings, but the day after the explosion, the building featured on the news in another story – it had been set alight. They had a live video link on the news, and all Peter could do was sit in front of the telly and sob as he watched his life literally burn away before his eyes. He’d lost so much. He had nothing left of May but his memories. Even her car had been caught up in the blaze.

Tony told Peter he should write a eulogy. They were doing everything quickly. The funeral was set for a week after the explosion had torn everything to the ground. Peter spent a long time at the desk in Tony’s study writing his tribute. He made several drafts, editing thoroughly. It took him two days before he was satisfied.

Tony and Loki grew more worried about Peter by the day. He’d barely spoken. He’d stopped eating. He wasn’t interested in doing anything. They tried hard to offer distractions and things to do, but Peter never wanted to do anything they suggested. He spent a long time looking at his phone, refusing to answer Ned’s calls. The screen was cracked, but miraculously, it had survived the accident and was still working. He’d only sent Ned two messages: one saying; “I’m alive”, and another a day or so later with; “May’s funeral:” followed by the date. Ned had sent countless texts and left countless voicemail messages, begging Peter to speak to him and let him know how he was doing. Eventually Tony had taken it upon himself to talk to Ned and let him know the full story. Loki wasn’t sure how he could best comfort him, so tried to content himself with merely keeping himself available for whenever Peter crawled onto his lap for a cuddle.

The day of the funeral saw brighter weather, sunny and relatively warm. Peter was struggling from the moment he woke up. Loki and Tony forced themselves to be strong for his sake. They helped him get ready and tried hard to reassure him. Peter felt sicker by the minute. He bit the inside of his cheeks and tried not to look anyone in the face.

Ned sat with him on the front pew, and as soon as he saw him, Peter threw his arms round him and hugged him as tight as he could.

Peter couldn’t stop looking at the coffin. It was hard to believe that his aunt was inside. Loki had been right: they hadn’t let him see her. They said it would be too traumatising. Tony agreed with them. He was still struggling with what he’d seen when they’d asked him to identify the body.

“…And now May’s nephew, Peter, will say a few words”

The voice broke through Peter’s distracted state. He glanced at Loki briefly, and stood up, taking his final speech out of his blazer pocket. He felt raw and hollow, and he was trembling. He could feel so many eyes on him as he approached the pulpit. He didn’t look at them: he looked back at the coffin, so much closer now. He looked at the shining wood, at the display of flowers and the gold engraved plaque on top. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. But he had to. He tore his eyes away, unfolding his speech. He looked down at the paper, and as he opened his mouth to speak, he broke down and started sobbing. It echoed round the walls of the church, and he covered his face helplessly with his hand, unable to move. He heard footsteps and then he was in Tony’s arms, held close and tight against him.

“Shh, ok sweetheart, ok”

“I can’t do it-!”

“Ok. Ok. Shall I read it for you?”

Peter nodded. “I can’t…”

“It’s ok. It’s ok”

He let him go and pressed him to sit back down. Peter returned to the bench, collapsing back into his seat and burying his face in Loki’s chest. Ned hugged him from behind.

“This is all Peter’s words: I’m just going to read it for him”

Peter gritted his teeth. He was so ashamed of himself. He pressed his hands over his ears as Tony began to read. He couldn’t bear to listen to his own words. He felt so fake for not being able to say them himself. He’d kept the tears back all morning. Why did his composure have to falter at the most crucial moment? He’d timed his speech, but it was so hard to keep track of time when burdened with such heavy emotion. He could hear Ned crying. He could feel Loki shaking with silent sobs. He hated this. He hated it so much. He felt so weak and lost and helpless.

“… You’ve always been there for me. I can always count on you to help me with absolutely anything. You’ve always made it so easy for me to talk to you. You’re more than just my aunt; you’re one of my best friends too-”

Peter lifted his head. Tony was crying too. He hid his head back in Loki’s chest, pressing his hands harder over his ears, trying to block everything out. Maybe it wouldn’t feel so real that way.

The hollow sound of the handful of dirt hitting the coffin made Peter feel sick to his stomach. Six feet under had never seemed so deep until today. He stared down into the grave, barely noticing the other people gathered at the graveside. He felt like he really was going to be sick, and as others scattered handfuls of dirt onto the coffin, it suddenly felt all too real. Without warning, he was suddenly on his knees, anxious and terrified and with absolutely no cause to remain dignified.

"Please don't go!! Please! Please don't leave me, I'm not ready for you to go! I don't want to do this without you!" he cried.

Loki knelt down, pulling the boy close with an arm about his chest. Peter didn't seem to notice.

"No! No, please, May, please don't go! May! May!"

Peter howled into the crook of Loki's elbow. He was briefly aware of Ned hugging him tight, but he couldn't feel him properly, like he was being touched through a very thick coat. The presence was lost after a while. He didn't know how long it had been. It felt like it could have been hours. All he knew for certain was that he couldn't stop crying. He didn't even bother trying. He didn't care any more. He had nothing left to care about.

Eventually he was hoicked up in Loki's strong arms. He was bundled into the back of the car, still sobbing uncontrollably. Loki sat in the back with him, holding him tight, and as the car started, he began to cry as well.

Loki had managed to calm himself by the time they got home - Peter had not. Loki carried him to his bedroom and, together with Tony, got him out of his suit. Tony picked up a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, but when he tried to help Peter into them, the boy shouted and pushed him away and wouldn't let him touch him.

"Come on, sweetheart. Don't be like that" Tony said sadly.

Loki grabbed the dressing gown from the back of the door, and although he flinched a bit, Peter let himself be dressed in it. Tony decided it was better than nothing, and set the clothes back on the chair.

"Ok. Alright sweetheart"

"No, it's not alright!" Peter burst out. "None of this is alright! It's all wrong and it's not fair!"

Tony sat down on the bed and tried to hug him, but Peter pulled away, standing up and stumbling over his feet. Loki caught him before he could fall.

"Peter" he said, gently.

Peter looked up at him. He felt so sick. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere. He didn't know what to do. He pushed passed Loki and ran.

"Peter!"

Tony grabbed his arm before he could run after him. Loki looked at him. He didn't need to say anything: Loki knew what that look meant.

Eventually Tony decided they needed to track Peter down. He checked all the usual places, to no avail.

"I can't find him" he said to Loki.

"I think I might know where he is"

Loki opened the storage cupboard by the side of the swimming pool, and sure enough, he found Peter sat beneath the shelf beside the mop buckets, his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. Loki sat down beside him, putting an arm round his shoulders. Tony sat at his other side, keeping his hands to himself for the moment.

"I can't do this"

Loki rested his head against Peter's. "You have to"

"I don't want to"

"You've got no choice"

"It gets easier" Tony said. "It'll get easier. It won't hurt like this forever. You'll find a way to cope"

"I don't believe you"

Tony sighed. "I know. But it really does get better. Life goes on no matter how much it hurts. You have to keep moving forward. Which reminds me..."

Peter finally looked up. "What?"

Tony looked at Loki. Peter did too. Loki looked uncomfortable.

"What?" Peter repeated.

"Peter" Tony said. "You know, in a couple of weeks, once you've had time to process everything, you'll have to go back to school"

"I know" Peter said.

In a way he'd kind of been looking forward to it. Maybe he'd be able to pretend everything was still normal while he was there. Tony shifted.

"See, the thing is, well, you see-"

"What?" Peter was growing impatient. He was hurting too much to play guessing games.

Tony exchanged a look with Loki.

"Peter, your school is too far away. We've looked into it, and it's just not practical. There's a school about a ten minutes walk away from here-"

"What? What do you mean? I don't mind long journeys" he looked at Tony desperately. He knew what was going on. "It's fine, I don't mind. I'll keep-"

"Peter" Tony interrupted him firmly. "You can't go to that school any more. We've got you a place at one near here. It's a similar sort of school, so you won't need too much adjustment-"

"No! No please, please Mr Stark, please don't do this!" he knelt up, grabbing at Tony's shirt. "I like my school, I don't wanna leave it! It's all I've got left, please, please Mr Stark!"

Tony carefully detached Peter's hands from his shirt. "I'm sorry, kiddo. If it were practical, I'd have let you keep going there. But it's not. I'm sorry. You really do have to move schools"

Peter knew there was no way around it. He didn’t know what else to say, so he just burst into tears. Holding onto the thought of going back to school, of maintaining at least one aspect of his normal life, had kept him going. Generally speaking, he didn't especially enjoy it there, but it was familiar. That was all he wanted; a bit of familiarity. And that had just been snatched away from him. Loki held him close and he cried and cried. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. He'd already lost his family, and now this bombshell had lost him his school and his friends. He thought back to earlier that day, to all the people in the church, to the solemn look on the coffin bearers faces, and he felt so unbearably sick-

"Oh dear. Alright sweetheart, alright. Shh" Tony grabbed a clean cleaning cloth and wiped Peter's mouth gently. "Lolly, why don't you take him upstairs? I'll come and join you once I've cleaned up down here"

Tony approached the sofa quietly.

“He’s asleep” Loki said, stroking the boys hair.

Tony nodded, and sighed. “It’s probably just as well”

“Tony, I don’t know what I’m doing”

“Neither do I. I really don’t have a clue”

Loki got to his feet, trembling. “I’m sorry-”

“Loki? Loki!” Tony hurried after him, catching him in the hallway. “Hey! Don’t run from me. Please”

Loki sank down into the chair beside the bureau, head in his hands. “I don’t think I can do this”

“I know it hurts” Tony said, taking Loki’s wrists so he had to look at him. “But we haven’t got a choice. Peter needs us. We’re all he’s got now”

Loki looked into his eyes. He knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. “She didn’t deserve this”

Tony pressed his lips together, trying to stay composed.

“She was our friend” Loki said, his voice breaking.

“Oh Loki please, please don’t. Please don’t cry. You’ll set me off” he threw his arms round him desperately, clinging to him. “Please don’t cry”

Loki couldn’t help it. The pain was too much to bear. He cried into Tony’s shoulder while Tony cried into his. They’d both tried so hard not to cry in front of Peter, and now that they were finally alone, they couldn’t hold it in any more. They felt fake, like they had no right to be hurting when Peter was so anguished. Peter had lost everything - but that didn’t change the fact that Loki and Tony had lost one of their best friends.

“We can do this” Tony choked. “It’s gonna be horrible, but we’ve got to do it, and we will do it. We’ll do it together, like we’ve always done”

Loki held onto him tighter. He knew they’d have to find a way to move on from this. There was so much that needed doing, so much change they had to deal with. He didn’t want things to change: he’d been so happy with the way things were. But things had already changed, and they would continue to change - there were no two ways about it.

They had no choice but to get on with it.

Tony took a very deep breath and squeezed Loki’s hand tighter.

“Peter?”

Peter looked up at them with dull eyes. The last couple of weeks had shown a big change in the boy. For a couple of days after the funeral, he had been very loud and angry, but soon settled into a depression, spending more time in tears than out of them. He spent most of his time curled up on the sofa, staring into the distance with a sad, blank look on his face. He would have spent all day in bed if Loki didn’t insist on dragging him out of it. There was a lot of things he wouldn’t do if Loki and Tony didn’t get involved.

Loki and Tony had been trying hard. Tony had bought him a full wardrobes worth of new clothes, although most of them remained unworn, as Peter spent most of the time either in joggers and a t-shirt or his pyjamas. He’d also made sure he cooked good food for him every evening, and prepared lunch and breakfast for him, although most of it went uneaten. He didn’t really know what else to do. He’d sat with Peter and told him about his latest projects, and showed him future plans. Peter appeared to listen, and he looked at the blueprints and prototypes, but he said nothing. He kept showing them to him anyway, trying to keep him involved and get him interested. Peter was too sad to get excited about any of it. Tony held him when he cried and sang to him to stop himself from crying too.

Loki still felt like he didn’t know what he was doing. He took it upon himself to get Peter out of bed every morning, making sure he got dressed into something clean. He spent a lot of time reading to him and soothing his sobs, rocking him gently and lending him his pig to cuddle and his MP3 to listen to. He took Peter to the shops with him to get him out of the house, and every other day (with Tony’s help), he bathed the boy and washed his hair and put him to bed in clean bedding. Aside from that, he didn’t know what else he could do, so he just made sure he told him he loved him as often as possible.

“Peter, we’ve been talking” Tony said. “And we think- well, we think it’s time for you to go to school”

Peter didn’t say anything, but he cast his eyes down and clenched his fists under the blanket.

“It’ll be good for you, being with people your own age, having something to do - the schoolwork will keep you busy. And we don’t really want to neglect your education any longer”

Peter pressed his lips together. He didn’t feel ready.

“I know it’s a change, but you’ll soon get used to it. I know it’s a big step”

“We know you probably don’t feel ready” Loki said. “But if we wait until you do, you’ll never go. We think it’s time”

“We’ll walk with you, hand you over to the teacher on your first day. The headteacher told us we should. It’s not a long walk; only about ten minutes. You’ll be able to find your way back easily afterwards”

“When?” Peter said. His voice was small, quiet and almost expressionless.

“Monday”

Peter nodded. He knew this would come sooner or later. It was Friday today. They’d have a relatively normal day tomorrow - whatever normal was - and then they’d both fuss over him on Sunday, making him feel loved and special. It reminded him of one of the books Loki had read him, just before the orphans went back to the foundling hospital.

“This is the way the ladies ride...”

Loki and Tony exchanged a look. They knew what he was referencing. Tony had sat with them while that chapter was being read. Peter had cried and cried, pressing the pig over his mouth to quieten himself enough to hear Loki reading. Loki had cried a bit too (“This chapter always gets me”), and even Tony had teared up.

“We’re not sending you away” Tony said eventually. “You’ll just be at school during the day, same as always. And then back here afterwards”

Peter knew that, but hearing it didn’t help. He felt betrayed. He still hadn’t come to terms with the idea of starting a new school. It was the last thing he needed. It was just another unavoidable, painful reality of this new life.

Peter’s predictions about the weekend were correct. He couldn’t enjoy the attention: just like in the book, the hot chocolate soured in his mouth, and he had to fight incredibly hard not to cry. And, just like in the book, he waited until after he’d been put to bed to burst into tears. He cried privately for a long time, until he fell into a numb state of near-sleep.

Peter woke up feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. He stayed in bed, hoping Tony had changed his mind and he wouldn’t really have to go to school today.

No such luck.

He was dragged from his bed, washed and dressed and breakfasted in record time. He sat with Loki, pretending to drink his tea while Tony sorted out his school bag. He looked at Loki, hoping to convey just how much he didn’t want to go without having to actually say the words. Loki either didn’t realise, or chose not to notice.

All too soon, they were out of the door, walking in the direction of the school. Peter bit the inside of his cheeks hard. He felt sick.

Loki and Tony were true to their word, walking him there and handing him over to the right person. Peter’s eyes filled with tears when they had to go, and he hugged them tight. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he’d done it, because he heard people laughing. Once they’d left, Peter was given a timetable and escorted to his new form room.

“Here, this is your new boy” The head teacher said, pushing Peter into the room. “Peter Parker”

Peter felt thirty pairs of eyes turn to stare at him. He didn’t look back. The head left, and the form tutor half-smiled at him.

“I’m Ms Thea. Good to have you join us” she said. “Do you want to introduce yourself to the class?”

Peter shook his head.

Ms Thea shrugged. “Suit yourself. There’s a spare seat next to Jimmy”

Peter was forced to look up to find where his seat was. He reluctantly went and sat down. Jimmy shifted his chair over to the other side of the desk, as far away from Peter as possible. It didn’t go unnoticed, and a few of the other students sniggered. Peter ignored them, although his heart was thumping in his chest.

Tony had said it was a similar school to his old one. Peter wasn’t so sure. He’d noticed the faded paintwork, the peeling posters on the walls, the dirty floor... He felt out of place already. It wasn’t that he felt he was better than this - far from it - it was just obvious that he wasn’t supposed to be there. It had been made apparent that these kids weren’t going to welcome him in a hurry.

The bell rang, making Peter jump. A few people laughed, and they all rushed out into the corridors. Peter was suddenly alone. Even Ms Thea had disappeared with the rabble. For a moment he just sat there, his pulse beating in his ears. He looked down at the timetable he’d been given. He had Maths first, in room 4G. He had no idea what that meant. It didn’t seem to be an especially big school, and he hadn’t noticed any direction signs in reception. He turned over the timetable, hoping to find a map. It was blank. He stood up and left the room. He looked at the door. 3F. He didn’t know what that meant either.

Peter got lost very quickly. He tried to retrace his steps, but it was as though the building changed around him, and he couldn’t find anything he recognised. He stopped at the top of a flight of stairs. The hallways were quiet now, eerily so. He stared down at the timetable, as though reading the room number over and over again might give him more clues. It didn’t. He knuckled his eyes, but the tears filled his eyes again just as quickly as they’d been wiped away. He could feel himself shaking. He felt hot and shivery, and he had a tight feeling in his throat. He swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to cry, not here, not now.

He turned round, going through a door to his right. There was a sign outside one of the classrooms: 9G. He looked at his timetable again. He must be on the right track, surely. He followed the corridor down, keeping a close eye on the room numbers, and finally found 4G. He swallowed hard and pushed the door open. The teacher gave him a little wave.

“You’re the new boy, right? Sit there” he gestured to a seat on the front row.

Peter sat down, and jumped as the teacher slammed a grey workbook down on the desk in front of him. He jabbed at the cover with his pen, leaving dots of ink on the page.

“Your name there, then the class, and then my name at the bottom” the teacher said. “It’s Mr Jacobs”

Peter took out a pen and filled out the front obediently. His hand shook and the ink smudged a bit. Mr Jacobs didn’t seem to care.

“Have you ever done Pythagoras?”

Peter nodded.

“Good. Hey, Ryan, hand these worksheets out”

Ryan got up, barging Peter’s chair as he went up to the front and took the worksheets from Mr Jacobs, who sat down at the desk and started typing on his laptop. Peter glanced to his side. He was at the end of a row of four seats. There were two other people on the row. They’d moved up to leave a gap between themselves and Peter when he’d sat down. Peter looked down at his hands. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes again.

Ryan slammed a worksheet down on Peter’s desk, grinning triumphantly when he made him jump. The worksheet had been crumpled considerably. Peter glanced to his other side, and once he saw people had started working, he smoothed out the worksheet and looked at it. It didn’t seem to be anything too tricky. He glanced at the other people on his row, and the people on the next table. They all seemed to be copying the diagrams into their workbooks and then solving them there, not on the worksheet, so he did the same. He had a good understanding of the basics of Pythagoras, so he managed to get lost in his work for a while. He could hear everyone else in the room talking and laughing, but it soon blurred into incomprehensible background noise. He was working quickly, and he found himself feeling pleased about that.

“Lets see how far you’ve got” Mr Jacobs voice sounded, and he snatched Peter’s book from him.

Peter looked at the pen he was holding. It was double sided, green at one end, red at the other. Peter had never seen one like it. Mr Jacobs had the pen held with the red end down, ready to litter the pages of the workbook with angry red crosses. His expression didn’t change, but he slowly twirled the pen round, reading through Peter’s answers and marking the page. A minute or two later, he set the exercise book back in front of Peter, its pages dotted with green ticks.

“Good work” he said. “Keep it up”

Peter allowed himself to be proud of himself, just for a moment. He heard whispering behind him, and as he listened harder, he could hear they were talking about him - and none of what they were saying was complimentary. His good mood faltered, and dropped completely when something hit him hard on the temple. It landed on the desk, revealing itself to be a metal pencil sharpener. Mr Jacobs had been lingering by Peter’s desk, checking over someone else’s work. He stopped, picking up the pencil sharpener and throwing it hard in the direction it had come from.

“What have I told you lot about throwing things in my classroom?” he growled, turning back to the girl whose work he was looking over. “Amanda, how many times? Squared does not mean times by four-”

Peter looked at him. Mr Jacobs caught him looking, and winked at him. Peter decided he liked him.

The ring of the bell prompted the same quick clear out of the room as earlier. They had a break now, for twenty minutes. At first Peter thought he should try to tag along with someone so he wouldn’t get lost again, but after most people blanked him, some made comments obviously directed at him, and Ryan shoulder-barged him on the way out of the room, he decided it was probably better not to.

Peter wandered around on his own. It was amazing how quickly everyone disappeared and left a heavy silence in the air. The dim hallway blurred, and Peter had to swallow very hard to stop himself from crying.

He found a vending machine under a set of stairs. There were two boys in front of it, younger than he was, talking about how you could trick it into thinking you’d put $1 into it by using a button or two 2�� pieces stuck together with blu-tack. Peter lingered for a moment, watching them, and was surprised to see their scam worked. Just then, the bell went, and the boys grabbed their ill-gotten gains and ran off.

Peter pulled out his timetable. History, in room 14S. He had no idea how to get to it.

Eventually Peter found 14S. The teacher didn’t seem to care that he was fifteen minutes late. The desks were pushed up against the walls, and the rest of the class were busy arranging all the chairs into a big circle.

“New boy?” he nodded. “Sit wherever today. I’ll assign you a seat when the room’s set up properly. Alright class, sit down now!!”

Peter sat down, and the people either side of him made a point of moving their own chairs a good metre away from his. He couldn’t help minding a lot. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared down at them, tears filling his eyes once again. His chest felt hot and tight, and his stomach kept squeezing. It felt like he’d been here for an eternity. He wanted to be back at the Stark’s, snuggled up in the reading nook with Loki reading to him. Truth be told, he wanted to be anywhere in the world, anywhere other than here.

Peter’s heart sunk as he saw what he had next. PE. He didn’t have any kit with him, and he didn’t feel like wearing lost property. Besides, Ryan had shoulder-barged him a number of times already. What if they had rugby or something like that? He had a feeling it wouldn’t be non-contact.

One benefit of PE was that he knew how to get to it. There was a second building at the school, with a big sign saying ‘Sports Hall’ on it. He found his way over to it, and was relieved to find that the gym and changing rooms were all over here too. He was still a few minutes late, but no one seemed to notice. One of the PE teachers came over to him.

“So you’re the new kid. I’m guessing you don’t have any kit with you?”

Peter shook his head.

“You can sit on the bench and keep an eye on the equipment trolley for today then”

Once everyone was changed, they went outside to the tennis courts. The trolley was set up by the back door of the sports hall, a good few metres from the courts. Peter spent the next forty-five minutes sat on the bench beside it, hoping that if anyone came close enough to see the tears in his eyes, that they’d think it was because of the cold, sharp wind, and not his emotions.

The lunch hour was similarly dull. The canteen was easy enough to find, but it was packed, and hot, and the smell of food made Peter feel sick. He hadn’t had much of an appetite recently. He’d been given lunch money, but he didn’t bother getting anything. He found a quiet corner by the late registration office, and sat on the floor out of sight, charging his phone and playing Tetris until the bell went again.

Peter completely lost his bearings. Every way he turned seemed to be something he hadn’t seen before. He kept tracing and retracing his steps, trying to find something familiar. The corridors were growing quiet, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop anyone to ask them. He pretended to be looking at his timetable, though he’d read ‘English, 1S’ at least a thousand times now.

He was nearly twenty minutes late to the lesson by the time he found the right room. He was tired and fed up, and just wanted to sit down now. He opened the door, and a woman with short black hair stood up, fuming.

“You!” she snapped, standing in front of her desk. “You’re the new kid, I take it? The one whose aunt died?”

Peter nodded slowly, shocked. Tony had told him the school had been made aware of his situation, but he didn’t expect people to actually mention it - let alone shout it out in front of a whole class of people. He felt sick again. He didn’t want people to know about May. His heart was beating like mad, and he was overcome with a sense of dread. He was hot and cold at the same time, shivering and sweating, and he had pins and needles in his fingers.

“Where the hell have you been?! And don’t you dare say you got lost, because I know full well your class were on this floor first thing this morning” she shouted.

Peter flinched, taking a step back, barely able to look at her. How could she have shouted about his aunt like that? How dare she let all these strangers know his business? It was so wrong.

“Answer me, you stupid boy!” the woman exploded. “How dare you turn up nearly half an hour late to my lesson, and without so much as a word of apology! You-”

Peter burst out crying. He’d expected the tears - he just hadn’t expected the sobs. He covered his mouth with both hands. The room had fallen silent, making his sobs sound louder than they were. He was mortified, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“What on earth are you crying about? Lord give me strength!” she sighed in an exasperated fashion. “Get out of my classroom! Stand outside and I’ll have a word with you after class”

Peter didn’t need to be asked twice. She slammed the door behind him. Peter sank to the hallway floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and sobbing into his hands. He didn’t bother trying to stop: he knew any attempt would prove futile. He cried and cried, wishing he had the strength to run. He wanted to run and run and run some more, to find somewhere safe, somewhere that wasn’t here, somewhere where everything is ok again. He wanted Tony. No. No he didn’t. He wanted his aunt. He wanted May.

Peter dragged himself to his feet, leaning his back against the cold brick wall. He looked down at his shoes, breathing very deeply. The bell went. It was a minute or two before the classroom door opened and the class filed out. Ryan lead the way, grinning from ear to ear, a spiteful smile. He laughed in Peter’s face.

“How old are you? Imagine, crying like a baby just because you got told off!” he laughed. “You’ve been crying all day anyway, haven’t you? Crybaby”

Peter glanced at him, but otherwise didn’t react. Ryan scowled, annoyed that he wasn’t getting a reaction.

“Hey, are you deaf or something? I’m talking to you, crybaby. I said, I’m talking to you!” he shoved his shoulder.

Peter lifted his head. Ryan grinned. He went to shove him again, but Peter’s hand shot up, grabbing him by the wrist. All the hangers-on squealed, crowding closer, always eager at the slightest sign of conflict, lest a fight follow.

“What are you lot doing here?” the sound of the teachers voice made Peter let go of Ryan’s wrist, and him and the others slunk away. Once everyone had gone, the teacher looked at Peter. “Ok, Parker. I don’t stand for insolence, and I don’t stand for lateness. There’s no excuse. Now get out of my sight”

The last slot on the timetable read ‘LL, Library’. Mercifully, there were posters in the hallways promoting the library, and they had directions on them, so it was relatively easy to find.

LL turned out to stand for Library Lesson, and basically consisted of the class going to all corners of the library, spreading workbooks out, and holding reading books in their hands, pretending to work when the supervising teacher walked by, but in actuality, gossiping for the hour. The librarian saw Peter’s confused face and told him it was time for people to work on homework or their English projects, or to do some reading. Peter hadn’t been assigned any projects or homework, so that left one option. Or, it would have, but all the kinds of books he would have liked to read were on shelves near Ryan and his gang, or other people from his class who had made it very clear he wasn’t welcome. The only part of the library that wasn’t taken was an armchair by the bookcase closest to the librarians desk. Peter set his bag down and sat down. He looked at the bookcase. The books were mainly revision guides and audio books. He took his maths exercise book out of his bag and turned to the back page. He needed to look busy, he knew that. He wrote ‘478 x 729 = ?’ at the top of the page, and set about solving it with the grid method. He couldn’t concentrate. He wasn’t really that far away from the rest of the class, and he could hear them talking about him. He tried to block it out, but it was like they were talking directly into his ear. He seemed to have gained a nickname by way of ‘crybaby’, and it wasn’t the worst word they were using to describe him. He gripped his pen, leaning over his exercise book, trying to focus on the sum, but it just wasn’t working. He let his pen fall to the floor and covered his face with his hands as he began to cry again. People noticed, and some laughed, and most joked, but they did nothing more than that. They didn’t ask if he was ok. They didn’t go over to him.

They didn’t care.

Peter had shoved his stuff into his bag and stood up before the bell had even finished ringing. He thanked his lucky stars that the rest of his class were busy gossiping and waiting for their friends, so he got a good head start. He rushed out of the library, down the stairs, along the corridor, down another set of stairs, through reception, and out of the front door. He waited until he was out of the school gates and then sped up, running in the direction of the Stark’s as fast as his legs would carry him.

He made it home in just under five minutes. He burst into the house and ran straight to his room, slamming the door as hard as he could behind him. He tore his bag off his back, throwing it aside and throwing himself down on the bed. He buried his head in the pillow and howled.

#someone needs to stop me #my writing #fanfiction #mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #frostiron #peter parker #spiderman homecoming

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hollyoaksloversx · 7 years ago

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Terror in the Tunnel...

Rounding up a week in Hollyoaks (8th-12th January 2018)

It was a big week for the Maalik’s and the Hutchinsons, as both families found themselves in mortal peril. The action kicked off when Sami realised that Kim had found Farrah’s recording of Ellie’s confession. Whilst Kim wanted to tell Farrah, Sami wanted to hand it in to the police, seeing it as the perfect opportunity to get revenge on James, who he blamed for his Father’s death. However, Sami couldn’t bring himself to report Ellie but was soon presented with another way he could hurt James when he discovered that Harry had killed Amy. Sami informed the police, who soon turned up in the village looking for Harry...

With a little help from James and Ste, Harry managed to evade capture but it seemed like he couldn’t rely on his Dad for support when Tony refused to help him. However, Tony soon had a change of heart and agreed to help smuggle Harry out of Chester whilst taking Diane to her sister’s. On route through a tunnel, Diane heard a noise coming from the boot and demanded that Tony pull over. Opening the boot, Diane was horrified to find Harry and it was then that she stepped out into the road, and straight into the path of the Maalik’s (who were returning from a family cricket match) car. After hitting Diane, Misbah’s car spun out of control before coming to a stop across the two carriageways....

As Tony and Harry phoned for an ambulance, the Maalik’s began trying to free themselves from the car. Whilst no one appeared seriously hurt, Yasmine and Imran were trapped in the back. Deciding that getting her children out wasn’t her priority at that moment, Misbah went to check on Diane, but was soon called back to the car when Yasmine and Imran announced that they could smell petrol. As Misbah worked to free them, a lorry appeared and it quickly became apparent that the driver was too busy gawping at Tony and Diane to notice the car he was hurtling towards. With a limited amount of time left, Misbah had a decision to make and she opted to free Yasmine from the car, leaving Imran staring death in the face. Luckily, Imran managed to free himself moments before the car burst into flames but the family were unaware of this fact until they saw him, dazed, on the other side of the carriageway. Although no physical harm had come to Imran, he was left traumatised by the fact that Misbah had left him to die...

Meanwhile, Diane was rushed to hospital, where it was soon revealed that she was going to be fine. Despite being told by Tony to run away, Harry opted to stay with his family but of course, the police were still after him and Harry finally decided to turn himself in. As word got out that Harry had killed Amy, Ste was forced to break the news to a devastated Leah and Lucas, whilst Tegan tried to comfort Ry Ry. However, Tegan was about to get the shock of her life when she was Ry Ry and Ste kissing and she later confronted Ry Ry over his cheating. Ry Ry reacted angrily to Tegan’s questioning and, whilst insisting that he wasn’t gay, called her Amy. Tegan put two and two together and realised that Harry wasn’t the one responsible for killing Amy, Ry Ry was. Despite Ry Ry trying to defend himself, Tegan wasn’t interested in hearing it and tried to get away. It was then that Ry Ry grabbed hold of her, put his hand over her mouth to stop her shouting for help and began sobbing that he wasn’t gay. As a lifeless Tegan fell to the floor, Ry Ry moved her to the bath, where she was later discovered by Ste and Leela. But, if Ry Ry thought he had got away with it, he was very much mistaken, as Leela announced that Tegan was still breathing...

In other news this week, Scott saw Brody and Maggie hugging and, assuming they were having an affair, told Damon. As Damon confronted the pair, he was left heartbroken when Maggie revealed she was dying of cancer. Elsewhere, Diane encouraged Peri to pretend she was still pregnant as she moved in with Prince at the McQueen’s. Finally, Luke, Tony and Darren decided to buy Nightingale’s.

5 Things We Learnt This Week:

1. If you have a car accident in a tunnel, not one person will stop to help.

2. James loves a cheeseboard. Always eats one in a crisis.

3. Ry Ry appears to have fairy lights around all the doors in his house.

4. Don’t ask Lucas to cover for you. He’s a rubbish liar.

5. Grace really needs to look into improving security at The Loft given that 10 year old Leah was able to walk right in.

One Last Thing:

“Dee Valley Police. Making a safer community”. HA HA HA!

Characters Featured:

Brody, Damon, Darren, Diane, DS Thorpe, Ellie, Farrah, Harry, Imran, James, Kim, Leah, Leela, Lily, Lucas, Luke, Maggie, Marnie, Misbah, Myra, Peri, Prince, Ryan, Sami, Ste, Tegan, Tony and Yasmine.

Past Characters Mentioned:

Amy Barnes, Andy Morgan.

#Hollyoaks #Highlight #Misbah Maaliki #Yasmine Maalik #Imran Maalik #Farrah Maalik #Sami Maalik #Kim Butterfield #Tony Hutchinson #Diane O'Connor #Harry Thompson #Ste Hay #James Nightingale #Darren Osborne #Luke Morgan #Tegan Lomax #Ryan Knight #Leah Barnes #Lucas Hay

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sulietsexual · 7 years ago

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You did a similar thing with Charmed, so what would you say is the most traumatic thing each of the scoobies went through? (Within btvs universe)

Okay, so I’mjust going to go with the Core Four Scoobies (Buffy, Giles, Willow and Xander)otherwise we’ll be here forever, given the rotation of characters on Buffy. So,here we go.

Buffy

So, for me,Buffy’s biggest trauma is somewhat complicated, because what I believe to her biggest trauma and whatthe show presents as her biggesttrauma are completely different. So I’m going to list both, and explain myreasoning behind both.

Narrativelyand within the context of the show and the character and the way the seriestook her characterisation, I would list Buffy’s resurrection as her biggesttrauma. While Buffy undergoes numerous traumas over the series and we have seenher previously suffer PTSD in the Season 2 opener When She Was Bad, herresurrection at the beginning of Season 6 seems to have traumatised her onseveral deeper levels, and it takes hernearly the entire season to recover from the after-effects.

Not only isBuffy’s trauma linked to being violently pulled out of Heaven, she is furthertraumatised by the fact that she is resurrected in her own grave, effectivelyexperiencing what it is like to be buried alive which, thanks to the Season 1episode Nightmares, we know is one of Buffy’s biggest fears. The entireexperience, coupled with the depression she was already suffering from Season 5, combines to cause so much trauma to Buffy that she literally shuts down andcloses off from human emotions in order to cope.

That beingsaid, I personally believe that thebiggest trauma Buffy suffers is the abuse Spike puts her through. She spends allof Season 6 being victimised by Spike, emotionally and sexually. What we watchunfold over Season 6 is a classic example of an abusive relationship, and whileBuffy is trained/used to dealing with supernatural threats and living inconstant danger, she is not used to apartner who emotionally manipulates and abuses her, pushes her sexualboundaries, sexually assaults her and then attempts to rape her. Buffy might bethe Slayer but she is also human, and abusive relationships have devastating effects on the victims,often leaving them with trauma and PTSD for years afterwards.

Of coursethe show completely ignores this in favour of having Buffy prop up, coddle andcomfort her abuser, and so the trauma and PTSD she would definitely have suffered as a result of the relationship is neitheracknowledged or explored.

Giles

I would saythat Giles’ biggest trauma was losing Jenny and being the one to find her body,especially considering the manner in which he found her body.

As aWatcher, Giles is somewhat used to death and he mentions that he has lostpeople before, but Jenny seems to be the first death of someone truly close tohim, someone he loved. And while he does lose Buffy down the track, as aWatcher, he was always prepared for the day when he would lose his Slayer.Jenny’s death, however, came completely out of the blue and just as he was acknowledging hisfeelings for her again and moving towards a reconciliation, so the trauma andpain of her death cuts through him sharper and deeper than any other loss he’shad, up till that point and after.

As I pointedout, there’s also the way in whichGiles discovered Jenny’s body, which would definitely have added to his overalltrauma, as Angelus set everything up to provide maximum horror and trauma, withthe implied romantic evening, candles, roses, all leading to Giles findingJenny’s corpse in his bed, her eyes wide and dead and seemingly looking at him,a final message that he couldn’t save her. Giles’ breakdown after her death andthe way in which he recklessly goes after Angelus really shows how deep thetrauma went, as Giles is usually quite adept at keeping his emotions in check.The visceral reaction to Jenny’s death has me convinced that it was and remainsGiles’ greatest trauma.

Willow

I think theentire fandom can agree that Willow’s greatest trauma was Tara’s violent andabrupt death. As with Giles, losing a partner in such an unexpected andgruesome manner severely impacts Willow, and her subsequent rage and griefdrive her magical roaring rampage of revenge.

It’s nothard to pin down why this death traumatised Willow so much, as we know frompast experience that Willow does not handle grief or people leaving her well.When Oz cheated on her, her reaction was to cast a vengeance spell, and when heleft for good, her grief caused her to spiral so badly that she lost control ofher magic and power and put her friends in danger. So it’s no wonder thatlosing Tara in such a violent way – and actually having Tara die in her arms –had such a deep and traumatic effect on her, and given Willow’s previouscharacterisation and unhealthy coping mechanisms, it’s easy to understand whyshe went off the deep end following Tara’s untimely demise. I wish Season 7 hadexplored this grief and trauma better, instead of hurriedly shoving her into anew relationship, as the show never really allowed her to grieve properly forTara, nor work through the trauma that was so clearly still with her.

Xander

As withBuffy, I believe Xander has two traumas that vie for top billing, and evenworse than with Buffy, the show tends to gloss over both in favour of keeping Xander as the comic relief character, asopposed to trying to explore the effects of these traumas.

The firstone is somewhat of an ongoing trauma in Xander’s life, and that is his abusivehome life. Xander’s home situation and the abuse and neglect he suffers throughis alluded to numerous times throughout the show and many hints indicate that the abuse is not only emotional butphysical too, with the episode Restless all but confirming this. This ongoing abusehas an extremely detrimental effect on Xander and we clearly see this in hisday-to-day behaviour, his attitude towards women and his fears in the laterseasons of becoming an abuser, just like his father. A childhood filled withthis kind of emotional and physical abuse would have and very obviously didhave a deep and lasting impact on Xander.

The secondtrauma, and this is the one that the show completely ignores, is losing hisbest friend in such an abrupt and violent way, and being given no grieving timebefore he is instructed to kill Jesse if he gets the chance. I have spoken numerous times about the effect thistrauma had on Xander and how it is clearly shown in his attitude towardsvampires and his reaction to the Angelus period. Without re-hashing old points,Jesse’s death was traumatic enough to Xander that he was never able toreconcile Buffy allowing not one, but twovampires to survive and thrive next to the Scoobies, and he never fullylets go of his distrust towards the undead.

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #btvs meta #scooby gang #sorry this took so long!#answered #Anonymous #meta

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nezumionice · 7 years ago

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A Study Of Queenie Goldstein

Okay this was initially supposed to be a random headcanon but it grew more and more detailed as I wrote it and I think I’ve gone insane after I finished it because it’s so much longer than I initially thought it would be and I was torn between which plot to go with.

This is basically a character study of Queenie Goldstein and how I would personally interpret her to be like. Many other fics I’ve read describe her as the giggly, sprightly one, whose relationship with Jacob is at the envy of both Newt and Tina. This time I reversed the roles and gave Queenie a little wiser, more matured role, and I also made Newt and Tina’s relationship at the envy of Queenie herself.

This fic takes place a year after the events of FBAWTFT, an AU where there Grindelwald has escaped from imprisonment. There are wizarding refugee camps set up across the world, and this one shot takes place at the Massachusetts campsite. As I’ve mentioned, this did NOT turn out like what I expected and I might (or might not?) add a Part 2 to this. If you guys like it I might do a short epilogue to grant closure to the Jakweenie shippers or something, but the alternate ending I have in mind is mostly sister angst between Tina and Queenie. For now this is what I have.

It’s 10.20pm as I’m writing this, my back feels like it’s going to break, my eyelids are growing heavy; I hope this was worth it and I hope that y’all like it.

Queenie Goldstein was a Pukwudgie back in her Ilvermorny days, but even after she graduated, she still upheld its value of healing. She wasn’t a bad healer herself, both physically and emotionally. She was capable of basic medical rituals and knew a number of healing spells/potions for various injuries. Her telepathic abilities also enabled her to empathise with the emotions people felt, especially pain and grief, which made her an exceptionally understanding young witch. She gained these practices from comforting Tina when she was upset or tending to her wounds after a particularly difficult day in the field. Difficult days had grown to be of quite some abundance recently, ever since the dark wizard Grindelwald escaped from Azkaban. The Aurors at MACUSA had been put on high alert and some were even sent to guard the wizarding refugee camps situated around the country. Tina, as one of the most high ranking Aurors, was one of them. As the wizarding war raged on, Tina had been coming home less and less, from once every fortnight to once every other month. Queenie’s concern for the safety of her sister began to mount, despite Tina repeatedly insisting that she could take care of herself. Finally, on one of the rare instances that Tina had come home, Queenie declared that she wanted to volunteer herself at one of the refugee camps, that she wanted to help the sick and wounded witches and wizards who had suffered the wrath of Grindelwald and his followers, that she could use the skills she had to at least do something in this war, instead of being cooped up alone in the apartment all day. To her absolute surprise, Tina tiredly agreed, and they set off to the Massachusetts refugee camp the next morning.

For the next three months, Queenie had been kept busy on her feet as hundreds of Grindelwald’s victims flooded into the camp every week, all bleeding and traumatised and in dire need of comfort. Queenie had quickly become the main source of it within a week, the shining bright candle of hope amongst the relentless darkness of Grindelwald’s attacks around the world. She soothed the scared, assured the worried, told all sorts of spunky stories to cheer up the depressed. The victims started looking up to Queenie for her kindness, compassion, and her fiery determination to end the war, the most prominent value she shared with her sister. Before long, Queenie had turned the Massachusetts refugee camp into the most ambitious, headstrong lot of freedom fighters who had ever went against Grindelwald. Tina couldn’t remember being this proud as she watched Queenie singing all kinds of inspiring songs by the campfire at night and cooking the best meals the refugees had ever eaten. Even Madam Picquery came down from MACUSA headquarters one day to thank Queenie for her service towards the victims.

But their spark of hope was snuffed out when the Grindelwald killings got worse. An entire village of No-Majs had been openly attacked, resulting in nearly all of them killed. The situation had gotten so bad that not only the MACUSA Aurors had to be sent in, the Ministry of Magic and the Australian Magical Congress were also called to arms. Almost two hundred survivors poured into the campsite within a day; a disoriented, broken mix of American, British and Australian wizards. Newton and Theseus Scamander were among the limping ranks, along with a grim-faced Leta Lestrange (to Queenie’s slight dismay). Tina had returned from battle sustaining a few major injuries, narrowly evading death yet again. Queenie had never been this devastated in her life as it became increasingly more challenging to treat the new victims. What the previous refugees had encountered was nothing compared to this. Queenie started facing more closed-off, reserved patients who either refused to talk whatsoever or rudely asked her to bugger off.

Interestingly though, Leta was one of the few who were willing to cooperate with her, and told her that whoever had been mean to her probably deserved the depression they felt. Queenie didn’t know whether to feel flattered or offended, so she simply begged to differ. Theseus was a wise, intelligent young man, Queenie observed, and he didn’t seem as affected by the horrors of war as the other refugees were. But what intrigued Queenie about this war hero the most wasn’t his charisma or courage, but the fact that there was a sense of longing to him, the longing to go home and live his life free of war. But it was the warm, familiar presence of Newt that spurred her on to continue healing the war victims. This time Queenie didn’t even need to read his mind to know how he felt; Newt seemed to have no objections to verbally spilling what was on his mind. He trusted her to listen, and Queenie trusted him to tell the truth. After all, they were friends. He rambled on about how he had to tame dragons, how things were going in his case of beasts, the worry of Grindelwald getting ahold of his suitcase again, the fact that his father had just passed away, how he was working with Dumbledore to locate Grindelwald, his secret quest to find the remaining wisp of Credence’s soul - but Queenie was touched into oblivion when he mentioned his feelings for her sister (of course, he made Queenie swear to Merlin that she wouldn’t tell a soul about it). Newt mused about how well Tina could duel with dark wizards (including Grindelwald himself) and emerge from battle without a scratch, how he completely and utterly admired her courage, how she could be deadly yet delicate, how the very sight of her warmed his heart every time, how her smile made his whole day, how he would endure a Cruciatus Curse for her, just how much he loved her and that he doubted she would feel the same for him. Queenie straight up told the Magizoologist that he was being foolish and that of course Tina loved him back. Besides, she went on to admit, if more people valued love and affection above death and war, the wizarding world would be a much merrier place.

Queenie thought about Jacob that night. She heard Newt and Tina speaking in hushed, tentative voices not far from her tent, and began to miss her beloved baker more than ever. She wondered whether he remembered her, wondered whether they’d ever get to be together, wondered whether Jacob had rekindled his affections for his ex-girlfriend, wondered the plethora of questions bombarding her head, drowning out the pained thoughts of the hurting victims around her. She wondered, wandered, late into the shadows of the mysterious icy night, wishing with all her heart that Jacob was safe and happy, yet a part of her aching for the sweet taste of his pastries on her tongue. It was only after Tina had emerged from a deep, heartfelt conversation with Newt, only after catching knick knacks of Tina’s elated thoughts, did Queenie finally manage to lull herself to sleep.

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thesecondmate · 4 years ago

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reading: wk50-52

3 weeks + 3 journal entries for how i was gonna start this post. in essence: goodbye 2020, my god has it been a rollercoaster, albeit one sloping gently downhill into familiar melancholy. i never thought i’d feel like this again, yet it’s like slipping into a warm ocean where i can float forever, safe in the salt and waves lapping at my face.

stay tuned a ‘best of 2020′ list and what i want to read next year that isn’t my damn textbooks. and maybe some personal updates depending on how much wine i drink this evening. happy new year, my loves.

week 50: penultimate week of o+g rotation: i would say the end is in sight but in fact i have lost all motivation, hate my degree (well, specifically, the course administration), had a breakdown outside my exam followed by the most embarrassing brain freeze ever during a panel discussion that i was speak on, took several days to reply to everyone about said exam breakdown, am convinced i will fail my 5th year exams, aaaand dealt with all of this by handpainting christmas cards all saturday. welcome 2 the fun house !

week 51: final week of placement: i struggled through the final week of my placement (literally popped into my placement for 2 hours to have a tutorial, get signed off, and collect my things), failed my mock osce, and went home. so unbelievably drained.

week 52: christmas & post-christmas liminality: feeling vaguely restored by the virtue of reading many books, watching many movies, curling up by the fire, eating many christmas cookies, and having barely any social interaction outside of my family and our cat and dog. still absolutely drained; still very terrified of my next placement and of failing this year. all i want is to move to a city where no one knows me and i can be something new, but alas. eighteen months until i graduate; forty-two until i finish my foundation programme and can truly set off into the big blue yonder of the world.

books

✩ The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo - Steig Larsson (finished) so i actually would have much preferred this to have kept its original swedish title, ‘män som hatar kvinnor’ (’men who hate women’) - it’d have been less manic pixie dream girl and more reflective of larsson’s point, even if larsson is v guilty of the former. it’s a good book - larsson’s grasp of plot is really excellent and i really enjoyed the twists and turns, even if the pacing of the big reveal was a little too rushed for my liking. however, i find his characters a little off - many of them are great, especially berger & henrik vanger, but i find blomkvist a little self-insert at times (he’s a financial journalist! but not like other financial journalists! and he has a sexy editor lady with whom he has an open relationship! and he sleeps with this cool hacker girl who immediately trusts him!), and lisbeth is...very ‘traumatised manic pixie cyberpunk girl’ if you ask me. which is a little uncomfortable. also not to mention the rape scene - which is vile. overall: good, intrigued to see if larsson will flesh lisbeth out to be less of a caricature in the sequels.

✩ The Orphan Master’s Son - Adam Johnson (finished) this book has lost none of its magic for me, absolutely none. if anything, re-reading it a few years later has made me appreciate so many things: the characters (even more than before! if that’s possible!!), the abject heartbreak of the second mate and his wife, the trip to texas (i got far more out of the political side this time), the relationships in the camps (the captain of the junma and li mongnan - hold me whilst my heart BREAKS), the way that johnson plays with narrative from the loudspeakers to the interrogator to the dreamlike quality of jun do’s own new life in pt 2. as a teenager, i was fascinated by the setting, the double-farce of the propaganda vs life, the passages about the second mate’s wife and her silken yellow dress - i thought that jun do was a bland narrator, which i now see couldn’t have been further from the truth. i have so, so much respect for johnson as an author and this book really is a formative part of who i am, in ways that i could not express.

✩ Dark Matter - Michelle Paver (finished) another re-read. michelle paver is the queen of ghost stories and things that go bump in the night (see: spirit walker in the chronicles of ancient darkness) - this book absolutely terrified me the first time that i read it, so i made a point of finishing it in the daytime this time. perhaps that’s why it didn’t hit as hard this time - it was less terrifying. however, really appreciating her choice to make the narrator gay, without ever making a deal out of it or naming it - it’s the lil things like working class arctic explorers being disgustingly in love with their charismatic expedition leaders, ya know? big fan. also huge fan of her descriptive prose - she is also the queen of arctic imagery. her prose, combined with the gorgeous black and white photos at the start of each chapter, have not helped my desire to sack it all off and go work as a doctor in the faroe islands or iceland.

✩ The Diet Myth - Spector (on hold) i left this book at uni bc i didn’t want to ruin my own christmas with his awful writing style, if you want an indication of how much i dislike this book.

✩ Smoke Gets In Your Eyes - Caitlin Doughty (in progress) a christmas gift that i’m currently reading. i’m so morbid and am learning so much, although i feel like some of the chapters are burbling on with anecdotes but don’t hammer home many points (although maybe it’s bc as a medical student i’m less easily shocked than your average reader) - bit confused as to where we’re going but i’m along for the ride.

✩ Calling a Wolf a Wolf - Kaveh Akbar (in progress) beautiful. in progress - his imagery is quite beautiful but i struggle to sit and read poetry.

✩ The Secret History - Donna Tartt (in progress) re-read. i sink back into old books like familiar lovers, like hot baths. so much comfort.

films

✩ Dead Poets Society (1989) why were the deleted scenes deleted. WHY. rewatching it, i felt some of the character development and relationship development was a little rushed - yet the deleted scenes could have fixed that. WHY WERE WE ROBBED. as ever, emotionally devastated as someone who loves languages and books and words, but ultimately chose medicine and science. as ever, very very sad over neil perry and aching for todd anderson. newfound appreciation for meeks + dalton. that punch at the end? *chef’s kiss*

✩ Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) i am inducting my sisters into lotr and they are powerless to stop me.

✩ Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince (2009) my favourite of the hp movies.

✩ Atonement (2007) this film and i have a long history - i first saw the start of it many years ago, when i did not know what c*nt meant, so was understandably a little bit lost, but also keira knightley in that green dress was a true gay awakening moment. i love the cinematography - it’s so ridiculously dreamlike and gorgeous, and the set design for the house is just beautiful. as are keira knightley and james mcavoy. also, the soundtrack with the use of the typewriters and lighters as drumbeats - my GOD, so beautiful. the second half of the film felt very rushed to me - the reveal that some of it was briony’s fiction made sense, but it lacked the stunning quality of the first half, both plot-wise and camera-wise (although the dunkirk scene was brilliant; love a long, revolving camera pan). i particularly hated every scene with briony in it - v lacklustre - and also the scene with luc remembering cecilia, it just felt forced and gimmicky. the novel definitely wins out for me.

podcasts

i haven’t listened to any podcasts in a while, bar a few episodes of the magnus archives whilst cooking and running errands, BUT i did record one!! the episode will be up in the new year but we have a few back episodes on Right to Refuge, which covers refugee/asylum issues and is by the charity that i work for!

articles: medicine / nature

✩ Mass die-off of birds in south-western US 'caused by starvation' - Phoebe Weston, The Guardian

✩ Eradicating Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting: Human Rights-Based Approaches of Legislation, Education, and Community Empowerment - Williams-Breault (2018), Health Hum Rights i just finished my obstetrics & gynaecology rotation and was appalled by the prevalence of FGM/C in the UK and wanted to learn more. this article is truly excellent in terms of understanding cultural issues and barriers to ending FGM/C.

✩ Female Genital Mutilation: Health Consequences and Complications—A Short Literature Review - Klein et al. (2018), Obstet Gynecol Int. a short america-centric lit review that i read whilst writing up my reflective pieces - not as good as the above one but has more (horrifying) statistics: 200 million women affected worldwide; 6,000 girls cut each day; 85% will have some form of medical complication in their lives, from psychological/sexual to gynaecological to obstetric including death; estimated death rate of 1 in 500; 60.5% of affected women reported fear when their spouse wanted sex compared to 2.4% of unaffected women.

✩ Gender equality and human rights approaches to female genital mutilation: a review of international human rights norms and standards - Khosla et al. (2017), Reprod Health intersection of two things i spend a lot of time thinking about: human rights & medicine. interesting - to re-read again and consider and learn more about things like treatment-monitoring bodies, etc.

✩ The macho sperm myth - Robert D Martin, Aeon a wonderful friend sent me this! i am somewhat lost by the meandering course of the article but interesting points are raised. also the idea that some scientist was like ‘i absolutely KNOW that the heads of sperm contain tiny homunculi; i cannot see them but they are THERE’ is just hilarious.

articles: covid-19 nb: i am not linking every covid article i read bc that would be so depressing but rest assured i’m up to date on a surface level. i am not on a medical level bc i am emotionally exhausted.

✩ Covid vaccine: 'Disappearing' needles and other rumours debunked - Jack Goodman & Flora Carmichael, BBC pls don’t even. let me think about anti-vaxxers. i simply wish to know the current conspiracy theories so i can argue with people more effectively.

✩ Covid at Christmas: 'Chris Whitty is more popular than Britney Spears' - Emma Harrison, BBC please someone get me a chris witty prayer candle i am BEGGING

✩ Covid-19: Doctors call for rapid rollout of vaccines - Nick Triggle, BBC

articles: culture

✩ Art in 2021: The highlights to hope for - Will Gompertz, BBC yayoi kusama is coming to the tate modern!! which i can actually get to relatively easily on public transport from my uni city!! gonna take myself to see the infinity rooms omg i am so EXCITED

✩ History: Quileute Nation this is the official site of the quileute nation, whose history and mythology stephanie meyer butchered in the twilight saga.

✩ The Archers tackles the 'hidden' connection between disability and modern slavery - BBC something i’m ashamed to say that i knew nothing about until this article. the archers keeps on giving in terms of social issues.

✩ Gollancz gets Sims’ ‘horror for the Netflix generation’ - Tom Tivnan, The Bookseller jonny sims is writing a BOOK??! the EXCITEMENT i feel

#weekly #reading 2020 #last one! i cannot wait to read more next yr...degree pending

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