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pegaace · 1 year ago

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Analysis on Witch from Mercury, Colonialism, The Tempest, and Caliba(r)n

Okay I know this is my first post ever but I was tryna find somewhere to put my thoughts after seeing a bunch of people everywhere slander Caliban and why that is not it and how my boi is innocent, good actually. For qualifications I did an undergrad lit class that covered The Tempest like 2 years ago so that's fine right (apologies to my profs if I fuck any of this up)

Okay so for starters yes by now everyone knows WfM is The Tempest, Prospera is Prospero (or Prospera actually, there was a 2010 film adaptation that had the gender switch already), Aerial is Ariel, etc etc. So therefore Caliban has to be this villainous, "monstrous" creature right?

Haha no sit down cos no that would be boring. (and also kinda racist as I'll explain) Notice how in the original Prospero isn't the villain of the story, not really, he's just getting revenge for being wronged years ago and trying to ship the kids together. But if recent gwitch is any indication, Prospera truly is the villain of this story, breaking hearts and stopping at nothing to destroy the Benerit group AND earth. Now I wonder which other adaptation of The Tempest has Prospero as the big bad HMMMM :thinking:

Enter Aime Cesaire and A Tempest. Written in 1969, it deals with a lot of the more unpleasant connotations of Shakespeares play. Let me lay it all out for you. So you're saying Prospero, a white dude, comes to this island, uses his western magic to overthrow the native witch (Sycorax), wrecks the land of its magic, and then enslaves her son to do his work for him, constantly insulting his appearance and intelligence? HMMMM seems pretty sus (racist and colonial) to me.

Cesaire, writing during a time of decolonial movements throughout the world, was rightfully really mad at colonizers for forcing their way upon natives with violence, and especially with the use of language to control said populations. Caliban has also been repeatedly dehumanised through previous adaptations of Shakespeares work slowly turning him from a man into a monster, not even human. This is similar to how non-european people have constantly been treated in the past.

Now like wait... Forcing communication through a set language? Dehumanisation? Colonisation of oppressed peoples? Where have we seen that before...? HMMMM

(its almost like... permet scores and gundam technology... Calibarn being free of permet links is like Caliban refusing language...)

And here's where I see the great potential of a Gundam Caliban. Gundam is certainly no stranger to decolonial movements (shoutout to my fave Gundam ZZ and the bois in Blue team and the African liberation front) and I think having Caliban as the Gundam to finally end Spacian oppression (perhaps in a sequel idk if Suletta is getting that far after bonking her mom by the end of the season) would be a great take.

As a side note, Aerial is kinda portrayed negatively in Cesaire's work for choosing to work for Prospero in exchange for their own freedom, as kind of a sellout who makes things worse and is ultimately tricked and trapped anyways and... hey! She's in a giant coffin now and Suletta is unhappier than ever! Oops.

Also like I qrted this on my twt but like its important to remember that Caliban is human too, and will respond to accordingly. They (and this might be where i disagree with @adracat a lil on their otherwise excellent posts) arent just a violent unthinking monster, thats just unfortunately how racism often portrays people of colour. If Suletta shows compassion and humanity towards Calibarn, like how she did to Aerial, and how Eri was able to connect with Lfrith in the prologue when Vanadis had failed, I'm sure she'll be able to bring Calibarn over to her side. And because they can connect so fully via human emotions and love (this is where I do agree with adra that love is the answer and key to open the door) (wooo yeah another love powered robot!! G Gundamming time) I dont think Quiet Zero will be able to stop them, as Suletta will have made the ultimate, unmediated connection between woman and machine, becoming one with it in the way Cardo Nabo had always truly hoped for. To don Gundam and live in space.

Okay sorry for the disorganised post but like one last thing I know I said it'd be nice for Calibarn to show up again in S2 but the other theory I have (which might or might not be true cos lets be real gwitch only rhymes, never copies, and i dont even know where schwarzette fits into all this [goatmom gundam my beloved i miss schwarzletta theory still]) is that the ending of A Tempest has Prospero send the girlies off as usual, but then still choose to stay on the island to fight with Caliban forever, till he can finally fully dominate him, cos racists are shit like that. This continues for a rlly long time cos his magics kinda prevent him from just dying of old age and he lives on, like a vampire sucking life from the island (wow capitalism huh) and its implied he and Caliban are just locked in this long struggle to the death until the day he finally croaks and the colonized can finally be free. Now what other gundam has an eternal struggle with fascism hmm?

idk just thought it might be cool for the gundam sisters to push suletta out of the way (maybe out of quiet zero?) whilst trapping prosperas grudge within it for all time, that would also be dramatic and neat lol. Come to think of it if Prospera does it itd be like ZZ again too lol with Haman pushing Judau away.

#g witch #g witch spoilers #suletta mercury #caliban #prospera mercury #the tempest #ok im so sorry for making such a trash first post rip #this is why they taught me essay skills but its okay no ones grading this one #except the opinions of the internet oh no #if this turns out to be true im gonna pop off so hard #yay obscure decolonialism and tempest lore

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sadistpet · 14 days ago

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Big BIG fan of Raikov being a product of the environments he's been in. Even bigger fan of how they've shaped him for the worst and how he's deciding to make that everyone's problem.

anonymously send me your favorite detail about how i play my character.

AWW THANK YOU SO MUCH NONNIE !! i always want to give the perspective of like. raikov is a victim, yes, but he is also a fucking horrible person regardless of that, even if his experiences have shaped his worldview. i want to make people conflicted on whether they should feel sorry for him or hate him or both or neither, because i find that kind of stuff very interesting :3 i feel a lot of people are - rightfully - worried about portraying a victim of trauma as an irredeemable villain, and they shy away from showing any kind of negative symptoms or behaviours that often come along with trauma

so, like, raikov is really REALLY attention seeking, even in ways that he personally doesn't enjoy, solely because he would rather experience that than be ignored or forgotten about. and i think that's a really interesting topic to explore ; how you can grow to expect traumatic incidents so much that the lack of them feels unnatural, how unpleasantness can become a routine, how you can put yourself in harm's way because it's better to feel that than nothing. it's very inspired by my own experiences with trauma and mental health :D

and of course i always try to show how he Does make it everyone elses problem SDKJLFHJ literally because he's just. an arrogant abusive asshole. but also in the little ways ; how his past experiences have shaped the forms of violence he prefers, and how they influence his justification for his actions

TYSMMM IM SO SO GLAD TO HEAR PEOPLE LIKE MY PORTRAYAL >:D

#AWWW TYSM IM SO PLEASED #g: ¦ ❝ ooc. ❞#g: ¦ ❝ answered. ❞

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the-untitledverse-blog · 1 year ago

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Jurassic World Before The Storm

Chapter 1: The Arrival

Author's Note: It's here everyone. It's finally here! Below the cut is the first chapter of my Jurassic World fic. My first story. My first story! I am just so... grateful. And glad! And joyful overall... I dearly hope you enjoy reading the story and the expansion of Jurassic World as a whole from the perspective of my characters and the canon characters too. Both human and dinosaur POV. I sincerely hope I did this justice. Have fun! (Side Note: You will be able to find this story on AO3 here , on fanfiction.net here and on Wattpad here ... if you want updates or more info, explore this blog or my other blog @simplegenius042 . And if you're interested in my other stories (when they come out) and want to see info and updates, see my other main story blogs @the-silver-chronicles (FC5 based) and @life-despair-and-monsters-blog (mainly Love Death + Robots but also other stuff).

Summary: The return to Isla Nublar and people-watching.

He was close. He knew that.

So very near. Almost within his grasp.

Edward felt a little giddy, though he knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t mature of him. Professional.

He had been searching for this machination for months, ever since he first heard of it. Following every bit of far-fetched leads that he could find so he could have it all for himself.

And making sure those loose ends were tied like rope into a knot…or a disfigured pulp for the case of my helpful companions, he thought with a small grin at the memories, Couldn’t have any competitors finding what was rightfully mine.

He never did believe in magic; science was the closest thing to ‘magic’ for him, as robotics was closest to giving life ever since the failure of Emma. But he was assured that this would have the “best of both worlds”.

He couldn’t just give up an opportunity like this. Especially with his age.

He couldn’t end. The bits of grey appearing in his hair were becoming more frequent.

He needed more time. He just needed to know more. To take more.

He abruptly frowned.

Though it’s rather unpleasant he had to chase his fascination to a ferry back to that blasted island.

Isla Nublar, the Clouded Island.

No doubt no one would even recognize him, he wasn’t as sloppy as he was in his younger years. He hid in the shadows, preying away at what he wanted, when he saw fit to it, and not leaving a mess in the process.

And made sure, with sufficient bribing, that his employees erased his mistakes, never speaking a word of those failures ever again.

Shame he wasn’t there to oversee the process, but he supposed now, once he was on that hunk of wasted scientific potential, he would make sure nothing was left.

And lucky for him, he had two associates inside the staff, ensuring any traces of his presence would never be recorded.

How lucky he was to bump into that man and woman; he thanked his natural ability to talk to people. Especially when using the idea of love against the latter.

His face contorted into a grimace at that word.

Naïve souls, blindly and foolishly following such a lie.

He scoffed, and mockingly chuckled at the meaningless concept. He looked to the other passengers, the families, the couples, the friends.

Such fools, carrying such a weakness around, he shook his head, rolling his eyes at the displays of affection around him, I’m glad to be rid of those chains.

His amber orbs scanned around the passengers, searching for anyone out of the ordinary, someone that may be following him.

He didn’t find anyone worrisome, though his eyes did land on two particular passengers.

A young woman with an even younger child. Both were seated next to each other, his observation gone unnoticed by the two.

The young woman had her arms crossed and firm, while the child looked to be enclosed to himself, nervously fidgeting with his hands.

He raised a brow when the young woman hissed quietly at her charge, the latter stopping the fidgety motions.

He felt a familiar urge tug at his mind, one that recommended he pay close attention.

He focused on observing the two more closely.

Both obviously knew each other. Was she a babysitter? Highly unlikely. Family members? That sounded more…plausible. Though they hardly shared any similarities. Cousins perhaps? Step siblings at the very least.

Regardless of what their relationship was, the two had piqued his interest.

The young woman seemed to be in her early twenties; barely an adult. She had long auburn hair, kempt and luscious. He admired the tidiness. He liked to keep tidy himself, unlike most people he was unfortunately acquainted with.

Freckles scattered her cheeks and small nose. He studied her face, the pursed lips, her ambitious hazel eyes taking chances to glance at her smaller companion, scrunched eyebrows and forehead, her sparkling eye lashes methodically waving when closed.

His amber orbs traced the smooth curve of her chubby cheeks, how unusually perfect the bone held her skin up. He took note of the professional attire she wore on her tall and plump form. He looked back to her face, the porcelain skin and the make-up she had applied making this remarkable specimen almost perfect.

Almost.

He frowned at the realization. Here was a specimen that’s physique was near perfection for humanity... one that looked to be someone capable of business with ambition matching his own. And while her physique was perfect, her flaw seemed to be internal.

Her tolerance was low, mood erratic with no calmness in the air surrounding her. That was clear. She did not have a grasp over her patience. Not to mention, she was intentionally bringing along baggage that she could do without.

Speaking of which.

He gradually turned his attention to the younger passenger besides her.

The child - no older than at least ten - had long brown curls, the unkempt mess shrouding most other features. He spotted cautious brown eyes darting around the room, but a tilt of the head blocked his view of the child's face. He almost concluded the child to be a girl in accordance to the long hair and skittish nature, but he recalled from his own youth of having similar length of hair, and the wildness of it made him doubt his previous conclusion given the young woman's appearance.

Unable to determine the child's sex from where he sat, he took note of the clothes the young passenger wore. Casual yet baggy, he found himself baffled by the fashion choice, especially the jumper. It seemed rather ill-suited for a tropical island. The small thing looked scrawny, and Edward couldn't make heads or tails on whether the child was a girl or boy.

Enough with this ridiculousness, he chatised himself, shaking his head as he turned his attention elsewhere, One anxious androgynous child is hardly worth any of my time compared to the significance of my mission.

He returned attention back to the young woman, the child out of sight, out of mind.

The young woman had a fiery ambition in her eyes, like himself. That made him curious.

In spite of her earlier flaws, he wouldn't deny an opportunity to acquire her use if given the chance.

His amber eyes returned one last gaze to the child, watching how the arms held against the body, like a chill had entered the ferry.

He shivered, shifted uncomfortable in his seat. Slow methodical breathes hastened, his heart beat faster.

Yes, he remembered how he held himself like that. Afraid of making the wrong movement, to mess up, to bring their ire attention towards him. Afraid to feel their wrath.

He clenched his hands into fists, nails biting into his palm.

Don’t think about those underlings. Almost four decades now they haven’t plagued your mind, don’t let them in now. Not while a solution is within reach…

“Attention all passengers!” The ferry’s intercoms announced, “We are arriving on the northwest dock of Isla Nublar! Thank you for your patience!”

He calmly exhaled his breath, relieving his clenched hands. He'd find red sores form across his palms later, much to his displeasure.

He glanced over to the two youths he was studying earlier, the young woman breathing out a ‘finally’ before prepping herself and her small companion for leave.

The child got himself ready, grabbing his bag and unevenly follow the young woman as they made their way outside of the ferry's cabin.

He'd keep an eye out for them, more so the woman than the child. Just in case.

But as of now, he must make his way through “Jurassic World”.

Such waste.

#fic: jurassic world before the storm #jurassic world #the untitledverse #the perfect storm saga #original characters

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genderfluid-dynamics · 2 years ago

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For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened. If a son asks for bread from any father among you, will he give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If you then, being but men, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him! — Luke 11:10–13

Evelyn Waugh’s eldest son, Auberon, once told the following story about his father in his autobiography, Will This Do?: Just after the end of World War II, Evelyn’s wife managed to get her hand on three bananas despite fresh fruit being nigh unavailable.

Neither I, my sister Teresa, nor my sister Margaret had ever eaten a banana throughout the war … but we had heard all about them as the most delicious taste in the world.… The great day arrived when my mother came home with three bananas. All three were put on my father’s plate, and before the anguished eyes of his children, he poured on cream, which was almost unprocurable, and sugar, which was heavily rationed, and ate all three. A child’s sense of justice may be defective in many respects, and egocentric at the best of times, but it is no less intense for either. By any standards, he had done wrong. It would be absurd to say that I never forgave him, but he was permanently marked down in my estimation from that moment.

I think of this story often, which seems over-the-top even for Evelyn Waugh, and how unpleasant the dish must have seemed by at least the second bite: a sort of raw bananas Foster, the sugar grainy and undissolved, the cream slopping everywhere, the sheer size of the thing, the unrelenting monotony of a mouthful of wet banana. The story has everything: joyless dessert-eating, public enforcement of family discipline, excess without taste, banana peels, the showiness of hoarding pleasure. Sad English childhoods always sound like caricatures of themselves, yet they’re somehow all true. It doesn’t matter if the inheritance is tasteless and unappetizing; a child knows his rights and objects to watching a tasteless banana that is rightfully his go to his father all the same. “If a brother or a sister is naked and without food and one of you says to them, Depart in peace, be warmed and filled, but do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit them? Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (James 2:15–17). A child might not know what a banana tastes like, and a child might suffer for the longing of it just the same.

COMMUNION: Take bread, and bless it, and break it, and give it to the disciples. ANTI-COMMUNION: Take bananas, and peel them, and stack them, and hoard them. COMMUNION: Say, Take, eat, this is my body. ANTI-COMMUNION: Find the most unprocurable cream. Find the most heavily rationed sugar. Commit the act of pouring in a stinting age. COMMUNION: Take a cup, and give thanks, and give it to the disciples. ANTI-COMMUNION: Take a bite. Swallow a wince at the flavor of soft and spreading banana undercut by milkfat and the sharp grains of sugar. Maintain eye contact with your children as you do. COMMUNION: Say, Drink, you, all of it, for this is my blood shed for the remission of your sins. ANTI-COMMUNION: Point out the obvious about the banana. Point out what the banana does and does not represent. COMMUNION: Say to them also, I will not drink from now on of the fruit of this vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom. ANTI-COMMUNION: Remember that you are eating three bananas swimming in cream on a plate. The odds that some of the cream has run out onto the table and even onto your lap are high, possibly inevitable. Continue the heavy work of chewing and swallowing. This is a meal that can only ever happen once, but reenacted a thousand times in memory.

There are meals that require repetition and there are meals that cannot bear it. And of course you have to know that you are hungry before you can ask your father for bread. But it’s not enough to know that you are hungry; you also have to know that others have hungered before you and found the common solution named bread, and that bread is plentiful and readily available for you, that bread is digestible and wholesome and a ready answer to hunger; you have to know what hunger is, and what bread is and the difference between a loaf of bread and a rock that is shaped like a loaf of bread, though they may look and feel the same in the hand.

You must be able to imagine your own father hungering. Let us further imagine that your father has only ever hungered and thirsted after righteousness, see Matthew 5:6, and has no concept of bread hunger, in which case you have to learn the language of bread and explain it to him, and hope he will be able to compare it to his own hungers. You must trust that your father can tell the difference between a loaf of bread and a stone. You must trust that your father will not say, Depart in peace, be well and filled, but does not give you the things that are needed for the body. There are many conditions to be met before anyone might ask and hope to receive.

Now at the start of his ministry Christ was led into the wilderness by the Spirit where he met the devil, and in those days he ate nothing. For forty days he was led by the Spirit and met the devil and ate nothing and went about in the wilderness, so afterward he was hungry. At this same time was his Father in heaven, where they neither hunger nor thirst, nor does the sun strike them nor any scorching heat. And the devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread,” by doing so inviting the son to play the father and to give himself his own inheritance; by doing so inviting him to name the terms of his own hunger; by doing so inviting him to take a selfish meal that did not concern itself with the hunger of others or the needment of their bodies. At which Christ referred to Deuteronomy: God humbled you and caused you to hunger, then fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live on bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord. To which the devil had no answer.

The order of operations, then, is this: In order to hunger, you must be beloved of God and in need of humility. If you hunger, it is for the purpose of being fed. What you eat is beyond your knowledge and your father’s knowledge. The purpose of food is to sustain and increase the love of God, whatever your earthly father eats or declines to eat in front of us. I first began to be a man when I asked myself why it was that I was not a man; I first knew I was hungry when I saw food set before me and asked whose it was.

Anyone who hopes for bananas in wartime runs the risk of learning the following: that there are no bananas to be had; that there were never any bananas to begin with; that all bananas had ever been was a collective fantasy brought on by the deprivations of war; that your mother will fail to find any bananas; that you will have to compete with your sisters for the bananas; that your father will exchange the banana for the experience of watching him eat the banana, with or without cream and sugar; that your father will model substitutionary atonement and bear himself your hunger in his body, Christus Victor, paternal satisfaction, and eat the bananas in front of you. For such reasons and more a child might not ask for bread at all but instead say, I’m not hungry, I ate before I got here.

("Evelyn Waugh and the Opposite of Communion", from "Something That May Shock and Dismay You", by Daniel M. Lavery)

taken by a sudden vision of the roman catholic church as a sort of retirement home for wicked old sorcerers where the gimmick inside is everyone is too old for sorcery, making it vitally important that there be a sign outside the gates reading PIUS X RETIREMENT HOME FOR WICKED OLD SORCERERS. DAY-RELEASE PROGRAMME IN OPERATION

#you shouldn’t let fathers lie to you

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thewitchandtheassassin · 2 years ago

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A Pirate’s Life for Me Part Six (Wanda M x Reader x Natasha R.)

Summary: Guilt is a fickle mistress. Is there any coming back after you save Yelena’s life at the cost of another?

Words: 1635

Warnings: Mention of death/murder, guilt, angst, feelings, language

A/N: So... this is back from the grave. You’re welcome. There would realistically be... two more parts? Maybe two and an epilogue?

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife @natasha-danvers @aaron-despair @username23345 @xjiasx @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova @summergeezburr @marvels-writings @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @captain-josslett @onlyafewfindtheway @hayleyokami @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @evilcr0ne @nightingalexx @suki-is-a-queen

-X-

A pale hand slammed violently into the desk, the lone quill shuddering in its bottle as Pierce glared at Rumlow. The vein in his forehead was defined and throbbing but Rumlow's face remained impassive.

"Explain!" Pierce barked, his eyes wild as he looked over the man before him.

"Pirates invaded the island," Brock shrugged, though his words held a bitterness that dripped from every syllable. "My men were overrun. Between the dreaded Captain and those whores, there was nothing they could do."

Pierce inhaled sharply, his face red with fury. "You promised your men were the best."

"They are," Brock snarled in return, expression growing dark as his low-lying anger boiling just below his skin, "But Rogers' men overwhelmed them while the Widow and her whore helped steal the treasure. That's all they're good at, stealing things that do not belong to them."

Alexander studied the panting man, curiosity outweighing his rage as he pondered if he could use Rumlow's evident hatred to his advantage. "I am sensing some personal hostility, Brock. Might I ask what they took from you?"

Gritting his teeth, Rumlow's brows crinkled as he relived your dismissal of him, the blade digging into his skin and leaving behind the scar he wore shamefully. "My fiancée. In Port Royal. Those lesbian harlots kidnapped her and I have not seen her since."

Fingers clasped together, Pierce hummed thoughtfully. Maybe hope wasn't completely lost. It was clear Rumlow's disdain ran deep. If he could broker an agreement...

"If I were to help you find her, would you be willing to kill those vagrants and return the treasure your men lost? I will even be more than thrilled to let you cut their hearts out, if you'd like. If I were a betting man, I'd say it wouldn't be too difficult, finding your lost love," Pierce suggested with a smirk, offering a hand to Brock.

Brock was dumb and impulsive, something he was going to use to his advantage.

Without thinking, Rumlow accepted, shaking Pierce's hand firmly. He wasn't going to stop looking for you either way, determined to make them pay for taking something that was rightfully his. An extra set of hands might just be exactly what he needed.

And if that meant placating Pierce for a little longer, he would swallow his pride and do as he wanted. If only until he found you - and those whores you chose to galavant about with. Once you were his, you'd face the consequences of your actions. But for now...

-X-

Staring out at the thrashing sea, you were completely oblivious to the women bustling around the ship, simply letting the cool air wash over you in hopes of it cleansing your soul. You had killed a man. A terrible, cowardly man but a man nonetheless. A man who might've had a family. People waiting for him.

You'd protected Yelena from an unpleasant demise but would that eclipse murder?

Gentle fingers touched your clothed spine, the smell of those berries Wanda adored filling your nose as she settled beside you. She was quiet but concern radiated off her in waves, green eyes occasionally flitting in your direction before returning to the churning waters.

You'd been different since the island. Silent and almost stiff - maybe even cold - , so caught up in your own mind that your entire being had seemingly shifted, and everyone had begun to notice it. The only time you seemed to relax was in bed, Wanda snuggled between you and Natasha as you combed your fingers through her wild tresses. She couldn't remember the last time you'd had a real conversation with anyone in the past week - and it scared her.

Were you regretting joining the crew? Joining her and Natasha?

Is this where you leave us?

Tilting your head slightly, you smiled tentatively at Wanda.

"Hello, lovely," you husked, lifting her free hand from the ship and kissing her fingers softly.

Wanda wished she could bathe in the warmth washing over her, letting it destroy the anxieties bubbling painfully in her chest.

"Malysh," she whispered in kind, fingertips dancing across your cheek as you nuzzled her palm. "I think we need to speak. Privately."

You sighed, aware of what she was expecting, even if you weren't sure how to adequately offer the answers she wanted. Your sudden behavior was worrisome at best. Of course Wanda wasn't going to let such a thing lay dormant. And maybe talking it over with her wouldn't be such a terrible thing. Maybe she could offer some insight or comfort; help drive out the darkness making its home in your brain.

Tangling your fingers together, she led you to the Captains' quarters, letting the door thump closed behind you as she settled you at the foot of the bed, lingering between your knees. The room was glowing with dim candlelight, the smell of Pierce's stolen incense filling the air. Wanda's eyes glistened in the flames, brows pinched uneasily as emeralds traced along your features.

"You seem so troubled," she mumbled, cupping your cheek sweetly. "How I wish I could read your mind sometimes."

Twisting slightly, you pressed a kiss to her hand, breathing in her rich scent.

"I'm afraid," you admitted brokenly, voice cracking under the weight burdening you. "Of what this life might do to me. I took a man's life yet I worry I don't regret it enough. He was a threat but he was still a human whose blood I let spill into the grass."

Inhaling sharply, Wanda admonished herself - and Natasha, to some degree - for not realizing your pain sooner. Callused, neither was fazed by such actions but this was your first death; first kill. Something that always felt like an atrocity to a person no matter the situation.

"Oh, (Y/N)," she sighed, thumb skating along your cheekbone. "I am so sorry, malysh."

Expression darkening with confusion, you gazed at her with wide eyes.

"We left you to deal with such heavy thoughts," she murmured apologetically. "And that was never our intention. Sadly, such things do not dawn on us the way they would others. We should've remembered this was your first..." she trailed off, leaving the vile word unspoken but there.

"He was going to kill Yelena," you said softly, "And I couldn't let that happen."

Bending, Wanda captured your lips in a soothing kiss, her tongue gliding along sensitive skin as she calmed your ever-raging guilt. "You protected your family," she replied, soothing but muffled against your lips.

Gasping, your eyes snapped open. You'd never really had a family before; only a mother gone long before you were ready for her to leave. Was that why you reacted so harshly, accepting his life for Yelena's? Had they really become family to you?

The word felt... right.

"Will it always hurt like this?" you whimpered as you left only inches between your mouth and hers. "Will it always feel like iron has been poured into my chest?"

Wanda's hands cupped your flushed cheeks, a guilty expression marring one of the faces you loved so deeply. "No, malysh. Soon, you will not even notice anymore. It becomes an instinct. The drive to protect those you love most."

The door creaked open before you could respond, a cautious Natasha peering in. In any other moment, she might've joked about you two leaving her out of a mid-afternoon romp but you'd been so despondent recently and she was scared. Worried she couldn't help; terrified by the notion that you might leave.

"Is everything alright?" she questioned, glancing between you. "Maria mentioned you had snuck away and I was growing concerned something might be amiss."

Wanda waved her into the room, a calming hand tousling your locks. "Everything will be okay. (Y/N) has been feeling conflicted about... what she had to do in order to protect Yelena. On the island."

The realization she had done little to comfort you - focusing more on the blonde - washed over Natasha like the ever-moving tide and for the first time since joining her crew, you could spot the shine of tears clinging to her eyes. The tremble of her lip left your chest aching and the lift of your hand brought Natasha to her knees before you.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, burying her face into your breeches. "I... we..."

"I know," you murmured, scratching her scalp affectionately. "I do not blame you. Either of you."

Her nails bit into your clothed calf as Wanda pressed kisses along your face. It was grounding, being in their presence and soaking in their affections. Slowly but surely, it would dislodge the dagger of anguish digging into your lungs. It would burn away the vile thoughts; wash away the tainted blood now stained to your hands.

"If this happens again, please do not stew in your feelings. Tell us. We are here for you." Wanda's words probed into your very soul, echoing long after they'd gone quiet.

"I love you," you blurted, unable to contain the emotions rattling your bones. You worried if you didn’t speak now, they would simply eat at you. It was far too soon but you didn’t care. They needed to know, even if it wasn’t returned.

Natasha's head lifted and they both stared at you, genuine smiles upturning their lips.

"And we you."

It might've been Natasha answering, but you could see it burning bright in the younger woman's eyes. And you couldn’t lie, it meant so much for Natasha to have spoken before Wanda could. Always the quiet thinker, the “actions over words” type. To hear her respond in kind melted your heart, leaving nothing but a puddle behind.

And you knew then and there that you would move heaven and earth for them. Without hesitation.

Forever.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader x natasha romanoff #black widow imagine #black widow x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarletwidow x reader #pirate AU #reader insert #reader imagine #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #MCU fanfiction #MCU fic

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

Text

Book of Soulmates

Chill Out

pairing: Jungkook x reader

premise: you thought you had the upper hand going to a BTS concert which was sure to be miserably hot for everyone else. that is, until you realized that things were getting a little...heated.

So. Much. Screaming.

Of course, you were right there with them. The pre-concert VCR was playing, signaling the beginning of what was sure to be an unforgettable night. Clinging to your sister beside you, the two of you watch with bated breath and already strained throats as the lights dim and a hush falls over the stadium.

Over 40,000 people wait in silence for a group of only 7 men, the influence they hold making your eyes grow wide.

When a flicker of warmth alights in your chest, gradually spreading outward to your extremities, you fail to join in with the deafening screams as the music begins and seven figures appear.

Instead, you’re completely mute. A feeling as foreign as warmth has rarely graced your life.

Soulmates are everywhere, and no two soulmates are alike. To complement the variety of soulmates, comes a myriad of soulmate bonds.

For example, your sister shares dreams with her soulmate. That particular bond has been on the rise for the past twenty or so years.

Your parents share a rare bond: hearing the same music.

And you? The Goldilocks bond, as it has been so lovingly dubbed by soulmate specialists around the world, is fairly common. One out of every six people have it, which means that one of every six people are born with a lower internal body temperature than deemed average.

Essentially it’s all just some glorified way to say one simple thing: you’ve been freezing your entire life. So much so, that you’ve grown numb to the cold. It doesn’t tend to bother you much anymore.

Which is exactly why when earlier today you were waltzing down the sidewalk with your sister and felt a spike in your body temperature for all of thirty seconds, you nearly collapsed right then and there.

The two of you searched and asked all of the surrounding pedestrians if they had felt something similar, you were simultaneously dreading and hoping to meet your soulmate there on the corner of 6th and 14th. Yet nobody came forward, and you were left to accept the fact that you were on a busy street and chances are your soulmate had just sped by in a car.

Now, as your internal body temperature steadily begins to increase you cling to your sister even tighter. She pays you no mind, she’s already clinging to you for dear life as she watches without blinking as BTS begin their opening number.

As much as you long to not miss a single moment of their performance, your eyes begin to scour the surrounding crowd to see if there is anyone else that appears to be going through something similar. Your search is futile; everyone is completely glued to the stage.

Little drops of sweat begin to drip off of your forehead despite your stationary position. Squeezing your sister even tighter, you make her look at you.

“Isn’t this amazing?!” She shouts to you. You give her a shaky smile in return.

“Y-yeah,” you mumble. “Look, I’m sweating.”

She laughs. “Same! It’s so freaking hot in here, there’s so many people-”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sweating.”

It takes her a few more seconds to really understand what you’re trying to say, but as her eyes take in the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead, she goes utterly still.

“No way. Who...who?”

Shrugging your shoulders, a giggle leaves your lips. “I have no idea!”

Despite your happy attitude, your sister looks to be growing steadily more concerned. And rightfully so.

Right now, it’s warm. It’s a strange, but not horribly unpleasant feeling. However, there’s a reason it’s called the Goldilocks bond.

All your life, you’ve been too cold. All the necessary precautions have been taken to keep you comfortable and alive: heating pads, heated blankets, coats, warm tea, you name it. Even now, being surrounded by thousands of people in what is sure to be a hot atmosphere is ideal for your body. You might not have been able to feel that heat, but it was doing a great job of keeping you warm enough to not let the cold take over.

Now, your body will begin to overheat. Dehydration and heat exhaustion will soon follow.

You need to find your soulmate, and quick.

“Excuse me!” Your sister waves frantically at a security guard. “Excuse me!”

The smile is wiped off of your face as the reality of your situation settles in. You crane your neck now, beginning to frantically search for who your other half might be.

The surrounding fans begin to notice your plight, and although they might not exactly know what’s going on, they can recognize an emergency when they see one.

Sweat is practically pouring off of you now in sheets, making you grit your teeth as the warmth from before turns into a raging inferno.

Just as the security guard steps away from their post to address your sister, a hush falls over the crowd.

Glancing up at the stage, you’re shocked to see Jungkook on his knees, unable to get up as he pants. The other members instantly surround him, trying their best to buoy him up as the backing track plays on. A few seconds later has staff rushing out onto the stage while the music is cut.

A few girls around you seem to piece everything together before anyone else can, and are quick to steady you as you begin to sway on your feet.

“It’s her!” They shout to the bodyguard and whoever else will listen. “It’s the bond!”

What happens next is all a blur. You feel as though your entire body is on fire as you struggle to breathe through your dry and scratchy throat. The smaller hands of your sister are replaced by larger hands that scoop you up, and the bodyguard looks down at you with a worried gaze.

“Don’t worry,” he attempts to comfort you as he gets someone to move the gate for him before beginning to ascend the stairs to the stage. The sound of a few random screams from the crowd barely reach your ears.

Some part of you is aware of Jungkook being practically dragged to the lift, where he pants and looks down at his shoes. You remain in the bodyguards arms as you two stand beside Jungkook and the lift begins to descend below-stage.

Your eyes are focused on the purple-blue sky of the evening as you descend, already beginning to feel a bit more focused and better at the close proximity to Jungkook.

Below stage staff members are scurrying about and clearing space for the two of you as you’re set down on a couch beside Jungkook. You haven’t even had an opportunity to look at him yet before you’re slumped beside each other and a staff member that looks like they know what they’re doing grabs your hand and puts it in Jungkook’s.

Like jumping into a pool after sitting out under the blazing sun, you emit a long sigh at the instant feeling of relief.

“Drink,” the same staff member says, handing you an open bottle of water and extending another one to Jungkook.

You drain nearly the entire bottle in one go, but it’s the acute realization that you’re currently sitting on a couch holding Jeon Jungkook’s hand - your soulmate’s hand - that has you setting the bottle down and turning to look at the man in question.

Jungkook is still drinking his water, his eyes closed in pure bliss as a bit of water streams down his neck due to the fast pace.

His long dark hair is clinging to the side of his face and forehead in damp streaks, a testament to the intense and painful heat the two of you just went through. The beautiful white costume he wears is now damp and sticking to him, making a small part of you feel guilty for ruining it.

Glancing down to where your hands are still joined, you swallow thickly. How embarrassing. He can probably feel your heart rate through your hands right now.

You go to remove your hand, but find that you can’t as his grip unconsciously tightens.

At the feeling of you attempting to pull your hand away, Jungkook opens his eyes and sets the water bottle beside yours on the small table.

You realize, as his eyes turn to yours, that where the expensive clothing, beautiful hair and sharp jawline make him handsome, it’s those warm brown eyes that have you falling in love before he’s even uttered a single word.

His eyes reflect the concern he feels for your sake in a single instant, almost making you rush to reassure him that everything is alright. The feel of his thumb running over your knuckles, however, leaves you speechless.

Staff all around the room turn a blind eye to the intimate moment, allow the two of you as much privacy as they can provide. You hardly notice, though. Not as the smallest hint of a smile makes Jungkook’s lips curve upward.

“How foolish of me,” Jungkook mumbles, his eyes committing your face to memory.

You furrow your brows, making his smile grow. “What?”

There’s a redness in his face now that isn’t from the heat, but you don’t point it out for fear of embarrassing him further. “It’s just...” he smiles completely now, his nose scrunching up as he chuckles to himself. “I memorized what I would say to my soulmate when I met them,” you heart skips a beat at the word soulmate, “but looking at you now, I can barely remember my own name.”

A giddy laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Don’t worry too much about it, I already know what it is.”

masterlist

#jjk #Jungkook soulmate au #Jungkook soulmate #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook x soulmate #Jungkook x y/n #Jungkook request #jungkook oneshot #bts fluff #Jungkook fluff #bts soulmate au #bts soulmate oneshot #bts x soulmate #jeon jungkook #this is sooo cute #uwu

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jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

the wishlist (m) - 3

“You used it.”

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 4.2k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; masturbation (f); ambiguous infidelity; awkward oc; koo being cute but insufferable

previous - next

For about a week and a half, you simply ignore the outrageous box sitting in the centre of your living room.

If you omit to remember what’s inside, it’s just a nice-looking decoration, embellishing your messy coffee table. It’s perfectly fine sitting between the unopened mails and the takeout brochures. You see Jungkook glance at it each time he comes over but he has the decency to not mention it. You might have read a little disappointment but he didn’t share it with you, not wanting to bother you, as you rightfully assumed, and in any case, you’re just doing exactly what you said you would: not use it.

Then comes a glorious day of resting from work for you, and miraculously it matches your two closest girl friends' schedules and they owe to come over, celebrate a belated Christmas with you. And as you’re quickly tidying up the place, the question of the box being way too present here is raised again. They will ask about it. One will surely open it before you even get to answer.

The box has to go.

And in your room, hidden in your bedside table where you know no one will peak, it goes.

When you wake up from the fantastic, long-awaited Christmas celebration, it’s with a terrible headache. Mary, the amateur singer, received a ridiculous karaoke mic and if karaoke is involved, so is alcohol. You didn’t know that but apparently, you can get a severe almost deadly hangover from rosé. Well. Starting this new year already learning new things, how great.

One thing that’s unchanged for this new year, as it seems, is Jungkook's talent for psychic arts. He somehow knows you need a copious breakfast made with love and by him, and the curious hangover shot only his roommate has the secret recipe of, to cope with being alive this morning.

“Hello, Sunshine.” Your face feels so bloated and tensed at the same time like it’s made of playdoh and some devilish kid came and punched at it then squished it hard with its chubby mean fingers.

Very unpleasant.

You know you have very little to do with a ray of sunshine at the moment. You're more alike a gremlin or something. Therefore, as a gremlin would, you groan an answer. You catch through the minuscule slits you now own for eyelids a grin from him. It’s not even vexing or upsetting. His lovely, lovely smile is always a blessing. It’s the only thing that makes you not want to head back to bed and just sleep until death ensues. The pretty, pretty thing. With the big bunny front teeth. He is the sunshine.

“Had fun last night?” He asks, still grinning, once he’s served you and himself two good plates of pancakes. He’s sitting in front of you, in front of this delicious looking good, yet he’s ogling you with a strange insistence. When he starts eating because you take too long to formulate a response, he munches slowly, still staring, instead of stuffing his face and swallow down the whole thing like a starving man, like he usually does.

“Yeah. They spoiled me.” You say, quietly. You’re confused. You feel uneasy like there’s something you’re not getting. You hate this feeling. Usually, this friendship is filled with inside jokes you can make up exclusively via telepathy. But here you’re missing something, it feels. Or you might just be confused by the headache and possibly somehow still a bit drunk.

“Oh did they?” The beam is even wider. You frown, nod, decide that it’s too early and your brain too foggy to try and investigate a confusion that might just be the product of your imagination.

It doesn’t click then. It doesn’t click the next three times he asks you again, with slightly different formulations if, really, you had fun last night.

He departs an hour later because he has an appointment with a client, as always leaving some of himself for your guilty pleasure and the marking on your eyelids of that curious grin. That curious mischievous grin. With the crooked shape, the white teeth looking menacing like a wolve’s and the eyebrows arched in suggestion.

How come such an attractive look can be so anxiety-inducing? You’re too fidgety, too confused and concerned to focus on anything. Remnants of the conversation rolling back again and again, trying to make sense of things that probably do not necessitate further explaining.

The whole ordeal made you so nervous, you end up after an hour of trying to go about your day and failing poorly, sitting on your sofa, lotus style, eyes closed and hands turned up to the universe (hoping It might offer you some clearance It would just drop off in your palms). The thing is meditating is hard. Making so your brain would shut the fuck up is hard as hell. And you suck at it.

Spoiler alert, you don’t reach the state of inner peace and quiet you wished to find. Instead, you make enough silence for your noggins to be more performing and suddenly it hits. Your eyes grow ten times in size, you almost fall from your sit for the shock is violent.

The moron.

You or him, probably both.

You

I did NOT use it.

You

I put it away because the girls were coming over but I DID NOT USE IT

He simply replies with a winking emoji and you hate him for it.

You

Jeon Jungkook, ur a dick I said I wouldnt use it EVER and I won’t, have a nice day moron.

And again, this time, you mean it. You’ve never said anything with this much conviction in these twenty-five years of living.

Why would you now? When you now have experienced what it felt to have him look at you thinking you’ve done it. It felt mortifying without even knowing why. In all the case scenarios you could have come up with, you’ve never imagined that one. You would use it, he would know about it somehow, he wouldn’t be disgusted (it wouldn’t make sense for him to be as he is the one who offered it to you but your brain and soft ego sometimes are annoying like that), he would be amused, maybe content, but he wouldn't make you feel mortified.

Having him considering you in a sexual position should be... cool, shouldn’t it? If you really like him that much. Maybe you were confused all along and actually, you don’t, you mistook your own feelings.

Just a quick check of a mental picture you have of him, the fond smile growing just from his pretty face with the pretty everything on it can’t be trusted because, for all you know, everyone smiles this way when they think about him. On the other hand, the swift blush invading your cheeks when you (by accident) linger on parts you really really like about him -like his thighs or the man titties he’s been growing lately- serve to remind you that yes, yes indeed you like him.

But he’s an asshole.

No matter how much you thought about it (and you thought about it a lot even though you’re ashamed to admit it), you've never consider it to realize, you never and you still don’t believe anything non-platonic would ever happen with him. You’re just made to be friends. The best of friends but still just friends.

Not even taking a step but simply dipping the tips of your toes in these unknown waters turns out to be terrifying and you're mad at him because he’s putting you in this situation where you feel awfully uneasy.

It should all remain a very personal, very intimate fantasy: your attraction for him.

He cracked the wall for a second, it felt wrong and terrible but it’s done and over with now.

It’s only you and your thoughts.

You don’t ever mention it, he doesn’t bring it back up. Soon the season of celebrations and wishes is behind you, the world starts rolling slowly, boringly so with its lots of little annoyances and distractions and you’re not even thinking about it anymore, neither is he.

You’re stressed out. Work is being a bitch as it does. And because it sucks most of your time and patience, the only quick way to unwind you know comes to play.

But the hassle is not worth it. Unfortunately this you always need to realize afterwards. After having searched the internet for good masturbatory content for half an hour, working yourself for two hours and then, there’s the safety wee and the freshening up before bed, to wake up the next morning feeling like shit because of course, you sacrificed hours of sleep for an unsatisfactory outcome.

It’s not worth it.

It hasn’t been for months. Even if you’re still more able to take care of yourself and pleasure yourself better than most if not all men you’ve ever been with, something is missing: a man (or maybe just a dick).

You feel bored and empty (in both senses). Stuck because the more you need to unwind, the more you try, the less you feel better.

It’s the snake biting its own tail.

Until a certain pretty blue box, sleeping inside your bedside table, recalls itself to you. It feels like a century had passed since the box arrived in your life, it doesn’t seem as scary as it used to, as stressful. The fact that Jungkook hasn’t mentioned it, might even has himself forgotten about it, help immensely.

And it is the very moment, you forget to remember about this promise you made to him and yourself, the promise that you would not use it.

Right about now, not only stressed and annoyed by everything but also horny for no particular reason, this dildo with the box that matches your planner sounds ideal.

And it is ideal.

Feels like exactly what you needed. The size is not ridiculously big, it’s fairly tiny actually but given you haven’t had sex in a while, it suffices to stretch you out just fine. It’s new and exciting. The texture feels really nice, smooth, slipping perfectly right between your walls. It’s rather long, slightly curved, filling you in deep and teasing the spot that you could never even dream of reaching with your short ass fingers. And in no time (and you actually regret that) you’re on cloud 9, it’s a thought of the Santa that brought this blessing of a gift in your life that sends you there. You feel satisfied, content, fulfilled from the tip of your hair to your toes, smiling like an idiot because damn, that was a good orgasm.

Right this moment, you feel fine about using the present. About quickly having thought about him too because it’s not that much of a big deal. He won’t know about it. He doesn’t really seem to care about your sex life anymore (which is, ironically, a blessing). Therefore why should there be a problem? Why would there be?

Apparently, you’ve underestimated the crankiness of your attitude for the few weeks that passed before the phenomenal orgasm.

Apparently, you had been the worst kind of truculent bitch there is, to a level you didn’t even know you could reach (also no one told you!), because when Jungkook meets up with you, maybe after the third or fourth times of having used your lovely new companion, he noticed something has changed. Instantly.

“What’s going on?” He asks with a bright smile and excited shiny eyes as if he expects you to have great news to share.

“Nothing special...” Tilting your head to the side, you drag the words out as you try to think about it for a second, wondering if there’s something that needs to be told.

“Really?” He sucks on his banana yoghurt with eyebrows frowned, staring at you as if he’s studying you. Once the thing is empty, he tosses it in a nearby bin, crosses his arms on his chest and glares. He looks like a detective about to interrogate you. He would look intimidating if it were not for his lips, sucked in to gather the last taste of his yoghurt. “You look awfully happy.”

“Do I?” It makes you smile, shrug your shoulders. It doesn’t hit just then. It should be fine. He can’t unravel something that you don’t even have knowledge of, can he? But Jungkook is a little weasel. He loves to know everything.

Especially when it’s about you.

“You better not be seeing anyone-“ You should wonder where this is coming from, all of a sudden. Instead, you take offence, how dares he?

“What do you mean ‘I better’? I do what-“

“Without telling me? You better not.” He has that shit-eating grin, his signature brat's smile, because he knows you can’t reach over the table to smack him in the head without risking to tip over your drinks or dip your sleeve in soja sauce.

“Anyway. Nothing's going on.” For a second, a staring contest takes place on this convenience store's terrace. You’re not sure why. He’s daring you for no reason. Until his mouth twitches, wanting to smile and it makes you laugh so he follows along. “Were you not supposed to tell me about your next appointment?”

“Client Amy, yes!” It shouldn’t make you laugh to hear him name her like that as it’s been his trademark to mention his clients as if they were Pokémon trainers but it does.

You’ve always thought that it’s his very personal way of living this childhood fantasy of existing within the Pokémon universe. His life is full of potential trainers. Most of the time it’s just Client Enter the Name here but sometimes it’s Baker Jin -who’s not actually a baker but a salesman at his neighbourhood’s bakery-, there’s Dancer Hoseok, who’s the main dance partner of his best friend and Roommate Park Jimin. Sometimes he calls you Friend Y/N, it’s frustratingly funny. You hate that you spill at least a nose snort at each and every single one of his stupid jokes. His grin always grows ten times bigger, his eyes twinkle in a lovely way but you know that you are encouraging him. Encouraging him to be fucking annoying, like a little brother who’s just pushing unfunny jokes too far, just keep repeating them because he knows he can get a reaction. “She wants me to tattoo the dragon from Spirited Away on her arm-“

You gasp and he smiles even wider.

“I know, right? And I was thinking- to give it flow, I would have it- like fly through cherry blossoms.” Attentively, you listen, squinting a bit when he gets technical to try and picture the project you have a hard time making up alone in your mind.

Imagination and creativity have always been his thing. He had you impregnated with it long ago because he is too passionate and too much of a sharer to allow you to keep away from all arts -because you can’t hold a pencil straight without panicking at the idea of having to draw something- which you would have gladly done if it weren't for him. He’s the gifted one. And his drawings, either on paper, screen or skin, have always been a subject of huge admiration for you. You’re a bit ashamed to admit it but you’ve never really touched to anything really artistic. You often don’t really get it. But his stuff does something to you -and not only because you adore him but actually impartially. There’s no finesse, no pertinency, no trait nor emotion you’ve acknowledged and connected to better than the ones he creates. “You know this scene where he’s struggling against the little paper thingies and he’s flying through them and they’re going everywhere, I was thinking that, replace them with cherry blossoms. And there would be little petals like everywhere around it. Sounds cool?”

“It sounds fantastic.” You say honestly. You’re impressed by every single one of his projects. Always surprised, somehow, by the pieces he ends up making. Sometimes scrolling through the Instagram page he uses as a book, where he publishes his most elaborated, most expensive pieces and while recognizing his touch, the delicacy in his traits, the peculiar curls of certain lines, the overall feel to them, there’s always this sort of paradoxical disbelief. How could this kid make these and at the same time, who else but him to have made these?

Cute nose scrunches up.

“I’ll send you my drawings when I’m done with them.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” He is mimicking you. Same pose with the head nod and the leg cross. Same tone and same expression apart from the discreet light dancing in his eye. “So what’s up? You needed to talk to me about something yesterday, didn’t you?”

It takes a second for you to remember as the drastic change in your mood makes it seem the distressed text you sent him yesterday, right when you left work, was written a whole week ago. You don’t remember very well having felt so stressed and pissed off, pushed to your very limits by useless co-workers, that you felt the urgent need to rant about it all, vent your anger and frustration out to him. He was busy and didn’t answer right away. You got home, find the comfort of your sweater sitting on the warm heater and the glorious stand of your dildo and it all went away, bad mood, headache, grudges.

Of course, it awakes a wave of shame within you. If you have been able to use it without feeling guilt nor embarrassment on your own, it’s something else to think about it in front of Jungkook. You’ve made sure not to think about this dildo in front of him ever. But here, it’s him recalling it to you without even knowing.

Whatever, you can pretend that everything’s normal. With a barely natural cough, and the even more suspicious dismissive wave of the hand, you try to kill the conversation, “It was just my coworker getting on my nerves again, it’s whatever.”

Jungkook is watching you soundly. It’s nothing unusual for him. He’s the kind of persons that lean in when they listen to you, you never know how conscious they are of it but it’s like they really mean to make you feel important and heard. Therefore it shouldn’t worry you, he’s just doing his usual thing.

It still makes you grow increasingly more nervous.

It is factual that it is never “whatever”. The topic of your stupid dumb bitch of a coworker messing with you has always been a pressing subject you, every now and then, more often than you’d like, needed to ramble about to anyone willing to listen because she tended to make your life a pure living hell. The job sucks in itself but she made it a hundred times worse. And here you are, dismissing it. How suspicious.

“When you texted me yesterday, I thought it was for something bad.” He starts, frowning and staring deep inside the empty cookie package sitting on the table. “Then I saw you earlier and I thought it was for something really good, because of your face.”

“What’s up with my face?” You try to play it cool. Play it nonchalant and oblivious. If you can’t see the aura of contentment he can visibly observe around you, surely you’ve seen the glow up your skin has encountered since you’ve started using this sex toy. Unexpected benefit of using it that wasn’t even listed on the box, the stress it’s relieved and the pleasure it’s given have just cleared your skin out. Unbelievable but true. And apparently, he noticed.

“I don’t know. You look really... contented.”

“Contented?”

“Yeah...”

You shrug, looking down, at the crumbs on your side of the table, praying silently that the embarrassment you feel creeping up your face doesn’t show. “I’ve been used to you looking tired and all but you look-“ Like every single once of misery has been fucked out of your system. “Lately, you look... good.” The chosen adjective makes you tilt your head. For so many reasons, you didn’t expect to hear this one and for similar reasons, you don’t understand what he means. Without having you saying aloud anything, he gets your dubious grimace and chuckles, “Rejuvenated, actually.” Even worse.

To simplify in a few words, you used to look like an old decrepit hag and now that you’ve been thoroughly fucked -by yourself technically but still- you look rejuvenated. A word literally no one ever uses in real life.

You detest that he’s probably right. And now, embarrassment is not creeping but actually moving in, with all its stuff and luggage. Hopefully though, again, it doesn’t show on your stupid youthful face. “Are my compliments making you blush?”

Great.

“You can’t make me blush, moron. And if you think those were compliments then-“ You give him big wide eyes of “well fuck” and of course he laughs at that.

“Indeed, I can’t make you blush.” He has his serious, investigating type of expression again. You almost expect him to fetch a little notebook out of his pocket and start scribbling observations while asking you more questions.

“What’s making you blush then?”

“I’m not blushing, it’s just hot.” His eyebrows jump in a rude disagreeing curve. You don’t get why. It can happen, to be hot outside, at the near end of Korea’s winter, while simultaneously having red and painful looking fingers on the verge of congelation desperately seeking warmth in your pockets.

And maybe because it’s not the first time, he’s getting better at catching the signs, at drawing the lines in between the clues. Your caricatural post-orgasm happy face, your systematic defensiveness whenever the conversation is leading somehow to your sexuality, the blatant tell of shame on your cheeks when there’s nothing else ever that embarrass you in front of him. There’s only the common cause missing and quickly, ignoring completely your attempts at diverting the conversation on something else, a giant light bulb turns on on top of his head. It brings the light of understanding through his eyeballs who suddenly look extra bright.

“You used it.” For a second, you consider packing up your things and just leave this fucking terrace along with the conversation. But you’re cold as fuck, the way home seems like too much torture to be going through alone.

Why are you like this?

Maybe there’s a vain hope that it will lead to some resolution. Some pleasant resolution. Maybe he won’t talk about it ever again if you just accept to have this conversation without showing the stubborn reluctance you’ve used each time.

“Yes, I did. So what?” His grin is blinding. It’s one of the very very wide, very very bright ones. So wide it shows all his teeth and it doesn’t even look like the cute bunny smile anymore. It’s the predatory grin. It’s intimidating to solely focus on therefore you chose to pick the corner of his eyes and the top of his nose, all wrinkled up that have anything but intimidation to them.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” You grimace. Indeed. You have no idea because you don’t even fucking understand.

“You’re a weirdo.”

“I’m just happy you used my dildo.” You scoff and almost choke at both his phrasing and the way he so naturally says the word while you’re outside. There’s no one as dumb as you to sit outside with this weather but still, someone passing by could hear.

Maybe there’s no deep further explanation to look for. Maybe it’s literally as simple as him getting you a present and him being happy that you found usefulness to it. Like most people. People are saddened sometimes pissed when they flop with presents. Maybe it’s that simple.

“Don’t say it like that.” He cackles like a witch and you know, that once again he’s just messing with you, knowing exactly what to do or say to tickle your patience.

“So I can gather it was good?” The worse of the nervous wave has passed. He asks quite nonchalantly. Perhaps it’s your ego wanting that but you hate the idea that you’d find yourself in a situation where he’s clearly more adult than you -even if on so many levels he is. If he can talk about it then you can. Try. You can try.

“Hm. Was nice.” You kind of sound the way you do when as a teen your mom would ask you about your day and you just didn’t want to answer because of laziness, lack of interest, lack of willingness to share, but that will do. He nods, smiles with his lips tight, rather fondly.

“How many times did you use it?”

Taking a deep breath, you mumble, shrugging faux casualness, “A few times.” More like a dozen times but he doesn’t need the details, does he? He nods again, still smiling, taking in your answer.

“Cool.” And he’s satisfied. With the answer and the turns of events as it seems.

There you go, you did it.

You resolved the thing.

Now he can leave you alone with your fantasies and your -not his but your- dildo and there wouldn’t be any further occasion to bring it up. You might be a coward but it’s perfectly fine by you.

Sounds absolutely peachy.

If he chooses to play his part right.

A/N: oh myyy, we’re getting somewhere arn’t we? i really hope you enjoyed this part, let me know your thoughts, scream your frustration, i’m all ears (or eyes). next update will be a double one because the first part is quite short. hoping you’re excited. i wish you a beautiful sunday and a lovely week. take care, lots of lots love.

Tag list: @infernal-alpaca @kaepjjangiya @channiespup @jinsonaz @kpopfandomftw @ggukkieland (sorry love)

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, PLEASE ASK IN THE COMMENT, THANK YOU :))

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #ksmutclub #ggukienet #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkok smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #my writing

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kyriolex · 2 years ago

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Kawaki Academy Arc: Kidnapping

Do yourself a favor and skip this episode. The only entertaining part is Himawari using her Byakugan for 45 seconds, and you can probably find a clip of that on Youtube. I made the mistake of watching the whole thing, so I’ll summarize the important parts.

So the episode starts after school. Kawaki is on cleaning duty and can’t walk Himawari home, but that’s okay because she’s going shopping with Kae, and Mr. Battle Butler will be with them. The writers spend a LOT of time emphasizing how the kidnapping is in no way Kawaki’s fault because he checks on Himawari multiple times.

So as Himawari is leaving, she runs into Neon and Osuka. Osuka is in a bad mood because she feels neglected by her movie star mother. I’m not sure how the other characters can tell though, because to me Osuka was acting like her usual unpleasant self. But everyone is very concerned for her.

Neon leaves, and Osuka and Himawari barely manage to get 10 feet out the school gates before they are kidnapped. They then wake up in a warehouse and hear the world’s two worst criminals panicking because they kidnapped an extra child.

The plan was to hold Osuka for a hefty, celebrity-level ransom. Himawari wasn’t supposed to be there, and now they’re arguing over whether they should release her into the woods, like she’s a baby crocodile that found its way into their gecko terrarium.

Osuka ominously states that her mother won’t pay the ransom, although why she believes this remains a mystery.

Himawari asks the Defective Duo why they've gone into the kidnapping business. The two explain it’s nothing personal, they just need money. They describe themselves as “losers” who dropped out of the Academy, keep getting into fights, and can’t hold down a job.

They’ve only been able to survive this far thanks to a man they call Big Bro, who is a super badass because he used to be a real, actual genin. Clearly, a man to be reckoned with.

Meanwhile, Kae and her butler find Kawaki and ask him why Himawari never showed up to their shopping date. They find Himawari’s shuriken necklace, and Kae concludes Himawari would never drop her things, so she must have been kidnapped.

Kawaki calls Kae paranoid and says Himawari’s probably hanging out with Osuka, since he saw them leave together. They stroll up to Osuka’s conveniently close mansion, where a bunch of maids and butlers are fretting over a ransom note. They haven’t called Osuka’s parents yet because “they’re both working on set for an upcoming movie.”

Kawaki rightfully tells them off for having messed up priorities, then tells them to call her parents already. Then they run to Neon’s house to see if she’s also been kidnapped.

Neon’s safe, and we get some backstory about her and Osuka. Basically Neon and Osuka’s moms are old friends. Whenever Osuka’s parents are too busy to be with their kid, they dump Osuka at Neon’s apartment and ask her to keep Osuka company.

But Neon assures everyone that she’s not Osuka’s friend out of family obligation. Really. Osuka’s actually the nicest person once you get to know her. That’s why she sabotaged Kae’s cake with mustard and insulted her for the first month of school. She’s nice.

Meanwhile, back at the warehouse, ex-genin Big Bro shows up. He recognizes Himawari immediately and says he may sell her to one of the Hokage’s enemies for extra cash. When the Defective Duo realize who Himawari is, they panic even harder and say Naruto’s going to murder them. Himawari says no, he’ll probably forgive you if you apologize. She’s right, too.

Once they bad guys are asleep. Himawari and Osuka slip their ropes. Osuka ties up the Defective Duo while Himawari battles Big Bro. She kicks his butt for a solid minute and gives him a Gentle Fist strike that makes him temporarily regret his life choices.

But Big Bro has an advantage over Himawari - he’s over four feet tall. So he picks her up by the scruff of her neck and start choking her in mid-air. Osuka tells him to stop and, to my surprise, actually offered herself up in Himawari’s stead. The Defective Duo also begs Big Bro to stop, hugging him by the knees like little kids.

That’s when Kawaki bursts dramatically. He squares off against Big Bro, who starts punching fireballs. But apparently if you’re a high enough level, fire no longer burns your skin, so Kawaki just jumps straight through the flames and knocks him out. Battle Butler, despite specializing in water jutsu, contributed absolutely nothing to the fight.

Flash forward, and we see the cops arresting the bad guys. Himawari talk-no-jutsus the Defective Duo into turning their lives around, and the police escort them off to the Nice Farm Criminal Rehabilitation Center Upstate where all the reformed filler villains go, to never be seen again.

Osuka's mother comes sprinting up and hugs her, declaring that her movie isn’t nearly as important as making sure her daughter is safe. Kagemasa, Osuka’s father, didn’t show up and is presumably still working on his latest action movie. But nobody mentions that.

Osuka asks Neon how her group found the warehouse. Neon reveals Osuka’s mother had commissioned HER mom to build a certain robot. Remember the RoboMinion from the tea party episode? So not only is he rocket-proof, but he also uses artificial Yamanaka techniques to keep track of Osuka’s chakra signature.

Forget spending time with your kid. A mother who REALLY cares buys a military-grade robot to monitor her daughter’s location 24/7. And then she’ll put that stalking technology in the hands of her daughter’s best friend, who is very responsible for her age and will never break or misplace the robot ever.

So in the face of such foolproof parenting, what was Osuka mad about? Well, it turns out her mother had done something truly unforgivable...she’d thrown away Osuka’s favorite pudding.

Her mother apologizes, then tells Osuka the pudding was expired and would have made her sick. She then offers to take all the kids to the store for free pudding. And everyone lived happily ever after.

#Boruto ep 266 #Himawari Uzumaki #Osuka #Kawaki #Neon #Himawari was ridiculously calm the entire kidnapping #I honestly think if Big Bro hadn't showed up she would have talked Osuka and herself free

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vostokovasmelina · 3 years ago

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— 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟑𝐂. (𝐬.𝐰.)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢 | 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

characters: fem!reader; sam wilson; archibald the tabby cat; sarah wilson

word count: 3.1k+

warning: mentions and descriptions of alcohol, death, grief, trauma, therapy, depression – i call this post-snap realism

series summary: after the blip, sam wilson gets home to an unpleasant surprise - his key doesn’t fit the lock anymore and his apartment is now inhabited by a stranger and a grumpy feline. however, the unusual encounter is only the beginning of their post-blip lives and the reader soon learns that what life takes away, it can give back in the most particular ways.

a/n: the ending is a dark unedited mess, so proceed with caution

Taking a cautious sip of your hot beverage, you watched this absolute gatecrasher of a man trying to make up his mind about whatever he was so confused about – Sam kept looking all around your apartment as if searching for something he had left there, his slightly lost and disoriented expression sending a sudden wave of guilt rushing over you. Now that you thought about it, it really must have sucked absolute cheese for him to come home hoping he could finally have that huge cup of strong black coffee he had been anticipating ever since having defeated that enormous purple bastard from Outer Space, only to find that his coffee machine was long gone and now this random lady with a philodendron problem and a judgmental cat were inhabiting the place with absolutely no room left for him whatsoever. It did sound tragic when you put it that way.

However, it really wasn’t your fault that you had needed to find a brand new residence approximately five years before. He really should have checked in with someone to make sure he still had somewhere to go home to. You were quite clearly the real victim here. And Lord only knew how poor Archie was going to process all the excitement of the day.

For a few seconds, you contemplated whether or not to put your thoughts into words, and eventually decided against it for the time being. The man had just helped save the world a few days before, after all, and out of what? Good conscience? Personally not for you, but you could appreciate it in others. And it would have been a real shame to die right when your fan-favourite succulents and killer new posting schedule had been attracting more Instagram followers than ever before. Thanks to the savior complex flaming inside of the gentleman standing before you though, the regular civilian had luckily escaped such terrible hardships. And special thanks to approximately a thousand and one other superheroes. Oh, and to an African country filled with similarly public-spirited people.

For a few awkwardly long seconds neither of you said a word. Sam kept looking around and you watched him look around, slowly lowering your mug onto the table and tilting your head slightly to the left. Weird how Sarah had never mentioned the brother believed to be dead for the last five years was this handsome. It is unfair, really. Some people are just naturally gorgeous no matter the shitty kitchen lighting, that tiny confused frown that had been sitting on their face for the last half hour, or those shiny black bugs for eyes tearing up ever so slightly to snitch on a long repressed yawn.

“Now that the drama is over and the Avengers as such are non-existent – have you considered a career in modeling yet?”

Sam snapped his head towards you with such force and speed that for a moment you were afraid you’d have to spend the rest of the afternoon sewing it back on his neck. You grabbed your mug still pretty much filled to the brim with tea and raised it back up to your mouth to hide your lingering half-smile behind a faded portrait of baby Archie on the ivory porcelain.

“Just saying, I would buy anything for this face on the package alone,” you continued with the confidence of a woman who hasn’t got a single drop of shame left in her body. But it was fine ‘cos you didn’t actually mean it, right? It was all just a joke, an attempt at lightening the mood and snapping him out of his puzzled melancholy. And that tiny flutter of your heart upon hearing Sam’s perfect little chuckle was but a momentary malfunction of the organ. The incident was purely physiological. No contribution from any emotional factors. It was simply an innocent coincidence that these two, completely unrelated things had co-occured.

So when your gazes met, you didn’t tear yours away in embarrassment – you stood your ground, completely unaffected and unbothered, ignoring the increasingly hot sensation in your cheeks when you saw Sam raise a cheeky eyebrow at you. Before even more damage could have been done, however, you decided to cut the party short.

“Oh, no. Don’t get your hopes up, Birdman. I simply couldn’t keep watching you in your deeply disturbed state.”

Very, very smooth. Cleared of all suspicion. Good job.

“Wow. Okay. That was cruel,” Sam scoffed and gave emphasis to his words by bringing up his right palm dramatically to his chest, right above his now most definitely broken heart. The overall effect got ruined by an annoyingly goofy grin in the end and before you even realised, you had already reached out for your massive mug again to drown your own erupting smile in the hot liquid.

In the silence that followed, however, you saw Sam’s smile fall ever so slightly, as if exhaustion or worry were holding onto the corners of his lips, physically tugging them down, and you shifted slightly uncomfortably in your seat. It was time you had stopped messing around with the poor guy.

“Look, I know this is weird but I’m sure we can find a solution. Just call Sarah so she can stop worrying now,” you suggested, finishing your tea and pushing the now empty mug to the middle of the table before leaning back in your seat.

“Ugh, yeah,” Sam started slowly, squatting down to get his mobile and the charger out of his massive sports bag. “Can I plug this in somewhere?”

You blinked at him a couple of times while he waited patiently for your answer. You could only imagine the number of missed calls and unread texts waiting for Sam on his phone, but you decided you didn’t know him enough to give him a lecture on behalf of his sister. So you just gave him a tired nod and gestured lazily towards your battered kitchen counter, Sam following your direction with his gaze.

“Above the microwave. Oh, and the socket farthest to the left–”

“–doesn’t work. I remember.” Sam flashed another exhausted but friendly smirk at you above his shoulder, and you allowed yourself to return the gesture to his back once he wasn’t watching.

“Right, sorry. Forgot I was the intruder here,” you joked, delighted to earn another one of those irritatingly lively chuckles of this man’s.

You seriously needed to get your shit together.

“Okay, while your phone is doing its thing, let’s call Sarah from mine, I guess” you continued, jumping up from your chair the moment Sam returned to the table and you headed towards your worn little couch where you scratched Archie gently behind his right ear. “Where have you put my phone, you dirty old man?” You cooed, smiling softly while sliding your hands under the cheap cushions and booping your irritated cat’s tiny nose when your fingers finally touched the cold metal you had been looking for.

Once seated again, you caught Sam staring at Archie, his eyes slightly narrowed in what appeared to be deep concentration. You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head, waiting for your uninvited guest to notice you.

“I don’t think your cat likes me too much,” he finally said, slowly tearing his gaze away from the pet feline’s and looking into your slightly more welcoming human eyes instead.

You chuckled dryly, turning around to see Archie in all his glory on the couch. He simply gave you an unbothered look before completely losing interest in the two of you, and he hopped of the couch, slowly making his way towards your bedroom where you knew he would bundle up under your bed on the cosy carpet. He had apparently decided it was time for his beauty sleep.

“Yeah, he’s like that with everyone. Nothing personal,” you assured Sam, who offered a tired half-smile in return. You cleared your throat gently, eyes fixed on your phone’s screen and fingers already searching for Sarah’s number. Once you had found it, you handed it to Sam whose only job left was to press the call button. You raised your eyebrows at him expectantly and he let out a sigh while reaching out for your mobile.

* * *

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to talk to Sarah. Quite the opposite, actually. But he was embarrassed. Sam knew full well how furious his sister was going to be. And honestly, rightfully so. He couldn’t argue with that. After all, she did say there had been something she wanted to talk to him about. And Sam did hang up on her without a passable excuse. And he did let his phone die on his way back home to Louisiana.

Yeah, he most probably wasn't going to be nominated for this year's Brother of the Year award.

Their last call had happened two days before. Two days is a long time without any news from a brother who had just returned after having been believed to be dead for the past five years. And if you had been to ask him, Sam wouldn’t have been able to tell you what had gotten into him either but ever since the Blip, something had not been exactly right. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was going on, so he hadn’t brought it up to anyone, but his brain felt slow and foggy as if it hadn't had time to catch up yet.

Sometimes, Sam worried that the molecules in his brain had been mixed up and hadn't been put back into their original places in the process of the whole turning-into-dust-and-back-into-human-form-again thing.

It was a silly thought, yes, but with everything going on in the world, would it really be that hard to believe?

"Hey hon! What's up?" Sam's thought process was cut off by the endearing voice of his sister, and though he was aware all this affection was not directed towards him – given that he had called Sarah on your phone – his heart did swell upon hearing her again.

And then he said hi and it all went south from there.

Sarah was obviously pissed.

She asked Sam if he had any idea how many texts and missed calls she had left him, and no, he had no clue but if he had to guess, the number would have been way high up in the double digits.

Then she started going off on Sam, using different kinds of actually very creative euphemisms – which was a problem because Sam got so distracted by his sister's choice of words that her short, well-thought out rant had very little effect on him, but at least he had enough self-respect left to get his sister off speaker at this point.

"Look, Sarah, I know I messed up but I'm fine! I swear," he started, cutting his sister short while subconsciously picking at the skin around the nail on his index finger with his thumb. "What if I stop by Andy's and tell him to give me their best apple pie?" Sam added, hoping this promise would serve as an ice-breaker. Sarah did love her desserts. A lot. And Andy always gave a discount to the Wilson family, too.

When he heard his sister's tired sigh, Sam's heart gave a hopeful flutter, but he was rudely dragged back onto the ground on his way to cloud nine the very next second.

"I'm doing the shopping at the moment. Just got here and it's gonna take long," Sarah replied, annoyance poking through all her words. Then, the tension that had been dominating the pair's call suddenly seemed to evaporate as Sam sensed a weak shadow of a smile in her following sentence. "But that apple pie does sound good."

Sam couldn't help the grin that creeped its way onto his face and he didn't even care about Sarah's semi-serious threat, saying how they were nowhere near finished yet. He muttered out a quick sorry again, promised Sarah to give her regards to you and finished the call with a charming 'I love you' to which his sister replied with a snarky 'I bet' before hanging up with a promise that she would call again when she got home.

Sam let out a relieved chuckle before handing you back your phone and taking the final sip of his slightly lukewarm coffee, watching your bright red-nailed fingers tap away on the device, and he swallowed harder and probably louder than he had meant to. You just happened to put your phone down the very next second, so he tried to cover up the gulp by clearing his throat and shifting his gaze from your nails to your eyes.

Beautiful eyes.

Well shit.

"So, I guess you're staying," you started hesitantly, raising your eyebrows at Sam in a slightly impatient manner, which snapped him out of his blissful thoughts and thrust him back into reality.

Was he staying? He certainly had nowhere to go now that he was practically homeless and his sister was unable to welcome him in her own home for the next two hours, at least. But then again, you were a complete stranger whose afternoon he had just disrupted, and it didn't matter how weird it felt seeing you be so at home in his apartment because it wasn't his anymore. It was yours and you had all the right to kick Sam out and he had absolutely zero right to argue.

But, thankfully, he didn't have to.

"Which is fine, by the way. I did promise you an explanation, after all." Sam couldn't quite ignore the hint of dread behind your words and he was ready to object, to leave you alone and spend the rest of his afternoon doing God-knows-what, but then you offered him another cup of coffee followed by a tiny but honest smile, and Sam just couldn't bring himself to say no.

* * *

Sam Wilson was ridiculously easy to open up to.

It made you want to commit a crime.

His gaze was so intensely warm that after a while, you were looking at everything in your apartment but him just to avoid accidentally trauma dumping on him, especially when you got to the part about group therapy.

Because you had met Sarah at a group therapy session approximately four and a half years before.

It had been clear from the very first minute that neither of you had actually wanted to be there and that both of you had been forced into this situation. Sarah had been dragged to group by an overly enthusiastic co-worker of hers whose crush on the counselor had been probably more intense than the trauma she had suffered – she had lost a dog and her neighbor to the right whom she had always talked shit about behind his back. She was a nice enough woman, but considering that people had lost actual family in the Snap, her presence had always been mostly aggravating, to say the least.

In your case, it had been your grandmother who had bullied you into going to one of the sessions because 'she had the same rotten mentality when Miss Taylor told her to go but then she found it life-changing'. At this point, you had become so indifferent to everything in the world that you hadn't needed much convincing to go. You had told yourself it would be one session anyway after which you would have told Grandma Ethel that 'therapy was simply not for you' and could have been back to your usual Thursday evening routine consisting of a cheap bottle of red wine and depressing reruns of trashy British reality shows from the late 2000s.

The actual sessions had never worked for you. They might have if you had actually spoken up at any of them but you had never become quite ready to talk about your loss in front of a dozen other people, most of whom you had already known. But then you had met Sarah and something about her had made you feel secure, secure enough to talk about them for the first time, so you had started hanging out at a café not too far from the community center and it had become the best thing in your life.

"And the rest is history," you finished, getting up from your chair to put both yours and Sam's mug in the sink and watered your nearby plants while at it.

"I'm really glad Sarah had someone by her side," Sam commented and you could hear a hint of guilt in his words but you decided to ignore it. You simply nodded and muttered out a weak 'yeah', saying you were just as happy to have found a friend like Sarah.

Then Sam said something that made all the muscles in your body tense up and you froze completely for the next couple of seconds.

"And have you seen your family yet? Now that they've come back?"

It was an innocent question. He doesn't know the whole story. So calm down.

You slowly put down the glass you had used earlier to water your plants and tried with every particle in your body to put on the best toothpaste commercial-worthy smile you could force out of yourself before turning back towards Sam and answering his absolutely understandable question.

"Yeah!" No. "They're doing well, actually!" They're fucking dead.

Sam's genuinely happy smile was way too much to handle and if it hadn't been for a call from Sarah, you would have broken down in tears right in front of him the very next moment.

So instead of all that, you decided to turn right back around, pour yourself a huge glass of cold tapwater and down it in one breath while Sam finished his brief conversation with his sister. The stinging pain in your chest that followed was enough to distract your thoughts until he was finally at the door, saying goodbye and thanking your for the coffee and saying sorry for intruding and taking absolutely way too fucking long to finally leave.

"Hey, um... I could give you my number? If you ever need anything or..."

He can't be serious.

"Sure! You can, ugh, put it in my phone," you replied, your hands shaking dangerously as you reached into your back pocket for your mobile and handed it to Sam, who knew better than to comment on it.

Once finished, he returned your phone with one of those irritatingly joyful smiles of his and with a final 'see you around' Sam Wilson was off and you proudly patted yourself on the back for successfully holding it together until you finally reached your couch.

* * *

mini-series taglist – let me know if you want to be added

@softieyn

@mahvericks

@amirahiddleston

@fireghost-x

@samuelthomaswillson

@itsnottilly

@loveyhoneydovey

@songofcosplay

@titaniumstark

@falcons-wings

@claudiaatje

@srodulvroux

@annathesillyfriend

@lokiandbuckylove

mcu taglist – join here

@babymango-writes

@softieyn

@spencereidisabicon

@whutisthus

@katethecrazy

@swanimagines

@amirahiddleston

@remusflirts

@musicallisto

@skinny-bitch-juice

@teti-menchon0604

@anon-2837282

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad

@heart-eyes-horan

@lxncelot

@amortensie

@claudiaatje

@gimmelovepls

@raven-emxralds

@whovianayesha

@the-jess-life

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson headcanon #the falcon #the falcon x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #tfatws imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu mini series #mcu reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel reader insert #sarah wilson

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aperfecttimeforscreaming · 5 years ago

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10 reasons why a poorly adjusted adult Dib is a Valid headcanon

1. Dib is/was a neglected child

Dib doesn’t have a parent that he can lean on and go talk to for advice, his father is frequently out of the picture and doesn’t give a shit about the thing that Dib cares about. Dib is actively encouraged by his neglectful father to give up on it, actually. I believe this would make Dibs stubborn streak really bitter and spiteful. Most people reading this are LGBTQ+, I assume I don’t need to explain how a fucked up an isolated upbringing, or being unable to be yourself around a parent, hurts you in the long run.

2. Dib is bullied for the things he is passionate about, and being bullied heavily colours your perception of other people

The world of Invader Zim is not kind, Dib is frequently harassed by his classmates/superiors/family for his outbursts/lectures/overall investigator shtick.

Now you might say “but, Screaming, wouldn’t Dib learn to tone it down as he got older?” and YEAH. Probably! But does that mean that he would just forgive all the people that made his life horrible before that point? Or who socially ostracized him for the things he’d done in the past? No. No one is under any obligation to forgive anyone who hurt them, and I think Dib wouldn’t even try to forgive someone he saw as intellectually inferior

3. Dib is a selfish rich kid

Dib is selfish. He wants to be the protector of earth- but he doesn’t do it for earths sake. He’s clearly doing it as a cry for attention/ a reason to eventually be vindicated for being spit on by his own kind. I don’t think he would have genuine empathy for other people. If he did have it, it’d have to be something he had to work really hard at. However, I don’t see Dib putting much effort into understanding other humans.

Dib is rich (probably). This one being more of a headcanon- in the series Dib wants for no material object, he wastes technology on his explorations like it’s something he can just pick up from the dollar store, his father is a world renowned scientist with access to crazy technology and the ears of world leaders. I think he’d feel entitled to one or two things

4. Gaz is not her brothers keeper.

She’s not responsible for his mental health, she’s not responsible for keeping him in line and “normal”. Most of the time she doesn’t want a damn thing to do with him. If we’re going by the standards of the IZ tv show, the only times that Gaz interfered with Dibs paranormal investigations were when Professor M. Was also involved. Either she wanted to see her dad and Dibs antics were getting in the way (forcing her to intervene), or she was directly ordered by their dad to keep Dib out of trouble. Sure, you could argue that she would beat the shit out of Dib for doing something she didn’t like- but that wouldn’t “fix” the mind of a very stubborn person. It might even make them dig their heels in even deeper out of spite and bitterness as a “fuck you I’m right you’re wrong”

Furthermore, as Gaz gets older she’s going to have her own life to worry about and might stop tolerating the way Prof. M uses her as a middle man to deal with his “poor insane son”. She’s under no obligation to fix any of the phases Dibs life might go through. If Dib was unpleasant enough, and Gaz had the resources to leave, I think she might just bail on him.

5. Dib is arrogant

He's gonna do what he thinks is the best course of action unless you physically stop him from doing so. He comes from a place of thinking that he is right, the opinion of anyone else is secondary. Dib will do “what needs to be done” for “the greater good”. Whatever he thinks that “good” is. He wants to play the white knight at any cost. He cannot be in the wrong, or that bravado towards being righteous in the end crumbles. I think Dib would subscribe to a “the ends justify the means” mentality

6. Dib would harm another person to get what he wanted

In a room with a moose, Dib debates letting himself die just to take his entire class down with him. In the unaired episode “return of Keef”, he co-operates with Zim in an attempt to make Keef explode, because he thinks Keef is irritating. Dib used Gaz to test out an ancient spell book, cursed Gaz to only taste pork, and then only helped fix the problem when threatened with physical violence. This could be the kind of thinking that gets worse over time as more people mock his attempts to save and protect them. Why care about people that don’t even give a shit if they live or die? Dib is a smart fringe personality in his world, and the otherness that he feels for that could lead to a sociopathic way of thinking if things went bad enough

7. Dib does not care about other peoples personal space

Dib hides cameras in Zims house. Dib ran right past the front gate at NASA Place, Dib chased a baby big foot up a radio tower. Dib bullied Zim physically on the playground using his known weaknesses against him. Dib would do anything to get the evidence he needed to prove what he wanted to prove, and that would get him in trouble. Repeatedly

8. Antisocial tendencies (like spending countless hours fused to a chair, or most of your young adult life spent hunched over a desk at a computer screen) make it difficult to smoothly socially integrate, and the world of Invader Zim is fuckin' mean

You know the world he comes from is mean. However, assuming Dib did find community somewhere, who’s to say they would agree with him? Or like him? Maybe one of them would cause problems for him that were bad enough he’d have to leave. I’ve always found that the IZ portrayal of earth to be like this funny cynical parody of a dystopian police state america. If we’re going by “what can go wrong will go wrong”, Dibs social integration wouldn’t get easier without a bunch of effort on Dibs part. Maybe Dib would have to pretend to be somebody unlike himself just to get by in his day to day adult life. If we see Dibs country of residence as a police state, the world Dib grows up in would encroach heavily on his personal privacy, and that might make him even stranger via paranoia

9. Sadistic tendencies towards anything paranormal (obsessed with the act of dominating and exposing the unknown)

Dib is a fucking jerk to Zim (rightfully so), but Dib is a dick to pretty much every supernatural thing he comes across. Either out of an excess of enthusiasm, or using a supernatural being to further his own plans, or from an invasion of privacy, or being an irritant to the entity he’s dealing with. He LIKES to be mean to them. He wishes to have mastery over knowing how they work. (maybe it’s more fair to say Dib is a voyeur?)

This is more headcanon than anything, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say he might also want to control the paranormal for his own purposes. If Dib could say- catch a ghost in a jar so he could show it to everyone, he’d do it. If he could trick a werewolf into transforming on stage in front of a large audience? He’d do that.

10. Dib is created to be Zims equal

Dib is as “evil” as Zim is and vice versa. Neither of them is good, or pure, or morally justified. It’s a nice little grey dynamic. Both characters think they’re entirely in the right when they act. That they often aren’t in the right is fun because then you get to write/draw/ think about how they’d react to the consequences. Dib could still totally be a hero in his own mind, despite setting an apartment block on fire to flush out a coven of litches.

The reverse of this is also true, Zim can do nice things, and occasionally be good as Dib can be good. I figure the Zim/Dib dynamic changes for everyones interpretations at least somewhat. Having Zims terrible actions rub off on Dib as their battles escalate is a really fun way to go about exploring their relationship

11. I like the it

There is no right or wrong way to enjoy a cartoon character! Live to make yourself happy in fandom! If you ever thought you needed permission to create rancid content, I’m sorry you felt pressured not to do it.

You want to make a serial killer Dib?? You want to make a basement dwelling depressed zit covered Dib?? You want to make a Dib who struggles with his trauma through substance abuse?? Go HAM!!

#screaming//#this has been an announcement from one of many Nasty Dib supporters #Please feel free to comment #This is all theory #and none of it is intended as malicious

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ladyloptr · 4 years ago

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•Part-Time•

Request: twt@LUSTFORLOKI. To sum up this one, Reader is a college student who took a part-time job in the Avengers tower as a sort of housekeeper/maid/butler. Steve, for all of his self-righteousness, doesn’t know how to treat a housekeeper/maid properly in the 21st century. Thankfully, Loki shows up, and as usual, has a plan for everything. (I’m such a Steve-anti. Poor Steve.)Lots of angst, some fluff.

Fandom: MCU AU

Pairing: Loki x College!Reader.

Warnings: Angst, Abuse, Violence. OOC Steve, Major Steve bashing, so any Steve-stans, please look away.

{————}

You need this job.

That’s the only reason why you’re here, and why you tolerate some of the insanity that you’re forced to endure.

You saw the advertisement on the internet, it was hard to miss. Big, bright and attention grabbing, just like your employer, Tony Stark. He was looking for a butler basically, but also sort of a housekeeper. Someone to help keep the tower in order, but also to help the Avengers if they ever needed anything.

Surprisingly, for all of his melodrama, egotism and childishness, Tony Stark is a great boss, and his wife, Pepper, is an even better boss. They’re both always pleasant to you, they pay you well, they pay you on time, they’re never rude (despite Tony’s jokes sometimes being a little-uncalled for), and they never really ask much from you.

Sure, your job is to help keep the 90-something tower “in order”, but you, interestingly enough, don’t do much cleaning. As Tony once said “I have people I pay to do all of that.” Your job is mostly centered on making sure that Tony’s physical files are organized, that the training room has all of the practice weapons properly locked up, and to make sure that the kitchen and main lounge/living room isn’t a hot-mess-express.

So, the only thing you really ever have to clean up is the kitchen, and on occasion, the living room. The Avengers don’t typically leave behind much of a mess.

Really, the insanity isn’t Tony, or Pepper, or cleaning, or the pay, it’s helping the Avengers when they “need something”.

Oh-correction. The insanity is helping Steve Rogers when he “needs something”.

The Avengers are all grown ass adult superheroes (minus Peter), and you’re a college student taking a part-time job so that you can take care of yourself. Most of them find it uncomfortable to ask you to do meager things for them, so they mostly ignore you, and do things for themselves like functional members of society.

Except for Steve Rogers.

You are unsure of what you did, but the moment you started working here, he’s been nothing but cold and mean to you. He asks you to bring him a drink, to bring him a snack, to bring him a napkin, to bring him his breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s gotten ridiculous. He’ll even ask you to make sure his bedroom is neat after he wakes up, and to make sure his bathroom is cleaned every few days.

This is behavior you expected from the Asgardian princes, Thor and Loki, but definitely not from Captain fucking America.

Then again, as Captain America, perhaps his behavior rightfully represents what a lot of Americans are; entitled.

(I’m American also, lol, no hate plz.)

He’s nothing like what he was supposed to be. On camera he was gentlemanly, kindhearted and appreciative. It was a shock to you when you found that Loki, of all the people in the tower, acts more like Captain America, than Captain America.

Which was truly bewildering to you at first. Just think about it for a moment...

The guy who tried to take over the whole world and enslave mankind is the one who greets you with a smile everyday, and offers to make you tea on Saturday and Sunday mornings (which are the only mornings you can work-you got those 7am college classes, RIP). He even helps you with your studies, homework and college essays if you find yourself falling behind. It took some time to get used to his kind gestures, which sometimes bewildered even Thor at times.

While Loki got familiar with you, your relationship with Steve Rogers, on the other hand, ended up only getting worse.

It turned abusive, sometimes violent, and the only reason you never went to Tony is because you know that the two are close friends and coworkers. You could go to the other Avengers, but you’re sure that their relationship to Steve is similar, as well.

Bucky Barnes is another person you know is close with Steve. Those two go way back-before you were even born.

One day, you were careless in leaving your house. It was a Saturday morning, you were tired and you hadn’t noticed that both of your arms had begun to bruise from Steve’s super soldier strength.

He had hit you a few times in anger yesterday. You can’t really recall why.

“What are those on your arms?” Loki asks, within seconds of seeing you. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“I’m The God of Lies, my dear, you’ll have to do better than that.” Loki says, looking over your arms, carefully. “Is someone harming you?”

“No. I fell.”

“Try again.” Loki challenges, looking up at you sternly.

“I’m fine.”

“Who is harming you?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. “Is it someone in here?”

“Loki...”

“Is it an Avenger?”

Loki catches the subtle change in your eyes, the spark of fear that lit up when he asked whether or not it was an Avenger.

He growls. “Who is it?”

“Loki, please, I don’t want to talk about it.” You plead, getting rather uncomfortable now. “Can we just... play chess or something?”

Loki frowns at you for a while, before sighing in defeat. “Fine, alright.”

He doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the day.

You make sure to wear long sleeves to cover the bruises on your arms for the next couple of days, at least until the bruising goes down.

“What did I tell you about leaving my bedroom a mess?” Steve demands. “It’s a simple request. I’m not asking you to teach a dog to sing.”

Steve has decided to now confront you in an empty hallway about not tidying up his room yesterday.

“I’m sorry...” You mutter. “...Tony wanted me with him all day yesterday.”

“You couldn’t have come do it before you left? You just went home knowing my bedroom is a mess?” Steve asks, quickly getting upset.

“Tony clocked me out himself, so I was already off shift. Besides, it’s not like you can’t clean your bedroom yourself.” You answer.

Wrong answer, apparently.

He grabbed your arm and held it in a bruising grip, once again reminding you that he’s no ordinary human.

You let out a whimper and try to pull away, which proves no use. You’re not surprised when he slaps you. You’re surprised by how a super soldier serum can make a simple slap so painful. You’re even more surprised when your nose starts bleeding.

He must’ve inadvertently popped a blood vessel or something.

He raises his hand again, and you close your eyes, prepared for a punch or something worse, but it never comes. You open your eyes and see Steve looking at something behind you. You turn around and see Loki standing at the other end of the hall, his hands behind his back, an indifferent look on his face, but his eyes tell a different story.

You’ve known Loki long enough to realize that if you want to know his true emotions, you read his eyes, not his face. He’s a master at using his face to guard his true feelings.

And his eyes currently hold a barely contained storm of rage inside of them.

“I apologize for... interrupting...” Loki barely managed to keep his voice steady. “But dinner is ready, and I was wondering if (Y/N) would be joining us tonight.”

You nod, frantically. Steve releases your arm, and you rush over to Loki’s side.

“Loki Laufeyson, master of perfect timing, always ready to save the day.”

“Actually.” Loki corrects. “It’s Loki Odinson, master of sorcery, always ready to put ignorant Midgardians in their place.” He smiles a very unpleasant smile. “But yes... I suppose you’re also somewhat correct.”

“No one will believe you.” Steve says.

“Perhaps you’re correct.” Loki drones. “I am not here to hold a conversation with you, however, I am here to take (Y/N) to dinner.”

Steve snorts derisively, and walks by Loki, intentionally bumping shoulders with him.

Well, Steve was bumped, Loki didn’t move even a centimeter.

“Might want to clean her up first.” Steve says, as he retreats. “Wouldn’t want everyone to think you were beating up on her before dinner.”

Loki clenches his jaw. You look away, nervous about what he’s going to say.

You’re startled when he tilts your face up by your chin, and then slowly uses his seidr to heal any damage Steve has dealt you, including the bruises on your arms. He checks you over multiple times, making sure you aren’t still hurt.

Once he’s finished, he takes both of your hands and makes eye contact with you. He’s still upset, but the anger has tapered down to a manageable level.

“How did you know he was hurting me just now?” You ask, in a hushed tone.

“The same day I inquired about your bruises, I forged a... connection of sorts.” Loki explains. “Today, I felt that you were in danger, so I went looking for you. I have a similar connection with Thor, otherwise that oaf would’ve perished long ago.”

You nod, it makes sense, somewhat. You blush as he kisses your cheek and then your forehead.

“I am sorry.” Loki squeezes your hands, gently. “I wish I had noticed earlier. I would’ve killed him in that moment, would it not result in me being casted back to Asgard. The last thing I want, is for you to be left here to deal with all of this on your own.”

“Well... there’s nothing we can do about it now...” You murmur.

“I believe that to be untrue...” Loki’s eyes slowly shift up to the security cameras. “...Rogers appears to have forgotten about the many eyes this tower has.”

Your eyes widen. “The security cameras...!”

Loki smirks. “Stark will review the footage if you ask him to. I could accompany you to his lab tonight after dinner, if you so wish.”

“Yes, I’d love that.” You wrap your arms around Loki as tight as you possibly can. “Thank you!”

“You’re most certainly welcome.” Loki chuckles. “Time to cook up a scandal...”

A/N: SORRY STEVE STANS, I TAKE ALL REQUESTS, NO REQUESTS LEFT BEHIND.

Also, I wrote this while struggling with depression (it’s been two weeks, and it seems to not be improving, and this crap can last as long as a couple of months, so I wrote it anyway. Better than waiting a few months to finally get on this), and I’m not sure if y’all have noticed, but my storytelling feels weird in this one. My ability to produce a thorough, flowing storyline appears to be sort of hindered right now. I’ll try to update it if I can.

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #reader angst

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asphyxiateher · 4 years ago

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Only Monsters Come Out At Night

Chapter Four: The Ties that Bind

Summary: Desdemona receives a warning from Lady Dimitrescu before she sets off to spend time with Cassandra. Veronica is alive but just barely.

A/N: This chapter is longer than anticipated, I tried to be descriptive without being too wordy but alas, I hope you enjoy anyway.

Desdemona Hawthorne wishes she could convince herself that she does not believe in luck because it’s a flimsy excuse that most people fall back on to justify the unfavorable circumstances they may find themselves in. Growing up in the suburbs, she had heard all kinds of non-sense about how putting enough positive thoughts and energy out in the universe would grant you the gift of receiving everything you have ever wanted in return. Desdemona isn’t quite sure how to describe her current predicament, but she is certain that even vomiting rainbows and shitting out sunshine would not be enough to get her out of Castle Dimitrescu. No, this is the rotten luck she’s grown accustomed to having follow her around and it had tainted this vacation from the beginning. She just wanted to see the castle that inspired Dracula and learn about its history so she could say she went out there to pursue a seemingly impossible dream and made it come true.

Desdemona did not come out here to be imprisoned by three monstrous vampires who either wanted to kill her or fuck her, she couldn’t tell which they wanted to do more of at this point, so this whole unnerving, unpleasant experience warranted a refund. She had been expecting a tour guide and a group of fellow tourists when her group made it up here but instead, here she was stuck in a foul-smelling, subterranean cellar that was currently occupied by her and the three vampiric sisters she mentioned earlier. The eldest sister, Bela, stood in front of Desdemona protectively as she attempted to swat away at her sisters that were now slowly approaching them with raised sickles. “She’s mine, you delusional twit! She gave me something that was clearly important to her, that means she has declared herself to me!” Bela hollered, hissing when Daniela swung her sickle at her. “Bela, you selfish brat, you’re always sucking up to Mother and trying to be better than us at everything, but she told you to share! I am sick and tired of being given the leftovers; sometimes I want the first bite, you know!” Cassandra whines, transforming into a massive ball of insects only to instantly appear by Desdemona’s side. “Cassandra, you know how it is with Bela; we do all the work, and she takes all the credit! Let us humble our dear sister and take what is rightfully ours.” Daniela snarls, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she flicks her gaze over to Desdemona. She licks her lips and moans when she takes in her prey’s scent, her fear sweetening her blood.

Desdemona was at a loss for words the moment Daniela expressed her clear distaste for her sister’s arrogance. It was not only what came out of her mouth that perplexed the human, but it was in the manner of how she complained to Cassandra about Bela. The whole unsettling conversation between the siblings made Desdemona feel like they were ready to tear her apart so they could divide her evenly between the three of them. In hindsight, she probably should not have given any of the sisters a gift if this was going to be the reaction, but had they all been here the other day, maybe she could have given them all a little something to remember her by at the same time. However, this little opportunity could prove to be beneficial should the women begin tearing and clawing at each other rather than her. Maybe this is where they shred each other apart and Desdemona might have a fighting chance at making it out of here after all. She needed to find out where this was going fast and if she was going to need to take cover.

“Daughters, what is the meaning of this? I have bestowed each of you a gift that the three of you were supposed to share and take responsibility for only to have you throw back the kindness I’ve shown you back in my face!” Alcina’s booming voice in dungeon startled everyone in the room. The chamber door clicked open, exposing the rather imposing figure that belonged to Lady Dimitrescu. She scanned the room and glared at her three cowering daughters, carelessly throwing in another body into the room that she had been hauling behind her. Desdemona’s eyes widened in surprise when she recognized Veronica’s limp body curled on the ground.

“You know you’re supposed to take care of your pets and not let them rot in the cellar! Have I not taught you girls any manners or did I overestimate your ability to take care of this human you are all so fond of? Ugh, no matter, I have another task for you girls. You are to assist Karl with a project; he found an abandoned van not too far from the village and was able to tow it back to the castle. We found some of Desdemona’s belongings that I’m sure you all would be interested in.” Alcina said sweetly, smirking when her daughters expressed their delight at embarking on such a quest. Desdemona carefully approached Veronica’s resting form and knelt on the ground beside her, gently lifting her head and placing it on her lap. She gasped aloud when she saw how bruised and broken Veronica appeared, her hair disheveled as her skin was marred with darkened bruises and scars that indicated severe physical trauma. Veronica shifted in place and lifted a shaky hand in the air, her breathing slow and calm when she feels Desdemona’s fingers clasp together with hers.

“What…what happened to you, V? You look like shit.” Desdemona teases, hoping to brighten her best friend’s mood somehow. Veronica smiles at Dezzy’s playful tone and lightly squeezes her hand. Veronica suddenly grimaces and turns her head to her side, her tongue rolling around against her cheek before she spits something out.

‘Wait, did she just spit out a tooth? What did Lady Dimitrescu do to you, Veronica?’ Desdemona sadly thinks to herself as she pulls Veronica closer until she’s settled comfortably on her lap.

“You know me, Dezzy, I don’t know when to shut the fuck up. She wants to break me and I want to irritate her until my very last breath; this relationship is in absolutely no way toxic.” Veronica says, coughing out blood when she tries to laugh through the pain.

“Mother, that loud-mouth with the gross blood is touching our plaything. May we slit her throat and hang her upside down until she bleeds out?” Cassandra asks with a sneer. Daniela is scowling at Veronica and she looks ready to pounce but she somehow manages to refrain from doing so after looking to her mother for any signs of approval. Thankfully, Alcina manages to look annoyed with the request more than anything.

“No, no, you girls will not touch what belongs to me. She was starting to bore me so throwing her in here for a day will allow me to recharge. I will, however, remind you that your new task needs to be done immediately so I suggest you find your dear Uncle Karl and help him with whatever he needs. I will tend to your pet and give her a bath. She and I need to have an important talk regarding your needs.” Alcina states as she glances over to Desdemona cradling her best friend in her arms.

“Mother, if Desdemona needs a bath, I would be more than happy to assist you in all matters that concern my beloved.” Bela offers, beaming when she gazes into Desdemona’s eyes.

The crestfallen expression on Bela’s face after Alcina politely rejects her offer has the other two sisters snickering in the back. Disheartened at the idea of Desdemona being handled in the bath by her mother, Bela disintegrates into a million insects and leaves the space. Her two sisters soon follow when their mother shoots them a knowing look.

Alcina’s attention now falls on Desdemona and the surviving Hawthorne twin feels her heart begin to race. She doesn’t quite know how to act around Lady Dimitrescu and judging by how broken Veronica looked, Desdemona figures she must continue to act submissive and demonstrate manners when she’s spoken to. Until she can come up with a formidable plan to escape the castle with her best friend in tow, Desdemona must continue to get to know Lady Dimitrescu and her three daughters better. She’ll eventually figure out what their weaknesses are by playing the long game.

“I guess I better get going, V. Please feel better soon and you know, try not to die.” Desdemona says as she places a gentle kiss on her friend’s forehead.

Veronica scoffs and bats away at her in response.

“I can’t make any promises I can’t keep. You just do you until you know, find something worth finding out about and tell me all about it. Oh, and Dezzy,” Veronica says quietly as she watches her best friend cautiously approach Lady Dimitrescu, who had been observing their interaction with curiosity. “let it be known that you have the worst fucking luck in the world with women. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Desdemona sighs at that and offers her friend a knowing smile. She’d spent most of her life being attracted to heterosexual women or women who were emotionally unavailable to her; she didn’t think she’d ever cross the line of the usual types she’s typically drawn to but here she was fighting for survival as a trio of dangerous vampires decided to lay their claim on her.

Des dares to look up at Alcina, who unfortunately had already been staring at her, and she gulps, picking up the pace to keep up with Lady Dimitrescu’s rather large strides. For the most part, Alcina does not engage in much conversation unless she felt the need to point something out about the mansion.

When they enter one of the guest bathrooms, Desdemona can’t help but be a little impressed at Lady Dimitrescu’s design choices. The exquisitely polished gold marble flooring stood out the most as two sinks lined up on both sides of the room, the cherry wood cabinets complimenting both the granite countertops and the glossy tile backsplash. Desdemona had to begrudgingly admit that Lady Dimitrescu had impeccable taste, her jaw dropping at the sight of a large bathtub sitting upon a platform in the center of the room.

Alcina wasted no time in stripping Desdemona of her ratty clothes after she had run enough hot water for her in the tub. The steam and warmth of the water was nearly enough to send Desdemona into a state of relaxation but then she remembered Alcina wanted to have an important discussion with her in private.

“You know as well as I do that I do not care for humans. Your life has no meaning to me and should I wish to, I could cut you open at any given moment and offer any remaining part of you to the pigs after my daughters and I are through feasting on your corpse. The only reason you are being kept alive is because my daughters are growing fond of you. They’ve ever only known the company of family and the maidens they occasionally feed on so to see a blossoming…relationship between one of my daughters and her plaything is quite remarkable.”

Desdemona doesn’t dare say a thing as Alcina gently lifts her arms to scrub them. The word “relationship” is being tossed around so casually that it makes her wonder if any of these women knew what love was or if any of them were capable of forming attachments to other people.

When the smaller woman doesn’t reply, Alcina grips the back of Desdemona’s head and yanks it back so she could growl in her ear.

“You shall treat all my daughters as equals, pet. You will not favor one over the other two and you will do whatever it takes to keep them happy if you know what’s good for you. I care about my daughters and their happiness and if that means keeping you alive, you better damn well appreciate the gift I’m giving you by allowing you serve them. You shall spoil them, love them and show them affection because if word gets out that you’ve been a naughty little human that’s broken any of their hearts, I will gut you alive.”

Desdemona feels her fists clench and unclench underneath the bath water at the mention of being gutted alive. A tear runs down her cheek at the disturbing memory of her twin brother’s bowels piling on the floor as Veronica’s screams echoed in the back of her mind. It was horrifying having to relive that particular memory over and over again.

‘You should tell her how much you hate her for killing Desmond. Stop being a pussy and stand up for yourself! Who cares if she beats you!? She murdered Desmond, you should be fighting tooth and nail for your freedom the way Veronica has been doing.’

With a shaky voice, Desdemona swallows her pride and nods in acquiescence to Lady Dimitrescu’s requests.

“I understand, my Lady. I will do whatever it takes to ensure that their needs are fulfilled and that they remain happy under my care.” Desdemona says after a tense moment.

Alcina smiles and releases the grip she had on the smaller girl’s head.

“Good, I’m glad we were able to clear that up like reasonable adults. After I’m done tidying you up, you will spend the night with Cassandra in her room. She has been upset ever since Bela told my other girls how you’d given her a phone full of pictures of you. For your sake, I sure do hope you plan on making it up to both Cassandra and Daniela; they’re starting to feel neglected.” Alcina tells her with a wicked smile on her face and Desdemona has to stop herself from groaning out loud.

She doesn’t necessarily have a plan to appease both Cassandra and Daniela but spending the night with Cassandra was a great starting point. It didn’t help matters that she was absolutely terrified of the sadistic vampire but perhaps it wouldn’t take much to charm her.

After the somewhat relaxing bath, Desdemona was left to her own devices to explore the mansion under the watchful eyes of Alcina. Cassandra’s bedroom wasn’t too far off from the hallway she was currently wandering through but the silence that followed her throughout the castle was still quite eerie. Desdemona’s hand reached for the golden doorknob in front of her when her ears are filled with uncontrollable giggling. She squeezes the knob and slightly turns it only to swat away at a few insects buzzing around her. Desdemona looks to her left and then to her right; there’s nothing on either side of her and so she takes a deep breath, wondering if she was slowly losing her mind the longer she stayed in the castle.

Opening the door, the next thing she sees is a black shadow with glistening white teeth lunging at her. “Rawr!”

Desdemona shouts and jumps back until she hits the wall behind her, her hand clutching at her chest as she tries to steady her heavy breathing. She’s not sure if she should be relieved to see that it was just Cassandra laughing at her reaction to the stupid jump scare but at least she wasn’t in immediate danger…maybe.

“Oh, you should see the look on your face – it’s priceless! Mmm, and just listening to the sound of your heart rapidly beating in your chest is lovely music to my ears. Fear thickens your blood and the thicker the blood, the sweeter it is.” Cassandra tells her, laughter now subsiding as she stands awkwardly in the doorway.

“Is there a reason you came to visit little ol’ me or did you get lost on your way to find Bela?” Cassandra spits out Bela’s name with disdain and Desdemona knew she had to convince Alcina’s daughters that they all meant something to her, but she had to treat them all as equals as well.

“I came to see you, actually. I wanted to spend some time with you and get to know you better since we got off the wrong foot at the beginning of all this.” Desdemona says uncertainly, peering over Cassandra’s shoulders to see if there was something she could work with if she managed to convince her to let her in.

Cassandra gives her a once over, her eyes lingering on certain parts of Desdemona longer than most and relents.

“I do have a few questions about some of your belongings my dear Uncle Karl found in that hideous vehicle of yours. Now, I do occasionally dabble in the arts myself but these palettes you brought with you are utterly useless and too shiny for my liking! Explain this to me!” Cassandra exclaims as she leads a befuddled Desdemona into her room which was surprisingly ordinary considering the woman’s personality.

Desdemona was about to ask what she meant by shiny when her mouth suddenly hangs open at the sight of several expensive makeup palettes thrown and scattered about. Cassandra picks up a broken Pat McGrath eyeshadow palette and attempts to dip one of her makeup brushes in one of the colors and draws a sloppy line against the canvas she had set up on an easel in front of her.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, she’s trying to paint using your one hundred-and twenty-five-dollar eyeshadow palette.’ Desdemona thinks, desperately trying hard not to cry at the loss of something so precious to her.

Desdemona rolls her lips as she recognizes one of her favorite Morphe makeup brushes lying broken in half across the other side of the room. Cassandra had gone through her makeup bag and successfully destroyed at least a few hundred dollars worth of product. If survival wasn’t a big priority right now, Desdemona would have a mental breakdown over this. For now, she’ll be happy to take a rain check.

“So, I love your enthusiasm, Cassandra, and your idea to paint on a canvas using my makeup is really…creative. How about I show you how to do your makeup with what’s left?” Desdemona asks as she picks up a relatively intact kit that Cassandra paid no mind to.

Cassandra tilts her head in confusion.

“Why would I need makeup? You’re disgusted by the sight of me, aren’t you? I know I’m not as pretty or as smart as Bela, but you don’t need to go around telling me what I don’t already know!” Cassandra screeches, her hands wrapping around Desdemona’s neck and slamming her to the nearest wall. When Cassandra begins to apply a deadly amount of pressure, Desdemona had to act quickly.

“I-I just wanted to spend time with you, Cassandra! You’re beautiful without makeup, but seeing how much you like art, I thought you’d appreciate it a different way!” Desdemona manages to say, nearly coughing up a lung when Cassandra releases her.

The dark-haired woman eyes Desdemona suspiciously but she motions for the smaller girl to continue.

“I just thought maybe you’d want to partake in an activity we both would enjoy. It’s intimate and it would just be our thing, something that no one would take away from us. You’re already gorgeous, Cassandra, but this is a thing we could do for fun. Just you and me doing each other’s makeup...and maybe after we’ve gotten to know each other better, maybe we can just do each other.” Desdemona continues as she tries to double down on her flirtatiousness. She bats her eyelashes at Cassandra and her fingers begin to twirl the ends of her long, wavy dark brown hair.

Cassandra inhales Desdemona’s scent and rolls her eyes to the back of her head as if her blood were truly intoxicating in that moment. “Okay, I’ll let you do my makeup, Little One. Just…hurry up and let’s get to the part where we get to know each other better. I can’t wait to eat you all up once you let me, my pretty little plaything.” Cassandra whispers into Desdemona’s ear, her tongue leaving a wet trail from the nape of her neck to her collarbone. She enjoys the way the smaller girl shudders against her.

“R-right, let’s sit on your bed for a minute. I have some ideas and I’ll need your input. Your opinion is extremely important to me.” Des tells Cassandra, emphasizing how much she valued Cassandra’s contributions to their playdate activity, and it seemed to boost Cassandra’s ego.

Twenty minutes later after Desdemona had helped Cassandra clean her face, Desdemona straddled Cassandra and set herself to work on Lady Dimitrescu’s most insecure daughter. The smaller brunette was leaning closely over Cassandra and it was nearly too much for Cassandra’s senses. She was steadily growing impatient but there was something fascinating in the way Desdemona looked as she began doing her makeup. She looked focused, determined and when she fixed her brilliant gray eyes into Cassandra’s, there was a playfulness in the way she smiled at her. Cassandra felt her heart squeeze at the beautiful sight of her human sitting so peacefully atop of her. She did not want to ruin this moment but Cassandra hates holding back, whether its her feelings on something or when she’s out in the wilderness hunting, she needed to voice her thoughts.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met and I’m glad you got lost in our village. I’ve met all sorts of pretty maidens but they were all so boring and rude, always screaming at the sight of us and running away from us when we wanted to play hide and seek. Your blood is so tempting, I want to bite into your neck and rip out your throat but…this, spending time like this with anyone outside of my family is nice. You’re so sweet it makes me want to taste you, but you also make me want to be around you more in a way that doesn’t involve killing, maiming, or torture, if that makes sense.” Cassandra blurts out in a rush, her cheeks glowing pink underneath the dim light of the torches in her room.

Desdemona pauses and takes a moment to let all that sink in. Cassandra is adorably awkward, or that’s how she would describe her if she weren’t also an intimidating immortal vampire that could snap her neck at the drop of a hat. Cassandra didn’t like the long awkward pause that formed between them, so she begins digging her sharp nails into Desdemona’s thighs and the smaller girl reacts.

‘Des, you need to stab her in the eye while she’s vulnerable or if she’s really a vampire, try stabbing her in the heart! Kill her, kill her the way they so ruthlessly killed your brother and be done with it. Fight your way out of here, goddamn it!’ Desdemona’s thoughts were overwhelming her and as much as she wanted to fight the creatures that were responsible for her brother’s death and Veronica’s misery, she knew she had to discourage such thoughts from frequently forming in her mind. This game couldn’t be won if she gave in to her baser desires.

“Is your tongue coated in honey, Cassandra? I’m a little embarrassed to admit this but no one has said such lovely things to me before. It makes me want to kiss you.” Desdemona flirts as she brings her hips down against Cassandra, causing the other woman to moan aloud at the intense contact she felt between them. “So…what’s holding you back? Kiss me!” Cassandra demanded, her hands snaking underneath Desdemona’s blouse as her hands explored every inch of skin that she had access to. Desdemona accidentally lets out a moan of her own and freezes, her hands finding Cassandra’s and pinning them above her head. Cassandra liked this darker side of Desdemona, it meant that they could play rough in the bedroom and her plaything would like it. This would be the last and only time Desdemona would top her though.

“I told you, you need to let me finish your makeup and then we’ll get to the fun stuff. Patience is a virtue.” Desdemona says, laughing when Cassandra huffs and crosses her arms in displeasure. The smaller girl bites her lip when she thinks to herself how cute Cassandra seemed but the thought quickly vanishes when images of Desmond’s bloodied corpse enters her mind again.

This was going to be a long game indeed.

#only monsters come out at night #chapter four #Bela dimitrescu x ofc #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x ofc #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x ofc #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu daughters x ofc #RE8 Village #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil Village #mine

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand.

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest.

He just wanted to help.

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident.

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety.

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills.

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots.

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless.

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings.

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries.

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat.

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Bitter metal on his tongue.

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth.

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed.

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself.

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing.

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes.

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with.

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness.

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip.

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep.

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage.

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness.

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away.

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away.

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans.

-------------------------------------------

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly.

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors.

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things.

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed.

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

--------------------------------------------

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl.

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around.

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection.

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new.

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever.

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.”

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment.

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest.

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #reader requests #leshen

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ncllysnge · 4 years ago

Text

Wherever you go, Take a look at your feet, & Down six feet deep There's dead man's bones!

The Reaping, District Twelve Mentions: @favathornewood, @hovergrove, @givcnup, wren thornewood, gage overgrove

She wore a black dress because it felt appropriate. Pleather-y and tight and hard to move in but it held her together and made her felt stronger than she did.

She had her hair tight back, and high. A dramatic ponytail that gave her the presentation of being larger than she was.

It was all to make her feel like she had more power than she did.

Her hands trembled since the moment she got up and it’s a miracle her makeup looked as good as it did. But that trembling didn’t seem to end when she was on that stage. In fact, it was so much worse.

They were terribly wobbly when they tried to sign what words she could remember to Wren. The gift the young girl had given her, probably didn’t even look right with how nervous she was. But she kept going. Every moment of difficulty, Nelly kept pushing.

She didn’t look at her friends behind her. Just kept them forward as she cleared her throat and announced the first name.

Stomach dropping, she swallows and blinks hard, as if she just read it wrong, but her eyes open and the name is still on that paper. Clear as day. Not like there were many in the bowl to begin with, but she prayed this wouldn’t be the way. So she raised her hand, and poorly signed as she spoke Wren Thornewood’s name and the crowd stirred.

She gave her looks of sympathy and heartbreak to the girl who made her way onto the stage. She looked smaller now. Tears in her eyes and scared more than anything. She shook and Nelly wanted nothing more than to take her place.

Fava and Griffin began to put up their fight, trying to volunteer for Wren, but nobody let them. Which only seemed to cause more panic in her chest. Why not? What was the point of not letting anyone volunteer?

She caught the eye of a peacekeeper, who bore into her with their hand on the gun, and she slowly reached into the bowl again to keep going. To move this thing along.

She didn’t really know Gage, but the last name was clear enough that she sighed it out with disappointment, only to be met with a small whimper when she saw him leave the side of a pregnant woman.

Next thing they knew, everyone was being moved to the train.

Nelly took a moment in the snack room to compose herself. A single tear escaped her eye, which she quickly caught with a napkin so as not to touch her makeup. She trembled but she didn’t know why. It was over now. She told herself not to shake anymore. She had to be strong for her friends that couldn’t be.

For her friends who had more reason to feel their sadness than her, what she could do best was make them feel better, to set themselves up for success.

Nelly came out of the snack room with a small tray that she took to the room Wren was sitting in, crying and shaking with fear.

In her pocket, Nelly took out one of the fabric swatches she and Wren took out when they started planning Fava and Hudson’s wedding. Nelly liked them for the tables and Wren liked the way it felt in her fingers. She bent down before the young girl, placing the swatch in her hand, which she then grasped.

In the room were two girls who believed more than anything in warmth. In bliss. In harmony and love. Nelly felt a single tremble when she looked into Wren’s bloodshot eyes but she willed it away.

Nelly leaned back, giving a prideful smile as she raised her hand to gesture.

S - A - F - E

She nodded, praying that she wasn’t messing up the letters. She tried again and Wren nodded. Giving a thank you, Nelly pulled her in for a hug. Small, and shivering, Nelly just wanted to keep her warm. Protect her from everything. For every dead child Nelly held in her arms, here was Wren. And for the first time, she told herself failure was out of the equation.

No trying harder. No doing your best. No pushing yourself one degree more. There was only getting Wren home. Only happiness. Only Fava and Hudson’s wedding. Only Griffin getting better.

Maybe this is what it’s all for. All to come to.

Nelly leaves Wren with some snacks and tells her she has to eat something. The rest of the day she checks in to make sure that Hudson and Fava have eaten. Tender hand grabbing and shoulder squeezes. She feels helpless to genuinely comfort them but she tries. Instead she checks on Gage and arranges for him something to eat and drink. She tells him she’s sorry. He asks why and she can’t manage it.

I’m sorry because it wont be you. She thinks to herself, and she’s pained that she’s even thinking it. That she’s going to cause a baby to go without a father. That she’s a monster for not giving Gage a chance.

But she tells him everything will be okay.

It’s all pressed smiles and tiding up a train that’s already spotless. She feels her dress starting to stick to her in unpleasant ways. She doesn’t pay attention to the other reapings on the television. Not when she snaps at an Avox for picking out the wrong dinner utensils.

She feels she’s going mad on this train. But she has to make sure that everyone feels safe. They are safe with her.

The sun starts to dip below the sky and her feet hurt. Her dress is too tight and she knows that laughing at a single grape on a plate means she’s rightfully lost her mind.

She travels down the corridor, and finds Griffin, leaving her with a long breath to leave her chest, and she takes a seat beside him.

They talk small. But even if it’s mindless conversation that doesn’t mean anything, the composure in Nelly starts to seep out of her, and her posture slowly drags, and her eyes start to go out of focus. What can she do for Wren? How can they make this year another victory? Surely Fava will be doing everything she can to bring her sister out. She has to. Nelly, too, will do all that she can.

The Nelly thinks of Mother. She’s on this train now, packed in Nelly suitcase. She just wants to put the woman to rest. Put herself to rest.

She starts to lean into Griffin and then he says something about this year. Maybe it doesn’t have to be like that this year. He says something else but Nelly’s looking at the carpet lifting at the edge of the room.

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” She says softly, but her mind’s not fully there. She’s thinking about Mother’s ashes spilling out onto her pink dress packed in there. She thinks about wearing a pink dress covered in her mother’s ashes to the Capitol. Wouldn’t that be a grand final show for Mother? Let them gawk at her one final time?

She lets out an amused squeak. Almost a laugh.

She’s going mad.

Her eyes squeeze shut and she reaches for Griffin’s hand, hoping that maybe he’ll tether her to reality. Or something close to it.

She’s not much use for conversation, and all she can manage out is a soft, “I’m sorry.” As if that’ll cover everything. For not paying attention to his conspiracies. For not being more bubbly. For not trying to inject positivity into this moment of darkness. She feels so far from herself that she feels she can do nothing else but sit, and hope she comes back.

#◦ ❛ 𝖓 𝖊 𝖑 𝖑 𝖞 ━━ ⌜task ⌟#//#sah dude i'm sad

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