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angel-kyo · 8 months

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Pay it no mind

Part XIV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a mention of reader being injured, and I guess everyone is ooc here, but thank you for bearing with me.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII

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A week. Seven full days of silence. When was the last time you had gone this long without any contact with Satoru?

No calls. No messages. Not even a glimpse of him. You had learned from Ijichi that he had been sent on a mission to a distant part of the country just a couple days ago. In other words, there was nowhere to see him.

Initially, it had been a relief. After he left on that fateful night, and you allowed your feelings out. It was only then that it hit you: you had never cried over his rejection. It had hurt, and you had grieved in some way, but maybe by immediately pretending it had never happened, you had prevented yourself from accepting heartbreak.

The truth was just too scary to accept, so you had told Satoru the same lies you had been telling yourself for the past months. ‘It was just a crush’, ‘It has passed’, ‘I’m over it’.

“Liar,” you muttered to your own reflection on the bathroom mirror. Dark bags were starting to form under the eyes that returned your gaze.

Your back was sore and your sleep had not been the best during the last few days.

At first, you had been upset with Satoru, and then upset with yourself for not being able to just dodge the hit and play it cool.

Satoru must have known how much of an unpleasant memory it was for you. Why did he have to bring up the rejection again?

He was not that dense, and neither were you. Your friendship had often felt as both of you stepping right on the line between friends and lovers. Sometimes one of you would lose balance and almost fall on either side of it. Even if both of you denied it, none of you had a similar relationship with anyone else. Still, you believed he had given you the definitive push the day he rejected you.

If he could not feel the same, you could respect that. In fact, you had vowed to just forget it. But why did he have to kiss you while being aware of the hold he had on you?

It’s probably nothing to him, that’s why.

You remembered what Shoko had told you once.

“He is a bit selfish when it comes to you,” Shoko said softly, putting her head on your shoulder.

It must have been summer with how hot it was, and you could see droplets of sweat forming on Shoko’s forehead. You and she were sitting on a bench, outside of a convenience store. She had sent Geto and Gojo for drinks inside.

Satoru had initially said that Shoko and Suguru should go, but Ieiri had refused, saying she was getting a heatstroke and needed to sit down, with you to keep her company. Gojo rolled his eyes but let Suguru pulled him into the store anyway.

“Are you really feeling unwell?”

She only smiled.

At the beginning of your friendship with Suguru and Shoko, Satoru had wanted for all of you to get along, but he was not particularly appreciative of you spending too much time with either of them without him. He had loosened up quickly, though, but Shoko and Suguru were an exception. If he could keep you by his side, he would.

He could not take it back. All he had said and done; all the ways he made it look like there was more to it when there was not.

He can’t take any of it back, and neither can I. Paying it no mind is not going to solve it either.

You looked at your phone. You had sent Satoru a message earlier, just to make sure he was okay. Not that you should worry; he was strong, and if the world had not yet collapsed under curses, he was probably still alive. However, it was not like him to stay away from you this long with nothing but radio silence in between.

I guess I did kick him out, so I can’t blame him.

You washed your face and went to bed, not bothering to take your phone back to the bedroom. You needed to sleep, and the only person you cared to chat with at the moment had not even read your message.

***

“Okay, this one is it. Just try it out.” Satoru patted the mattress of the queen size bed he had found at the department store you were currently at.

You sat down. “It’s… It’s okay,” you said.

To Satoru, you did not sound impressed at all. “Just okay?”

You nodded. “Comfortable.”

“Is that how you try out a mattress? Do you sleep sitting up, [name]?” he asked smiling as he laid down on the sample bed.

You looked around. None of the other clients were really looking at you, too focused on their own shopping to care, but still…

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You directed your eyes back to Satoru.

“It’s not, and it’s the only right way to do it,” Satoru said smiling and patting the mattress again so you would lay down too, which you finally did.

“And?” he asked.

The ceiling lights of the store were a little too bright, but if you focused only on how the mattress felt, it was indeed comfortable.

You had just signed the lease for your first apartment and getting some furniture was the next thing on your to-do list to become an independent person. Among the basics, having something to sleep on would be nice. That is how Satoru had accompanied you shopping for your first mattress.

“It’s more than okay,” you admitted.

“You should get it then.”

“How much is it, though?” Your eyes widened a bit after looking at the price, and you got up from the spot immediately. "Forget it. It's one zero too much."

I wouldn’t be surprised if they charged for just trying it.

Satoru, on the other hand, could not have looked more unbothered even if he tried. This was why going shopping with him and a budget in mind was useless.

“If this is the one you like, I would not mind…”

You shook your head. “No way. I have a budget, I just need to stick to it,” you reassured him. “Besides, this one would not even fit in my bedroom.”

Of course, he would not mind lending you money. He might not even ever ask you to pay back, but this was your quest for independence. You would rather not to lean on his resources. It was the same reason you had declined Yaga’s offer to crash at the school dorms, even though now that you were starting your teaching career there, it might have been convenient. It was going to be nice to have your own space, plus, now that all your former classmates had left, the dorms were too empty and too full of memories at the same time.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” A store clerk had spotted you and landed next to you. The woman was quick to compliment the model ‘you two’ had chosen.

Satoru had sat up and was now looking at her. When she looked at him more closely, her words halted, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks.

Right, that’s the effect he has on people.

You mentally thanked Satoru for being so good-looking that people would become speechless on his presence and allow you to speak instead.

“Actually,” you started, “this is not quite what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, well…” She seemed to have recovered from the momentary shock of first meeting Satoru’s face, “We have some other options that are preferred by couples. I will be glad to show you…”

You and Satoru shared a small smile. Another one, huh?

“We are not…” he said.

“We are friends,” you stated.

“Oh, sorry.” Her smile looked sincere, “Then is there anything you are looking for in particular?”

“Are there any… smaller options?” you asked hopeful. Maybe she had some cheaper ones too.

She nodded politely and asked you to follow her to another area of the store.

“Smaller?” Satoru had stood up to follow you. “How will we both sleep in it?” He was smirking.

You elbowed him, and he was kind enough to pretend it had hurt.

“Don’t say anything else that will confuse the lady,” you hissed and he chuckled.

That day, Satoru pretty much ended up picking your bed. It was not as big as he had wanted it, but it was comfortable enough and, to your delight, within budget. The only downside to Satoru was that it would require a bit of effort for both of you to fit in.

***

“Fancy seeing you here.” Satoru sat across from Shoko at her table in the school cafeteria.

She had decided to take a break from reviewing files at the infirmary and usually, she would not go to the cafeteria, but you had pulled her there so many times that her feet had carried her there almost automatically.

She looked at Gojo’s face. “You are back.”

“Got back last night.” He took out his phone and Shoko saw him check something on the screen and put it down on the table. Was it her imagination or he seemed tired? Tough to say without seeing his eyes, but he did have a duller aura around him right now.

Shoko raised her cup of tea to her lips and eyed Satoru’s phone.

“New phone?” she asked.

Satoru had leaned back on his chair and a adopted a more carefree expression. Even if he was a grown man, Shoko would have said he looked just the same as when they were highschoolers.

“Yeah…” It was impossible to tell, but Ieiri also thought his eyes were looking around the cafeteria, and she had a hunch on what he was searching for, or rather, who. “The other one broke down. It’s the same number, though.”

His phone had broken down three days ago, it slipped and the screen turned pitch black. It had not shut down immediately, though, and it still rang when Ijichi called him, but if he could not see the screen, it was no use keeping it.

Satoru had not really cared at first, only getting a cheap phone to communicate through the end of his mission. Ijichi had gotten a more suitable replacement ready for him when he got back, and it was only after setting it up and retrieving his backup data, that Satoru realized you had actually messaged him days ago.

Unlucky.

He had not replied yet, figuring he would see you at the school anyway and could maybe set things straight between you two. However, he had not encountered you across campus, and when he peeked at your class, your students were being looked after by a first-grade sorcerer he had seen around a few times, filling in the substitute teacher position.

He wanted to ask Shoko. “Say, Sho-”

“[name] took a couple days off,” she interrupted him while placing her cup back on the table and encircling it with both hands.

Can she read minds?

Shoko could not, but knowing Gojo, it was taking him long enough to ask about you.

"Oh."

She looked at him. “They...”

Shoko wanted to tell Satoru you had paid her a visit after one of your missions that week, but she was not sure you would have wanted Gojo to know.

Ieiri had been surprised at first when she saw you that day. A lot of blood always made it difficult to perceive at first glance how big a wound really was. After a closer inspection, she realized the injuries on your torso were not too concerning, not for someone with her abilities at least.

But if they were a regular person and I was a regular doctor, they would have probably been bed-ridden for a while, she thought.

She had had you in walking condition after a couple days, but it still bothered her. Getting injured during missions was the norm for sorcerers, especially younger ones, however, she knew you were experienced in battle. A scratch here and there was expected, but she had seen you returning more beaten up lately.

They are taking on more difficult missions, that was what she wanted to tell Gojo. She was not sure whether you were trying to get promoted or if for some reason they were actively assigning you missions above your rank.

The cup Shoko was holding was warming her hands.

A thought assaulted her mind: There is no predicting the higher-ups.

If you had upset one and now had a target on your back, Satoru could help you out, could he not?

“What is it?” Gojo tilted his head looking straight at Ieiri, or at least she felt this time he was looking at her.

“Nothing. I think they will be back tomorrow.”

Satoru had thought about visiting you, but seeing how that turned out last time, he decided to wait.

Giving you space was the right call in his experience. Usually, no matter what the problem was, you could talk it through when you both had had some time to mull it over.

But, in this case, how much time did you need?

The whole situation was like nothing you and him had faced before. Fighting over snacks or over a joke that went a step too far was one thing. The look you had given him that night and the way you called him selfish, that was completely different, and it had haunted him since he left your apartment.

Satoru grabbed his phone and finally replied to your message. He hit 'send' and offered an attempt of a smile to Shoko.

“If I asked for advice, would you give me some?”

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Note: I almost forgot my iconic note (even though I'm the only one who thinks it's iconic). And the note is... there is no note, just my love. <3

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XV

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh

#gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic #gojo x you #jjk gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo fanfic #satoru gojō x reader #satoru x reader #pay it no mind #jujutsu kaisen

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forlorn-crows · 2 months

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Dearest Crow, I've been thinking about Rain's Lake Wife recently.

Do you have any Nyneve thoughts to share? Did Dew ever know her as a water ghoul? Please tell.... leaves a shiny

💙

nyneve lore incoming

ive actually talked about dew's knowledge of her a little previously here! but here's the essential highlights from that:

the elder ghouls may have passed down the knowledge about her, and some, like Water i think, dont. maybe theyre a little selfish about her, feel like theyve been 'chosen' and that everyone else should have to discover her too. with Water (again, Delta, w/e), it was turbulent with the new summonings, the changing of ghouls and even elements. there simply wasnt time to be like 'oh yeah also theres a big tentacle lady in the lake if you want to have a fun time' you know? not his fault . . . . . . Nyneve's def had a relationship with many a ghoul, but it hasnt been linear. it hasnt all been water ghouls either, but i think the interaction of other elements has come and gone throughout time. i havent decided if any of the 'more recent' ghouls beyond the others mentioned have met her, or just know of her . . . . . . Rain had to introduce Dew to Nyneve. once he got over the fact that he'd have to tell everyone else about her, considering hed come home with sucker marks all over with no real logical explanation. i think Mountain is the first one he tells, but Dew is the first one he introduces.

so to answer that question, unfortunately dew never got to meet her when he was a water ghoul. but you know rain goes to him for first dibs, especially after putting two and two together. and dew has a particular . . . thing for tentacles. rain already knew that, considering he has one. but oh. oh. is dew in for it when she gets her hands on him.

funnily enough, i dont know if mist would, uh, fuck with her (unless its a nice lil slimy handy), but i think theyd be mischievous friends, preying on innocent passerbys and snatching ankles for fun haha

something i have been thinking about is a prequel about her life 'before'. ive tumbled around the idea of her actually being human, somehow magically turned into the beginning of the creature we know she is today. something about a traveler during religious prosecution, going from village to village to secretly tempt women and men, but also just live her life.

not witchcraft, though that is what she ultimately is accused of. chased through the town and past the woods, right up to the lake that she currently resides in. maybe they drowned her, maybe she fled from them and couldnt swim. she escapes them that way, but the entities (lucifer, someone else?) saves her soul by morphing it into the fledgling version of her squid-like self.

does she remember her human life? how does she transform into such a creature? these are things i havent worked out yet. nor have i worked out her birth name, nor all the names she chose for herself along the way. but, if i were to write it all, i think id title it 'Maiden of the Mist'

insert copia-esque, self-satisfied 'eh?' here

#ask #mac-and-thefox #(im going back to using usernames for tags bc sometimes ppl have the same name LOL)#lady of the lake #nyneve lore #<<maybe i should have that as a tag. idk im sure i'll forget the wording later hnfdlj #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul

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commander-rahrah · 7 months

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Talking to the Moon: Part VII

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5600 Warnings: swearing, blood, some borrowed in game dialogue, violence, nudity, canonical warnings apply!

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here part V: here part VI: here

Summary: Set in Act III, in Cazador's Palace. Continuing from part 6, Astarion has been captured and forced into the seventh slot of the ritual. But there is more conflict then just the physical fight before him. There is still the fight between his broken mind and heart to finish.

Notes: Hi everyone! So, we made it to the big bad fight... Parts of this is based off of how my actual first playthrough went when completing this mission (my character got one shotted and died in the very first round LOL,) along with head cannons that I created months ago as soon as the fight was finished and I finished bawling my eyes out. There is descriptions and some dialogue pulled straight from these scenes, just like the previous chapter, but there is a lot of stuff that I added to read between the lines. I also created a scene for after the fight but before Astarion invites you to the graveyard, as I feel like that poor man needs time to decompress and think before all of that happens! I will include some other quick notes/comments up here, which is slightly spoilery for the chapter - but I wanted you to be aware before you read.

(1) There is a bit of "main character" energy from reader/Tav in this one. As it has been established, reader is blessed by Selûne and this factors in heavily into this chapter! It is a big set up for things to come for completing their own personal arc :)

(2) I know there is a lot of discourse about some people wishing you could hug/comfort Astarion after the fight, and others who believe it is his moment and to just let him be. I agree with both sentiments - so I wrote it in the way that I envision Astarion would be okay with aka he initiates it himself. This is my opinion and characterization for Astarion, and is something that as someone who has touch aversion would be comfortable doing myself.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and all of the angsty, sad, happy, tender moments it holds. As always, kudos and comments are very very appreciated ♡♡♡

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It was like fire was in his veins, pain seeping into every nook and cranny of his body in a way he’d never known.

He would take whips and chains. Teeth and claws. Coffins buried in the ground again. Anything but this.

Astarion couldn’t help the broken scream that escaped from him, the sound echoing throughout the chamber before perhaps his last words escaped him. They were a desperate shout for you, your name shredding his vocal cords. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain, but what he could see was the searing red that filled the entire room from the infernal magic. And blurry figures through the tears forming in his eyes — his friends gathering together defensively around you.

His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. He wanted to you to run — to know that you would at least survive this… that would be his only comfort before he died. He needed you to run. To be safe. To live.

But that selfish voice in him, the devil on his shoulder, whispered and hoped you wouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t. That hoped maybe, somehow, you could pull through. That after fighting the chosen of gods, an undead dragon, hoards of enemies… just maybe you could defeat the vampire master. Maybe Selûne was watching, and his prayers would finally be answered all these years later in the form of you.

His heart and mind continued to fight as his body kept burning, the pulling of the red magic on his limbs stretching his muscles and bones, pulsing through every pore of his skin.

But he knew what the answer would be — regardless of what he thought, what he hoped. You said it yourself, you would do anything for him. You would die here for him, if it came to it. And at this rate it would.

He was your undoing. He knew it would come to this and yet he still fell for you. Let you fall for him. Let you kiss him and teach him, comfort and protect him. Knowing it would one day lead to something like this.

An end just as violent and bloody as he was.

Astarion had never hated himself more.

His tears broke free, sliding down his face as he silently screamed from the pain and anguish. His voice too broken for anything more than a fragmented choking sound to come out.

It happened in an instant. A flare of blue magic that cut through the scarlet light around them. Then a loud snap echoed through the cave. A teleportation spell — someone was leaving.

Or coming closer.

Then your scent, so sweet and warm washed over him. His eyes closed as he breathed it in, realizing he was must be slipping into delusion from the pain. His brain, or maybe the tadpole, offering the hallucination as a final comfort before death.

“Quickly!” A male voice hissed with urgency.

The voice broke him from his stupor. Gale? He could barely open his eyes, but he forced them open the tiniest smidge.

You were in front of him, your eyes slightly glowing from the magic everywhere as they focused just behind him. “Darling,” He mumbled in confusion, so unsure of what happened, of how you were here.

You spoke so softly to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He looked down to see your hands flashing with their own magic as they cut through the incantations binding him.

He felt the pressure on his ankles dissipate, his eyes flicking to you and the rest of your friends. They were shouting as they launched spells and swung their blades at the beasts and creatures under his master's control. Karlach’s scream of rage vibrated the stone floor as she cleaved through a werewolf like it was nothing.

But where was he? Where was Cazador?

And as he thought it, he appeared. His master’s red eyes piercing through Astarion as he felt the final piece of the incantation snap free, his body started to fall the few feet back to the stone ground he was hovering above.

The ancient vampire must have felt it, the spell breaking, the moment he was free. His eyes snapped to you instantly and if looks could kill… Cazador’s jaw set and his nostrils flared as he took a single step forward with his staff raised.

"Wait, no—"

And just as fast as you had appeared, Cazador was launching a powerful spell at you. Astarion screamed your name, lurching forward to shield you. But it was too late. It was as if time slowed completely as he watched you whirl around, your hair splaying as you turned to him, your eyes widening with shock. And fear.

And then you crumbled to the ground.

“Such a waste.” The ancient vampire snarled from across the dais, waving his staff as he finished the incantation.

Images flashed into Astarion’s mind of your lifeless body in his lap in the Shadowlands, the sound he had buried of your heart slowing until it stopped. You had promised back in the Shadowlands, on that tiny dock — you promised you would stay out of harms way. This wasn't happening, it was a nightmare. It should be him, not you.

No, no, no, no.

“NO!!” His words were echoed throughout the chamber as Shadowheart thrust her hands forward — a blinding, golden glow in her hands rocketing towards you, unmoving on the ground.

It struck your chest where Cazador’s dark spell had hit just mere seconds before — seeping into you, spreading across your body until it radiated with magic. Your unconscious form was raised into the air, floating with a golden outline. The tips of your silvery-white hair waving with a breeze that came out of no where. Then your eyes flashed open — but they were not their usual shade, his newfound favorite color since he met you. No, they were glowing silver, radiating authority and power as they stared at his old master.

You opened your mouth to speak as you remained floating, but it was not just your voice. A female voice that dripped with authority echoed your words, like something was speaking through you. Someone.

Gods, it couldn't be.

“Your reign of terror and abuse ends here, Cazador Szarr. I refuse to let your hate and cruelty fester any longer." You dipped your chin down, your blazing eyes narrowing as you remained locked on the ancient vampire.

Cazador cocked his head, an eyebrow raised at the spectacle of you. Astarion knew the gears were turning in his head, calculating and trying to figure out how he would turn this into an advantage. What he would get from you.

But your voice continued, the second one still joining you as you floated closer to the center dais, closer to the vampire master. "You believe yourself to be all-powerful. You believe yourself to be a blessing, a mercy to the creatures you keep at your feet. A benevolent master who can make himself a God."

Everyone in the room had stopped to watch, the ritual stopped with Astarion freed. Friend and foe both had weapons at their sides, mouths slightly agape as they tried to process what they were seeing. Who they were seeing.

There were not many beings of Faerûn who could say that they had seen a God in the flesh.

As it was Selûne who spoke through you know, who granted you this power, who had created this vision of blinding radiance in this dark, decrepit crypt.

"But what you really are… is a result, from a cycle of venom and greed and fear. And that cycle ends today.” You, she, said it so matter-of-factly. Declared so simply that it was both of your wills, so it would be so. Closing your eyes softly, your hands lifted up like you were summoning something deep within yourself.

Astarion's mouth fell open as light began to radiate out of you, silver and bright like the fullest moon on a clear night. He had become so accustomed to the talent of his friends — Shadowheart's golden light, Gale's purple and blue, Wyll's fiendish red. But this, this was something different. Pure and unfiltered power from the Goddess of the Moon. Then the light erupted, traveling so fast and loud that his elven senses twinged.

It hurled into the Vampire Master, his face mirroring yours from moments ago — filled with shock and fear. Astarion had never seen his master afraid, not in two hundred years. His steps faltered, off-kilter as he reeled from your blinding light that clung to him.

Who was the weak, pathetic boy now?

"NOW!" Your screamed, your voice returning to your own — though Selûne's power and magic still radiated off of you. Determination lined every single one of his friends' faces as they rushed forward to hurl their attacks on the Master and his creatures.

Astarion's hands were steady as his fingers unsheathed the daggers at his side, his stare deadly as he stalked towards the man who had ruined his life, broken him over and over. Cazador was trying to twirl and deflect, but the attacks kept coming as he was blinded by the light that was you. Yet, he still caught Astarion's eyes, still smiled wickedly at his spawn — even though Astarion could smell his terror and rancid blood from here.

"You are going to regret underestimating us, Cazador." He hissed as he flung his magical daggers out. They struck true, one slicing through the soft flesh of his side and the other up across his cheek.

"Agh!" The vampire's knees shook as he tumbled forward, another blast of magic hit into his back. His red eyes flickered up through his strong brow as he remained keeled over, "You don't have the balls to kill me, boy. Or did you forget that every part of you is mine?"

Astarion's nostrils flared as rage flooded through him, his vision turning red without the infernal magic surrounding them. He held his palms open as his daggers returned to them, twirling them in his hands without thought as he stepped forward once more. "You can't be owned by a dead man." He spat, before sending his daggers out once more.

"NOOO-" The ancient vampire's screams filled the crypt, bouncing off the stone floors and walls. With a poof, he turned into his infamous mist but your light clung onto him — illuminating his path as it raced for the sarcophagus nearby.

"No, no!" A deep desire for vengeance flooded Astarion as Cazador tried to escape, his voice a snarl he could barely recognize. His red eyes could focus on nothing else but his tormentor's end, his pain, his misery. He could draw it out, torment the sadistic bastard to match what he had done to him for all those years. A pounding was filling his pointed ears, the steady thump increasing as he chased after the mist. Using his vampire spawn strength he tore the top of the sarcophagus off, shoving it angrily to reveal the beaten and bleeding vampire within. "No, no! No healing sleep for you. Wake up!" He growled, grabbing him by his pretentious, soiled collar and throwing him to the ground.

Cazador weakly fought back, scrambling back onto his knees. He sneered up at his spawn looming over him, "Get your hands off me, worm!"

"I'm not the one in the dirt," Astarion spat, gripping the dagger in his hand so tightly that is already pale knuckles turned completely white. His bare chest was rising up and down, not from breath but with deep emotion. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

The vampire spawn put on the mask he had mastered for centuries, his face a lethal calm as he suggested, "But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

If he did this, there would be no hiding, no running. No more fear, for either of you. He would destroy anyone and anything who would come to harm you. Who would stop him? You both could be anything you wanted, matched equals backed with powers that equaled those of the Gods.

His old master only scoffed, "You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed."

"I AM SO MUCH MORE THEN WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Astarion roared, bending down more to scream in his face. He felt the intoxicating feeling of power, control flooding through him when Cazador actually flinched, "You fucking leech." His jaw was set tightly as he breathed in the scent of blood that was filling the room, desperate, primal need suddenly filling him. He was losing his focus, his bearings — what was this all for? Who was this all for?

Safety. Agency. Freedom. Power. Control. Dominance. Ascendancy.

The words were twisting darker and darker in his head as once again his broken mind and heart battled against each other. His hands started trembling as he finally looked away from the ancient vampire beneath him. Looking up to his siblings still bound by the remainders of the spell, up the stairs to the thousands of souls — real, present souls — who were trapped down here for centuries. He could feel his heart starting to climb up his throat as two separate sides of himself battled internally.

Remember who you are, Astarion.

You had said that — so softly, with such a gentle touch as you had tried to ground him. No one had ever looked at him like you did, touched him like you did. His red eyes flickered over to you, and his half-dead heart fluttered strangely. He spoke with less of a bite, the edge disappearing, "If I do this I will be free. Truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want, my love?"

Your eyes looked at him, boring into his soul like no one else had. You stepped forward, so unafraid unlike him. There was no tremble in your hands, nor shaking in your knees. You didn't even look at the vampire master cowering on the ground, the immortal male who minutes ago had killed you. No, your beautiful eyes remained only on him as you stepped forward.

Silver was still lingering in your eyes, but he realized it was not latent power from Selûne. It was tears, threatening to break free as you spoke. The saddest smile spread your lips, your brows tugging in the middle. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

When would it end? Cazador had everything, his every whim met, more riches then one could imagine, thousands of spawn under his control. Even if he had completed the ritual, the vampire bastard Cazador was already plotting his next plan for cruelty by taking you. When would it end? Would any of it had ever been enough?

Could he live with himself, if he became that? Could you?

You spoke again, your voice so soft it was a whisper, "Let the cycle end here, Astarion."

His name on your lips struck him hard. It made him feel alive again, blinking back to reality. He shook himself out of the dark daze he was descending into, "You - you're right. I can be better than him." His gaze went back down to the man below him, the stirring feelings in him resolving as his fingers closed on his dagger once more. "But I'm not above enjoying this."

Fear glimmered in Cazador's eyes as Astarion fisted his long hair and plunged his blade into his chest.

And again.

Astarion imagined every lash, every carving cut, every scream and howl.

Again.

Every tremble and gulp he pushed down in an alley or tavern or forgotten hallway. Every moment of self-loathing. Every broken thought of wishing for it all to end — for someone, somewhere to just end him already.

Again.

He was covered in blood, the sticky red liquid splattering over his bare torso, creeping up his arms, neck and face. It was not appetizing, it did not cause a frenzy.

No, only a strange satisfaction.

Like a cleansing of his body and mind. His soul.

Complete catharsis.

Cazador's body had stopped moving long ago, laying mutilated at his feet.

His magical dagger, soured with the blood of his old master clattered onto the stone floor behind him. His trembling fingers losing hold of the blade, then his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. His whole body was shaking, gasps escaping him as choked sobs climbed up his throat. He could not keep it down, not after all these years. Not after centuries of suppressing it, forcing it down to not give him the satisfaction.

Hot tears fell fast down his cheeks, and the howls of anguish, triumph and rage finally escaped.

Astarion wasn't sure how long he knelt in that pool of blood for. Time had no meaning at the moment, all of his senses suddenly turned off as he cried and howled.

“It’s over.”

Your voice. You.

Fluttering his eyes open, he found you kneeling in front of him. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your own cheeks stained with tears.

“It’s over,” You whispered again. You had kept your distance — your hands resting on your thighs, as you too knelt in the blood. Not from fear of him, but to give him space. You couldn’t ask to touch him, not at this moment but you needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

Astarion launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your body as he buried himself into your neck. His cries started all over again.

“It’s over. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You continued the comforting whispers, holding him against you — you started to rock, swaying the both of you back and forth.

He couldn’t stop the sobs escaping him — they had been building up for so long and now these they had broken free he wasn’t sure how to stop. He tried blinking away the lingering tears from the bottom of his vision, taking you in. “You, he—“ He put his stained hands on either side of your face, drinking you in in. “What did I do? What did I do?”

"He's gone. He's gone." You whispered.

Astarion pushed his forehead onto yours, mumbling incoherently, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, M'sorry..."

"Shhhh, my love." You said tenderly, your fingers caressing the nape of his neck in a comforting touch. "I've got you. I've got you."

• • •

Astarion wasn’t sure how he got back to the inn.

The journey back was a blur of healing spells, quick decisions and whispers of worry. He had stumbled back next to you, your arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to you. It was his only reassurance as the rest of the world swirled around him. He hadn’t let you ask — gluing himself to you in a silent answer before your mouth could even open. Now you both were in the group’s room in the Elfsong Tavern— the rest of your companions out for the remainder of the day. He was sure there was an exchange of looks and whispered words about him before the decision was made. He was sure that if he had been really looking he would have seen pity across all of their faces. But he didn't care to. He couldn’t really bring himself to react to anything but what had happened.

Cazador was dead. By his hands.

He was free. Yet stuck. Forever a spawn. Forever fragmented and damaged probably — if how he felt right now was any indication.

But free, nonetheless, he guessed.

You had pulled across the privacy curtains and made him a hot bath, the steam and smell of oils clouding throughout the room. Hints of magic too. Then you asked him in a gentle voice if he would like to get cleaned up, gesturing down at him. Astarion blinked as he looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. The shirt he was wrapped in wasn’t even his own — Wyll had thrusted it at him in that good gentlemanly way he was trained to do since he was a boy. The knees of his pants were shredded from the stone floor he had knelt on. And blood. So much of it. There was red splattered everywhere on him — dried and caked on by now. He wondered if the feeling of Cazador’s blood would linger like the other phantom touches and feelings that haunted his skin. Maybe he would be scrubbing at it long after it was physically cleaned off of his skin too — turning his almost pearlescent skin dark pink.

The vampire could only nod at you, lifting his arms up to attempt to pull off his shirt before wincing. Even with his immortal body and vampiric strength, he was sore. The pulling and stretching of his muscles from the binding magic would linger for a while he imagined. "Help me." He muttered weakly. You averted your gaze as you helped him peel the shirt off of him, your touch the most gentle it had ever been. Astarion was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he had stepped out of his ruined pants, his blood-soaked boots moments later. He barely registered his movements as he crawled over the large wooden sides of the tub and slipped into the water.

The heat of the water instantly warmed his muscles, giving him some reprieve from the physical pain that lingered. It even lifted the fog from his mind as he sat for a moment in the water, watching the water move around him slightly - barely tinting to red before some kind of enchantment cleansed it away. As he watched the blood and dirt drift off of him, he felt the numbing going away too. The tremble in his hands returned, shaking under the water as he blinked back to reality. That feeling from down in the crypt was returning — he felt like he was back on his knees in the puddle of blood, his heart crawling up his throat, his skin hot and crawling—

His red eyes flicked up to search for you, finding you seated near him but with your back turned — trying to offer privacy but to be nearby if he needed you. Astarion’s throat closed up again as he looked at you, the comfort he so desperately wanted. It was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, he was trying to wrap his head around why someone would want such soft, simple touches. Why someone would just want to be held, nothing more. Now he felt his body shaking and tears forming from your absence.

“Join me,” He finally croaked out to the back of your head. His voice was a weak whisper — gods, he sounded pathetic.

You twirled in your chair, looking over your shoulder to him with furrowed brows. “Astarion, I—”

But he cut you off, your name was a choked sob from his mouth. “Please,” He begged before you could say anything else.

You immediately relented, standing up, taking off your clothes unceremoniously and sliding into the wooden tub. It was the most he had seen of your body in months, and not at all how he pictured it would go. Astarion felt your knees brush his as you sat across from him. Even just the barest touch had the crawling sensation across his skin calming. He took a steadying breath, before he finally took you in.

Only your shoulders and up could be seen in the deep wooden tub. Red blood had dried all over you, shaped like handprints— his own handprints had smeared the blood that crusted over your soft skin and stained your silvery-white hair. A pang shot through him. “Look what I’ve done—” His wet hands cupped the side of your face, echoing the action that probably put the stains there in the first place. Guilt flooded through him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You laid your cheek flush into his hands on your face. Then you turned your mouth, pressing your lips to his palm gently. Kissing his hands like they weren’t capable of monstrous, violent things. Like they hadn’t been covered in blood moments ago. “Are you?”

He stroked his pale thumb across your cheek before withdrawing it. Instead he searched for your own hand under the water, intertwining his fingers with yours. He kept his eyes on the water, shifting slightly back and forth — thinking quietly. “I don’t— I’m not sure how to answer that, right now.”

“Take your time, my love.” You said softly, squeezing his fingers. Astarion was thankful for your calming presence, but he needed more. He knew once you longed to just hold his hand, and it was a terrifying thought. But now he needed to be wrapped up in you, held so tight he would forget where he ended and where you started. In the small space of the tub, he barely had to move before he was pressed against you. His head in the crook of your neck, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your addicting scent. His arms around your waist as he held on to you for dear life. Within an instant you had your arms wrapped around him, fingers twirling in the ends of his hair, as you comforted him.

“I— I’ve lived with this all for so long. This pain. Who am I without it?” He whispered into your ear, so afraid to admit such things while looking in your eyes. But you pulled away, just enough so you could see him. Your eyes searching his — and they were so tender and full of deep emotion. Love, he finally realized. His half-dead heart fluttered at the realization. You loved him — even as the broken, undeserving creature he was. But instead of falling into deprecation and self-loathing, he savored the realization. He let himself get lost in it, the feeling of being loved by you. The reality of being loved by you, and it was so good… after so many years of shit.

“You are so much more than your pain, Astarion,” Your thumb stroked his side gently, your hands still wrapped around him as you held him close. “Or your past. But now you can define yourself however you want to be.”

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of his red eyes as he buried his face into your neck once again. His emotions were too intermixed, too hard to communicate out loud now as they all vied for his attention. But instead of numbing himself like had for centuries, he let himself be calmed by you instead.

Astarion stayed in that tub with you until there was no trace of the blood and dirt, nothing left to remind the vampire of him. He had made a silent vow to himself to never speak that name again, to not give the dead vampire master power over himself anymore. You seemed to catch on quickly to that too, the poisonous name had not been on your lips since you left the crypt. There was of course the giant fucking ritual carved into his back. And his fangs and sanguine hunger that could only remind him of who had cursed him to this existence. But one thing at a time. Cleaning off the blood would be a start. Burning those retched clothes that he had suffered in as well…

You both were pruny, but clean, when you finally emerged from the tub. Your beautiful eyes never strayed from his face as the pale elf stood up and slipped out behind you, grabbing your extended hand for support. Damp footprints were left behind as the two of you trailed over to your bed hidden in the corner of the room.

You were lying in bed now, both of your naked bodies wrapped in the warm blankets and each other. There was nothing sexual about it… nothing like Astarion had experienced. To be fair, such thoughts were not even registering in his mind right now. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed this — simply skin to skin with you, no lust or biting or anything.

It was the most at peace he had felt in weeks. Months. Years, really.

Despite everything else that had happened today.

His pointed ear was pressed to your chest, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat like it was his own personal lullaby. But he felt it stutter a few times, your breaths a bit shaky — pushing up he found you scrambling to wipe tears away from your cheeks. Before he could open his mouth, you were giving him a sad smile, "I'm fine." You whispered.

"Darling, you're crying," He said softly back, his thumb catching one of the tears you had missed, starting to roll down your freckled cheek.

"I'm just relieved you're here with me. I was terrified all day, but when he took you — when you were bound by that magic... Gods, I've never been so petrified in my life."

Now you know how I feel. He almost blurted it out, but stopped himself. No, in all of his selfish wallowing these last few hours, he hadn't even brought that up yet — that once again, you had fallen. Taken away from him, from this world. Even if was for just a moment. "I seem to remember having this conversation once before... on a dock in those wretched Shadowlands. What of your promise to me then, hmm? To stay out of harms way."

Your mouth and brows quirked down, "I was supposed to just standby and let you die?"

"I had to watch you die today. Again." His voice broke, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep even more tears at bay. "If it wasn't for...," He trailed off. If it wasn't for Shadowheart. If it wasn't for Selûne really — who both powered their cleric but had also done something more. Taken over for you? Imbued you? He wasn’t sure how to describe what he witnessed in that crypt. “What happened today with her? With Selûne?”

“I— I’m not sure," He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your face furrowing as you thought. "One moment I was with you, and the next... I don’t know. I was there but not. Filled with divine fury and... I wasn't going to allow anything to happen to you. Apparently, neither was she."

Astarion placed his head back on your bare chest, your hand instantly finding the side of his face. Your fingers traced the bottom of his jaw, his strong cheekbones and up to the tops of his ear — before you repeated the smoothing motion all over.

"I will never just standby when it involves you, Starry. Whether it is a physical threat... or something deeper within yourself. I will always shield you, defend you..." You licked your lips nervously instead of finishing your sentence

Love you.

Astarion's mind finished the words instead as you trailed off. He moved his head so he instead shared your pillow, moving so your faces only an inch apart. He studied your face carefully, “Why… why do all that for me?”

Your eyes stared into his, shining with emotion before you lowered your voice into a soft whisper, “You know why, my love.”

His heart fluttered at the unspoken declaration. His cold fingers reached up, curled and delicate as he had ever been, “I can’t help but think— Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of this? Of you?”

“Astarion...." You pushed your warm, flushed check into the palm of his hand, "All you need to ask yourself is do you want this?”

Gods, your eyes and the intimate way the stared into his soul. Your lips, so tender as they pulled into a gentle smile. Your patient touch and desire for him. Your quick wit and sharp tongue. Your big, stupidly kind heart. All of it. He wanted every part of you, to call you his and for him to be yours.

But before he could gain the courage you spoke again, “You don’t need to answer today — enough has happened, my love.”

Hot tears escaped from his red eyes as you displayed your patience once again. He pressed his forehead to yours, a sob escaping him. But it wasn't a cry of anguish, or pain. He wasn't howling with rage and grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

The vampire gave himself a moment before letting out a little puff, “Gods, I can’t stop crying. I feel ridiculous.”

“You aren’t ridiculous.”

“I’ve cried more today than I have for my entire life I think. The first one and this one combined.” Despite the crying, he found himself hoping of having yet another life. A third on with you. A chance to start over, all over again.

“I think it’s justified,” You said kindly, "Rest, my love. We will have tomorrow. And the day after that."

At your whispered words and gentle caresses, Astarion finally fell asleep, dreaming of that promise. Tomorrow and the day after that... with you.

Read the next chapter: here

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x gn #astarion x tav #astarion/tav #astarion/reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfic

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kumerish · 3 months

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I love these q and a's you're doing it makes it feel like were all apart of this analog comic book and that were the lucky ones who got picked for the q's! Maybe u could have a q and a in the middle of your next print edition :-)

Q: which of your works do you enjoy making the most currently or all time? Blind alley, brambles, the gulf or any other ive missed? Youre in the new ex maso maybe that one? :0

Thank u

Thank you! I would love to have a reader mail section. I don't think I'd want to add it into the Blind Alley collections but I do have a project it'd be perfect for...

A: I've enjoyed each project immensely. That's not to say that there isn't a frustrating amount of labour that comes along with making them. Those hours can definitely be frustrating. However, I just feel lucky that both my collaborative and selfish projects have been so fulfilling to work on. Creatively, they've all been very satisfying and deeply enjoyable. It feels uncool to admit you enjoy doing what you do and you're satisfied with your output but...it's a dream to know that anyone pays attention to my work!

I'm deeply proud of The Gulf and Blind Alley. I feel like I succeeded in telling the story I wanted to tell with The Gulf and Blind Alley continues to be an incredibly fruitful, and for better and worse, very me story.

The honest answer feels to be sharing what I am not quite satisfied with yet. While I am mostly happy with Brambles, it took a bit to find my footing with it. What it is now is not exactly what it will be. This first chapter felt like searching and, by the end of it, I felt like it fell into place for me; I am champing at the bit to make more of it. I want to do a meandering comic strip for it before I return to doing "chapters" and telling the larger story I have planned. There are so many weirdos we haven't met yet. I think of Brambles as a sorta The Hobbit/Moomin thing and...I really want to share that with everyone.

#brambles #answers #blind alley #the gulf

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vampkillr · 2 years

Text

Presence — Dick Grayson

m! reader — 1k words — this is angsty kind of romantic but my definition of romantic is incredibly edgy and depressing i am so sorry — IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IVE BEEN SO FUCKING BUSY MAN💔💔

for @ickyickyeik 😿💪

He's human. I think he forgets that frequently. How he can't heal faster than normal, how he can break just like I can. The only thing keeping him from death is skill and a whole lot of luck. Luck that will eventually run out.

The blood that spilled over the marble table I had laid him on felt so much darker than red. So much deeper than crimson. There wasn't a word for the life that seeped from his wounds. Not a way to describe how I felt watching the color drain from his face. To say I didn't know what I was doing would be a lie. I knew how to cauterize. To stitch. To save. Yet the shake in my hands was a reminder of the man dying beneath me. The one patient I couldn't allow myself to lose. A man I promised my life to. Who my soul yearned for.

I've lost time like this. Saving him. Hours blur together as if they hadn't happened at all— one moment my lover is dying beneath me, and within the blink of an eye I find myself standing in front of my bathroom mirror coated in his blood. I could feel the way it had dried and cracked along the creases of my hands. It didn't take much thought for me to turn the shower on and walk into it. Hot water soaked through my bloodied clothes, adding a comforting weight against my body as I watched how the water poured off of me in an orange haze. I knew that this wasn't making me clean. It wasn't freeing me of the proof I had to cut my lover open. But something about the way his blood slid off of me felt reassuring. Like I could see that slowly, surely, I was becoming pure again.

My hands moved on their own. Taking my clothes off, wringing them out and tossing them aside, washing away what remained of tonight's trauma. I felt like an observer of myself. As if I wasn't the one doing these things. My body seemed to take care of me when my mind couldn't. Drying my hair, getting me dressed, walking me passed the crime scene in the kitchen and to Dick, who lay passed out on the couch and blissfully unaware of the twenty four wounds I somehow managed to stitch successfully with what limited supplies I had. I dropped to my knees beside him. The weight of the situation finally seeming to crush me. He could've died. He almost did.

"Hey," Dick's strained voice pulled me back to earth for a moment. As I looked up at him, he wiped a tear away from my cheek and pulled me closer. "I'm so sorry, honey," Nothing more than a whisper. I said nothing in return. I forgave him, but at the same time I couldn't. This is what he had to do, and this is what I had to do in return. Forced to be a hero's savior. Despite everything he has done for me. Despite my love for him. I resented Dick at times like these. Where we were both at our lowest for the same reason. And maybe it was selfish of me, to be upset at him for something like this when he teeters the brink of death for the sake of Blüdhaven. But I couldn't help how I felt just as much as he couldn't help being hurt. "Say something," He begged.

"No more of this...." I knew this wasn't what he wanted to hear me say. But it's what he needed to. And to my surprise, he didn't try to justify what I had to see tonight. He didn't tell me he had no choice. He didn't say anything about responsibility. I left him to himself for a while, walking to the bedroom and grabbing whatever blankets and pillows I could and moving back to the couch.

"Don't sleep on the floor...." His hand reaching for me, in search of my forgiveness. I didn't give it to him. I backed away just slightly while putting the blankets down, giving myself some type of padding for the very light nap I'd be getting tonight.

"I have to make sure you don't die." Curt was my response. The wedge I had placed between us was hurting him more than his wounds were. I could see the tears that he fought from spilling. This wasn't what he needed. I knew that. My grudge wasn't against him. it was with the people who threatened to take him away from me. My hand making its way to his, which was still outstretched. “I'm gonna lose you like this one day.” My voice was quiet. He needed to know I wasn't upset. If only god hadn't been so cruel. If only we had been in a different time. A different city.

“I think I'm done for a while.” My heart jumped at the thought of this. I knew it wouldn't be forever. I knew that. But the thought of not having to fight with him to let his wounds heal was so relieving.

My night was restless. Waking up to the slightest movement, the smallest grunt or groan. Checking his temperature every few hours, honing my ears to listen only to his breathing. Antibiotics weren't an issue because of Bruce, I still had a fair amount of supplies from the last time I had to play doctor— but I needed to be prepared for absolutely anything in these first few days. Dick stirred while I ruminated in my thoughts. “Lay with me,” He whispered. I knew just by the grovel in his voice that he wasn't completely lucid, but the hand he outstretched was hard to ignore.

I reclined the seats of the couch to give myself more space and gingerly placed myself beside him. Sleep didn't take long to surround me. I was exhausted, and the comfort laying beside him sent me into a haze. There was something so beautiful about loving him. Something so comforting about his presence. I couldn't lose that... I couldn't give it up to save my heart, either. All I could do was savor it while I had it.

THIS WAS SO SHORT IM SO SORRY I DIDNT WANT YOU TO THINK I FORGOT IM SORRY ITS NOT EXACTLY WHAT YOU ASKED FOR I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANYWAYS 😭💔

#nightwing #dick grayson x male reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing x you #nightwing x male reader #nightwing x reader #batman x male reader #surgeon! male reader #ao3 #fanfiction #dc x male reader #x male reader #x reader

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fictionfixations · 2 months

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can i just say

you know those transmigrater(?) grator?? i odnt. i dont know the terms for this man

but you know the the the. transmigrates into usually the villain kinda stories?

you know whats my favorite for that kinda stuff? where we were the actual character all along (i think its.. regressor...? ??? either going back into your past as yourself or living another life and then backtracking to a past life of yours that being of generally the villain? idont know if thats what it actually means)

ive also never seen it but i just. think its really cool. and i like reading fics where theyre the same person

in the same way i like it when they have motives. let me be clear, ive NEVER seen the source material so i have no idea whats canon and whats not

but you know what id like to think is canon? shen jiu being a former slave and being super bitter at the world for being very cruel and thats why hes an asshole in like. book canon.(? canon. of. the book. ..in the story.? i think the the the book in that one is like Proud Immortal Demon Way...? IDK man)

or like like. og cale henituse acting like trash because he cares about his siblings and doesnt want negative attention on them also dont know if thats canon. but yknow what? thats my canon

now about time travel in general since it kind of relates, romance is always iffy because its like you know everything that'll make this person fall in love with you. or like, theres an age gap now, and it might not bother them but its not like they know. i know. (its worse if youre like back in your teenage years while youre already an adult cause at that point it feels a little gross)

its that sort of discrepancy(?)

so like. i dont like that there needed to be an entirely new person to be in that body to make change or do things for the better or make everyone like that person

it feels like a cop out.

and also people believing that that person suddenly changed for the better when they arent that person at all???

which. ow.

maybe thats my bad. maybe im secretly an apologist for them, idk, maybe im projecting

but like idk man. the world telling you youre not enough so someone else ends up in your body and then fixes literally every issue in the world (and everyone liking this 'version' of you better). like ow me heart

in all fairness the og's wouldn't have knowledge of the book they're living in??? which is why the transmigrator can do so much

but. THUS. new life AS the transmigrator, then regressing(?) back into their past life with that new knowledge. and probably character growth cause maybe they experience what being loved is like (familial. imagine how cruel itd be to have a lover then one day waking up in a past life of yours that you can only associate as cruel and punishing, and you genuinely cant be sure if that person was made up or not. like was it just a dream? also 'oh god the people i thought mightve been dead are alive')

tbh though it might be because while op time traveling shenanigans (or anything in between) is cool with me, i also like the angsty time travel of 'when i look at them, i keep seeing their dead faces'

of 'how do you know this' (accusatory, 'are you a traitor?')

of also grudges and stuff

but also. more character growth refacing trauma theyve faced before

also maybe probably very much selfish because they kindaa probably just wanna protect their family and will do anything to do so (and thus embrace the 'villain' part that people think of them as)

i dont know if im making sense anymore

now LET ME BE CLEAR i dont like that shen jiu hit his students and shit and was a huge asshole and its not going to suddenly go away. but. its acknowledging what you did wrong, making up for it, but knowing that it'll still stay there. that he still did it even if he deeply regrets it and even if everyone forgives him. because i really dont know in what situation itd be okay to be hit? and also that hopefully hes not that person anymore, but that he wont hide it and will own up to it as a thing he did and shouldnt have done.

anyway i dont know what og cale did besides act like trash but its either the fics im reading are downplaying it or like. thats really it. i have no clue. but still the same thing. if he did some horrible thing, ABOVE.

i just like redemption. and revenge stories. and character growth-ing.

and maybe thats on me for liking villain-ish characters. (im saying villain-ish though because supposedly og cale didnt play a huge part in the book? ....Birth of a Hero...?????? like he just happened, got beat up, and dipped? i think? thats what ive heard anyway. so i dont know if he really counts as one since like uh. white star.????????? ????)

anyway uh thought dump over

feel free to correct me in comments i like learning about things

#thoughts #transmigration #i dont know what to tag this #shen jiu #og cale henituse

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

chapter twenty three - selfish

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic description of injuries and general gross stuff, needles?, bobby bein a bit of. a creep again ugh.

a/n: there is so much happening in this chapter. please god make it make sense.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wake up.” A hand slaps you across the face, and you squint as your eyes manage to open. “There you go.”

You were still here. It had to of been… hours now. That’s what it feels like. Really, it feels like you’d never left. Everything’s the same, and you feel just as small. Just as alone as you always did. Except for him, leaning over you, observing your every movement. You tried to open your mouth, but your jaw was so stiff it felt wired shut.

“I’ve got a lot more work to get done before you leave me again. You with me now?” He says, grimy hands dragging along the inside of your wrist. It’s only as you look down, feeling the urge to tear that hand from his arm, that you see the IV stuck in your vein. Blood. He was taking your blood. He turns his attention back to a small screen. “Such a beautiful signal you get here. See this? Your father would love to see these numbers.”

“Shut your… fucking…” Exhaustion burns through you, eating at every nerve and cell, screaming at you to drift off into that dark bliss. If you closed your eyes, you could see him. Maybe he’d show up on the water bed again. You don’t know why that memory, of all the ones you had, came to you, but you’d cling to it anyways.

“Shh. Save your energy. Can’t have you dying on me.” He pours something down your throat, and you cough and splutter for a few minutes before anything goes down. You hate that it helps. It’s water. You want to throw it up out of spite, but your body hauls it in before you get the chance.

He’s no longer wearing the gas mask, and the air tastes clean apart from the metallic tang of blood still settled in your mouth. Your feet were bare, and the floor underneath was ice cold. You tried to lift them up, but the metal cuffs around your ankles didn’t let you.

“Never worked for three years, yet you still try it every time. You think I would ever let you go now? Over something as silly as reinforced cuffs?” Bobby hums, pressing his hand into the needle under your skin as his touch grazes over it. You wince, yanking away as much as you can. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise. To perfect keeping someone like you in containment. Keep you hidden.”

“What are you…talking about?” You manage with the water now settling in your stomach. Keep you hidden. How could you ever be more isolated than you were here?

“You may have been my first— and a special one at that, but you were not the first.” He takes the needle out of your skin with faux sensitivity. Like he almost cares if it cuts you now. “It’s a changing world out there. Super Soldiers, Gods raining from the sky… money can buy most things, but it hasn’t been able to buy me enough strength. Until now.”

He stands, walking around and grabbing the back of your chair. He drags you to the left, where you can see down the hallway. The door to the stairs you climbed down was wide open now, and a man was standing at the end of the hall.

“You see, I was investing in the wrong things. Training, guns… you name it. Until your father showed me the error of my ways. Science is where the real strength is.” Bobby crouches behind you, his hands holding your shoulders too tightly. “Of course, it’s been harder to master since your father passed. I haven’t been able to make the change permanent as he did— but I believe Ive found a way to increase its potency. Did you study much science with your father?”

The memory of him makes you want to cry. You wish you just had more time with him— you were going to fade away here and all his memory would go with you. You never even got the chance to tell Sam about him—

“Answer me.” He shoves your head forward, pain shooting up the back of your neck. You grit out a ‘no’ and he sighs. “No matter. Your father perfected the formula for your cell chemicals to shift and heal over. Only, the replenishment of those chemicals in other bodies is a little harder to grasp. Making it specifically for your DNA, and as much as I would love to have a million versions of you to play with, I need it to work for everyone.”

He brings over a bag of your blood, and clicks his fingers. The man at the end of the hallway moves toward you, standing at the entrance of the cell.

“Now, if my theory is correct…” He hooks up the IV again, but instead of attaching a new bag to your arm, he leaves it attached to your blood bag, and then stabs the man in front of you right in the divot of his elbow with the needle. “Even though we want to heal bones and organs, the most important part is the platelets and plasma. Tell me, sunshine, where is it that you find those?”

“Blood.” You spit, feeling some of your own drip down your chin.

“Good. Very good.” You both watch as the blood starts to disappear from the bag, going straight into the man’s veins. “This isn’t so bad, is it? Almost easy, I would say. You just have to listen, and do as your told.”

You recognise him— one of the men who used to stand outside your cell on days you needed to be guarded. Never speaking to you. Kicking your food through the gap in the wall. He looks almost asleep, and you think he might be under the effect of that gas from before— eyes half lidded and his knees weak.

“So, giving someone the proteins from your enhanced blood, theoretically, of course, should aid in the enhanced healing. Mix that with the incredible red and white blood cell counts you show, and you can create a virtually unstoppable force. For however long the shot of blood stays in his system. I had some stored from our previous years, but I have a feeling it’s effects will be more… productive, with a fresh supply.” The bag is half empty when he rips the IV out. The man doesn’t flinch, but now his eyes are wide and his knuckles white with how hard he’s fisting them at his sides. It’s almost like he’s hyped up on adrenaline, pupils dilated and staring at you. He takes a step forward, and you think Bobby is going to let him beat you to death. Instead, he pulls out a gun and shoves it into the man’s direction.

“Take this.” He says, and he does it immediately. “You see, the fresher the protein, the faster the recovery time. The guys downstairs, they have your blood in their system, and boy— does it make them pack a punch. But, their system doesn’t regenerate as easily. Some of that blood is months old—years. They die easier. Today, we’re going to see if your dear old dad was onto something. Getting blood straight from the source. It’s why I need you around. Might even let you test one out yourself like old times… but enough talk; back to our test.”

Bobby stands, walking around from behind you and controls the man’s movements, positioning him however he pleases. The man is obedient, moving without resistance, his eyes stilling on yours.

“Shoot yourself in the head.” He commands, and then the man clicks the safety off the gun and pulls the trigger.

You don’t make a sound, but you feel the hot splash of his blood across your face and arms, and then the dead weight of his body as he falls forward into your lap. A tear falls down your cheek, not in sympathy, but just pure shock.

You do scream now, because the man who’s brains paint the wall behind you stands up, pushing himself off you with ease. He sways slightly, like he’s drunk, and then blinks a couple times before returning to normal. He’s not hazed anymore— and even though his blood was still dripping down your face, still hot… he turns his head to Bobby, and the bullet wound is completely healed. Gasping for air, your head spins to Bobby, who was grinning.

“What the fuck have you done?!”

“I made him perfect! Like you!” He takes the gun from the man’s hands, who was still staring at you. “It worked even faster than I thought. Fresh is better, as they say.”

He hooks you up to another IV before you’ve come back to yourself, not even feeling the prick of the needle as the clear tube near your head turns a dark red. He was taking more…

“You—“ He snaps to the swaying man, who breaks his gaze from you. “Load these syringes and take them down. I want as many of them filled in the next twenty minutes. Don’t worry if she passes out… she’s a resilient one.”

The man moves quickly, opening a briefcase filled with long silver tubes, all ending in sharp points. He empties the rest of the first bag into three of the needles, then waits for the next to be filled. Everything gets fuzzy as he takes the next bag down and attaches another, and your hands go numb. You stare at them, making sure they’re still there. Bobby grabs your jaw, pulling you to face him.

“It’s good to have you back. I have to admit I had missed your… presence. My offer still stands, you know. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work together. Build our own—“ All you can conjure up is the energy to spit in his face. He growls, grabbing you harder. “Fine. Have it your way. Once I’ve taken care of your little toy downstairs, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so withholding this time.”

More blood leaves your body, and you watch him walk away. You were losing so much so fast, you know you were about to pass out again, and you should be worried about that, but all you can manage to hold on to is the fact that Frank was somewhere here, and you couldn’t get to him.

It has to have been hours. Maybe even days. You have no idea. You hate it. You always lost time down here.

Your heart was as icy as the ground under your toes, and about as cracked and stained as the patch you were sitting over. The man next to you continued to sort through vials and tubes, and you drifted back to that sweet darkness, Franks voice nearly calling you if you dove in to it hard enough.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That all you got?! Fucking puss—“ He’s cut off by another groan. His own, but he hardly recognises it by how high pitched it is. Another fist flies at his face, and he can feel the bone crack. He tenses, preparing for the next hit.

He needs to stay awake. He needs to stay awake enough to get to you. He saw everything— that whole fucking display, and even if he didn’t get any sound or words, the minute that piece of shit laid a hand on you, Frank snapped out of his haze. Doesn’t matter how much of his blood and guts covered the floor, he would drag his shattered leg behind him if he had to. He’d get to you.

Antagonising these guys in here had been easier than he thought. At first they were in some kind of trance, but when the loud bang of Bobby’s shotgun went off, the bullet just missing him— taunting him, they snapped. Now, it’s been…he’s got no idea how long, but they have to get tired soon. Get a little slower, get distracted, and then Frank will make his move. Maybe he’ll just get numb. He knows he’s cracked ribs, every time he breathes in something sharp stabs his side. He has to keep going.

Breathing in, the men surround him— and even Frank turns his head when there’s a knock at the door.

The guy who walks in is covered in blood, and he’s holding a briefcase. It’s the same one he thinks he saw when he was watching you, but his eyes are so blown up that he could be seeing things.

“Boss wants these distributed.” He says, and the three men hover around him as he unlocks it. They’re whispering something, and seemingly forget about Frank for a second.

Their mistake.

He’s slowly but surely working himself free, knowing he’s going to have to dislocate his thumbs to get out. He’s fought with worse injuries, but with how much blood he’s lost, he needs something. An edge. Something that will just get him out of this room. He knows there’s guns outside, and the slick of his blood makes it easier to slide out. He just needs one damn thing to go his way today…

“Is that really it?” One of the men hold up a needle. It’s bright red, with the biggest point Franks ever seen on the end.

“What’d you expect?”

“Hulk had green blood. Something like that, I guess.” Another man says off handedly, never looking back at him, and fuck— they were asking for it now. Franks right hand tugs at the cuff, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so hard it bleeds. Not that he’ll be able to tell what’s bleeding anymore. Bone pops as he tugs the rest of the way, in one sharp movement he’s got a free hand.

He doesn’t wait.

Whatever’s in that syringe is important. Important enough that the guy who shot himself in the head got back up and walked down four flights of stairs. It does… well, Frank doesn’t know what the fuck if does, but if it heals a bullet to the head, Franks betting on the fact it’ll be enough to get him out of this room.

He lunges, throwing his body toward the syringe dangling in the man’s hand. The briefcase splatters on the ground and a multitude of curses ring through the room. One breaks, another falls right next to Franks head. He turns, only to see it kicked away. He pops his left hand out of the cuff in the shuffle, hoping they don’t notice it’s free.

“I thought he’d be better. Look at him.” They peer down at him on the floor, still cuffed by his feet, and from their view, still one hand, too. It’s why they don’t realise him reaching behind, grabbing two sharp points and dragging them over.

“Guess he’s past his prime. Clean this up, and don’t finish him off just yet. Boss wants round two.” The men laugh, turning their backs for a final time.

Frank stabs himself in the back with two needles. He feels it instantly— like the time he got shot up with adrenaline. Everything is turned to ten, and he groans and thrashes on the floor. The men turn around to look at him just in time to see his two free hands, but by then it’s too late.

Frank’s broken the chain on his legs, one giant whack of it against the concrete sending the links off in shattered pieces. He rolls, not feeling any pain on his sides. He stands, easily. Way too easily. He should be hunched over, fighting for consciousness.

He’s never felt fucking better.

He lands a punch on the advancing man, the one who broke his ribs. He grabs him by the head, feeling his skull bone crack under his grip.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next ones already coming. He throws himself at him, tackling him to the floor. He beats him— over and over, so hard his hands meet concrete after three blows. He went through him.

One man’s on his back, arm around his throat, and he easily rips him over his head. These guys were fucking nothing now. He felt like he’d been shocked by some kind of electricity, except this was the kind that felt fucking amazing. He belted the man in front of him, then slammed his head into the wall. Blood and brain covered the only clean part of the room, and one man was left.

The man who shot himself.

“Stop! Wait!” The man says, holding the briefcase up. “I can tell you what he’s doing. Where she is!” Frank takes a few breaths, not even feeling winded.

“You work for him?” The man nods. “Where?”

“S-security.” Frank towers over him, and he goes for the handle of the door, but Franks too fast. So fucking fast he doesn’t register that he’s got the guys hand tight in a fist until he hears him scream.

“You know she was down there? All that time, huh?” The man looks up, wide eyed. Frank cracks the bones in his hands.

“Fuck! Yes— yes, we knew but I swear—“ Frank doesn’t care what the rest of the sentence is, because he picks up the briefcase, and uses the end of it to cave his head in.

He keeps hold of the case as he kicks the door down, swiping the shot gun Bobby abandoned. Then he takes a chance, testing his durability, and jumps over the railing of the two story platform.

After the beating he received, he should be struggling to even walk— but he lands it easily. He doesn’t even have that kink in his neck from this morning. Spent so much time staring down at you sleeping next to him. Not even that. No blood coming from anywhere, and he could see for fucking miles in front of him. No swollen eyes.

He was healed. Completely. Strong, too. Stronger than he fucking should be. He doesn’t know how long he’s got, but he knows he’s not wasting another second of not having you safe. He takes the stairs up four at a time, never needing to catch his breath.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank’s arm was around you, holding you tighter than you could ever remember. You weren’t shivering anymore, the effects of the ice cold water long forgotten the minute he pulled you to him under the covers.

It was nearly morning, and you were still hazed with sleep. The embarrassment and pain can’t reach you here, not when you are so close to drifting off. Another few hours of sleep would do you good. Just letting your eyes flutter closed. You blame it on this nearly-asleep-half-conscious state that you turn over, seeking more of the warmth his skin offers. He tenses next to you, feeling you shift, before accepting the new position and letting your limbs tangle with his own.

It’s about as safe as you have ever felt. Frank on all sides, something that should make you feel boxed in. He’d let you go with one word, but you can trust him not to. You don’t want him to. Frank’s arms tighten around you as you settle your head just below his, nose brushing against his collarbone.

“You okay?” His voice rumbled through your head, all the way down to your toes. You didn’t answer, wanting to linger in this state a little longer. Your breathing was even, and you all but melted into him with one last, long sigh. “What the hell are you doin’ to me, huh?”

His lips touched your forehead before one hand tangled in your hair. He doesn't brush past this time. This time, it’s purposeful and practically permanent. He scorches your skin, kissing you softly, right on the little scar above your eyebrow.

You feel him tug you closer, your leg nearly on top of him now. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear, racing when your hand slowly brushes up his side, stopping under your head. Then it slows, and he kisses you one last time before you’re asleep again…

You can hear something. Maybe. Theres a beeping sound coming from the monitor, but that’s not what it is. This place echos everything. The walls nearly savour the sounds, sending them back to you so loud, that if you close your eyes you could swear it was happening right next to you. This is different, though.

It’s screaming. Someone screaming.

You force your head up, slowly blinking your eyes. There’s spots in your vision, but you can see people. People, flying around the tight space of the corridor. Flying… you swear they were moving through the air, limbs whacking around in un-natural directions. Something loud cracked, and then a loud, male groan. Almost a scream, but this wasn’t in fear, or pain. Someone was coming, and they weren’t stopping until they got through.

You only knew one person who would fight for you like that, but as much as you tried to fight against it, sleep dragged you down into the dark. This time, Frank was getting further away, and you weren’t so sure you could pull yourself back up.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was pitch black, but all Frank could see was red. Dark, thick red, blood that can only be from deep, hidden parts of the body. Blood gets thicker the further in you go, and Frank was tearing right to the centre.

He found more men on the stairs, using the shotgun and the pulsing strength scorching through his body to take them out. He admitted it felt good— fucking easy, tearing through these guys. They had the higher ground but he had every advantage. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off about it, though. He has no idea what he gave himself, it just had to be enough to get to you.

When he finally makes it up to the door, he’s sprinting. More faces blur past his hands and bullets, but he can only focus on one. You, your head down, eyes closed. He throws someone with one arm as far as he can manage, and he doesn’t see the guy get back up. He’s still looking for Bobby, but all that was on the back burner now. Now, all he could focus on was you.

The bodies stop dropping, and he realises there’s no more coming. No more footsteps as he reaches the door to your cell, no more gun shots. Not even a breath that wasn’t his own.

You weren’t breathing.

He drops the case he’s still managed to hold, ignoring the slow beeping of the monitor. He rips at the handcuffs, but even with all this stuff in his body he can’t manage it.

“Come on. Hey! Come on, wake up…baby, fucking wake up.” He could hear the horse crack of his voice and he was pulling so fucking hard and it wasn’t enough. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, then he looks down, seeing the snapped locks of the briefcase.

There’s still four or five syringes in there. He doesn’t know what it does— he can hardly tell if he’s gonna live when this feeling dies down. He’s still staring at them, though. Reaching for one.

He could do it. It brought him back, healed whatever those assholes did… and your a hell of a lot stronger than he is. He needs it to work. He needs you to open your fucking eyes, but is it worth the risk? Was it worth it if it backfired? Was he that selfish, that he’d take the risk— the risk of you dying because of what he did, just so he wouldn’t have to live without you? He’d take you down with him if he did this— fuck knows what Bobby put in these things. It could be anything. But he couldn’t let you die in this room. Couldn’t let you go.

Frank Castle knows he’s selfish, but it’s like his body has already made up its mind. His hand is fisting on of the vials, hovering over your thigh. The beeping’s getting slower, and you twitch in his hold, the last signs of life fading from you. For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t take you down with him any further than he’s already done. But he can’t see you die. He couldn’t.

“Please. Just— need this to work. Please.” He drops his head and plunges the needle into your thigh without another thought. Almost instantly, your eyes crack open and your heaving air back into your deprived lungs. Frank holds you upright, trying to make sure you don’t fall backwards, but he can’t see past the tears forming in his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this— like a knife was tearing it’s way through his chest, nearing his throat and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it because you were fucking here— covered in blood and dirt but breathing. He chose right. Did right by you, for fucking once. Looking around the room terrified, you say a word, and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because the first thing you think to say is his name.

“Frank!” You scratch out, shoulders still heaving with the effort of taking in air. “Frank— we have… you have to get me… please I can’t be in here anymore—“

“Shh. Shh— you’re okay. I’m gonna get you out, just like I promised, yeah?” You stop spinning your head around and stop your thrashing when your eyes meet his. He feels your hand go to lift up and touch him but you can’t move. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re crying.” You say softly, and Frank shakes his head, laughing out of pure exhaustion.

“Yeah, I am.” Your head tilts, and fuck— he can’t help it. He shuffles closer, holding your head in his hands. You look wrong in his hold, like something precious and way too expensive, something he’d never earn the value of in his lifetime. You press into his touch, and he just can’t let you go.

“You came.” Wet tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I thought you were— I thought you might not make it here.”

“I promised.” It’s all he has time for right now. He has a hostage he needs to fuck up. “Where’d he go.”

You flick your head down in the direction of where he came.

“He has the keys. You gotta— once I’m out I can help you.” You blink a few times, and it looks like your seeing his face for the first time. “You… how did you get out?”

“He’s got these guys— strong, like you, nearly beat the shit out of me. Injected myself with that.” He looks over at the briefcase. “Never felt better.”

“You aren’t hurt.” You say, and it should be a good thing, but Frank starts to worry because you look uneasy.

“Not anymore. You know what it is?”

“Yeah.” That fact that you don’t say it right away makes Frank think he doesn’t want to know.

“I gave it to you, too.” You shake your head, and his worries evaporate. A simple move from you, and he’s easy. Fuck— he was glad you were here.

“It’s fine. It won’t kill us. You need to go. Get the keys, get me out. Bring him with you.” Frank nods, taking another second to look at you. Just making sure— your eyes were wide, a little fearful but alive and bright. Open. Skin was warm. You were okay. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.”

Something crashes behind Frank, and he turns and leaves before saying another word. He was going to drag that cunt back here kicking and screaming. He had to be alive— but Frank has learned a thousand ways to make a man wish he wasn’t.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Six minutes.

You counted it.

It took Frank six minutes to track down the country’s biggest gang leader, the man who has evaded the FBI and CIA for years, the man who had built an entire, intricate network of tunnels and bunkers to avoid being caught. Without his men, that Frank also took down, it took him six minutes to beat him bloody and drag him back to you.

You used to be so afraid of him. He was the man who haunted your nightmares, a face you’d see every time you closed you eyes. Almost a bogeyman. Seeing him here, on his knees, eyes swollen shut while Frank rips the keys out of his back pocket… it’s surreal almost.

“You w—“ Frank kicks him in the stomach, whatever words he was going to say lost in the burst pain. While he falls to the ground, breathing slow, Frank unlocks the handcuffs and you stand way too fast. Your first steps are the three that gets you out of this fucking room.

Frank sees you bolt outside, back pressed against the opposite wall. Then he turns, punching Bobby in the face before grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out and down the hallway. He’s groaning in pain, trying to say something but Frank just keeps dragging him. You walk behind, a sick enjoyment bubbling through you at the sight of him so… weak.

“How are we getting him up the stairs like this?” You ask once you’ve stopped at the base of the giant staircase. It must of taken you an hour to come down here, and your head was still a little fuzzy from the blood loss. Your own blood doesn’t heal you as well— fucking figures.

Frank doesn’t say anything, just starts dragging him up the stairs like a sack of flour. His head bangs against the first step, and Bobby shouts and wails like a kid. Similar to how you would of screamed for him to stop when he cut you open—

“Frank.” You say, and he stops. You look down at the man, wondering what Frank did to him in those six minutes in the dark that made him look so deformed. His arm was broken, the strange angle it was at made it obvious. One of his eyes was less bruised than the other, and he used it to lookright at you.

Maybe he thought you’d tell Frank to stop. That you’d taken pity on him. That you’d feel sorry for the way he looks. He’s still staring at you when you see a small flash of his teeth, something that could be a smile if he wasn’t missing so many teeth. You let him hold the hope for just a second.

“Make sure he’s still alive when we get to the top.” Frank huffs, like it’s an imposition, and you walk ahead, letting the pained cries of the man behind you bounce off the echoed walls. He deserved to feel what it was like to have hope it would stop, only for it to never end.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally reach the outside of the building, Bobby has passed out from the pain four times. You counted. It won’t be enough. You had twelve years of that shit. This was mild— you had a thousand days like this. It should be therapeutic to see him miserable and begging but all it does is make you angry.

Frank throws him in the back seat of the car, using rope and the seatbelts to tie him down so he can’t move. Then he ties something around his mouth, saying something to him you can’t hear. When you get back in the car, Franks hands are stained with blood.

“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asks loudly after a moment of silence, his hands so tight on the steering wheel you can see his forearms start to shake. “Fuck. I could sprint a mile right now.”

“You feel okay? Good?” You weren’t a hundred percent sure about the effects your blood could have on him— or, the concentrated version of your blood.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t know what was in that stuff, but I haven’t run it out yet.” You can tell he feels uneasy about it, but the rush is almost overwhelming, even if he has burnt through some of it.

“It’ll be a while before it’s out of your blood system.”

“Yeah? How you know that?” His head moves a little too fast, and you wonder weather that’s how fast you move. If you look this… creepy, really. It’s fucking creepy.

“Because it’s my blood. It’ll pass through in a while, you just have to wait. He— Bobby said it wasn’t permanent.” At the mention of his name he stirs in the back and Frank reaches around, punching him in the gut while keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I’m good. Tell me about it— the blood shit. Help me focus.” Hoping to calm him down, you spill every little remnant of information you can remember. It’s technical, trying to explain how the plasma in your blood can be modified to heal bones and gunshot wounds, but he listens. “So why’d it work on you? If it’s your own?”

“It’s more concentrated. Based around the healing parts of my blood. He must of found a way to extract only the parts that make me strong. I lost a shit tonne of blood back there, so maybe the shot kicked my own healing back into gear.” You flick your eyes back to where Bobby is passed out again, his blood staining the seat. “I doubt I’d get it even if he explained it himself, but it’s a version of what they did to me. Only lasts a little while, but it makes you stronger. Faster. Heals you more easily. And apparently makes you jumpy as fuck.”

“I ain’t jumpy.” He grumbles, the sound sounding so much like Frank that you settle back a little, relaxing at it. “When you were in there… I uh— saw what that guy did in front of you. That kind of thing would be… if Madani found out about that, or any of those guys at the CIA. What your blood can do…”

“I know.” They’d want it. It was the edge they have been looking for. Like Bobby said, America had been fighting Gods and Super-humans for years, and they wanted something of their own. You, or your blood, would be it.

“Don’t say anything about it. Far as they know, we were in and out.” Frank looks in the review mirror, gaze hard as he checks Bobby’s positioning.

“He might say something. What if they ask him about it?”

“Can’t talk without a tongue.” You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He looks serious. Very, very serious. “What?”

“You— nothing. I just want to go home.” You breathe heavily, your eyes shutting for a second. Everything hurts, and your body isn’t healing as fast as Franks did with the lack of blood in your system. Now you know why you didn’t heal fast after you were shot. You must of lost too much in the water.

“You mean back to New York, yeah?” When he says it, the words confuse you. Of course you’d be going back to New York. You don’t have anywhere… well, you don’t have anywhere. You don’t have a place, now you think about it. The only house you ever lived in is owned by someone else, but that hasn’t been home for a while.

When you said you wanted to go home, what you really meant was you wanted out of this car. You wanted to go back to somewhere warm, and safe, and somewhere you didn’t have to think about any of this. The only place you’ve ever really been able to do that, have any of that is when you were with Frank.

“Sure.” Is all you managed.

“Sure? What’s that mean?” He turns the car a little too hard, and Bobby whacks against something in the back.

“It means that— well, I don’t exactly have a place there, do I? I mean, I know Matt said we could stay until—“

“We’re not doin’ that again.”

“I didn’t think it was all bad.” You say absently, but Franks eyes catch yours in the mirror and his hands grip the wheel even tighter. “But I don’t have a house.”

“Stay with me.” Even after everything you’d done with him, been through with him, he still managed to catch you by surprise.

“Really? You’d want me to live with you?”

“Why? You got a bunch of cats you need to move in or something? You snore?” You don’t want to smile, not with who’s behind you, but he’s impossible not to smile around. “Course I do.”

“Gotta dump the baggage first.” Frank grumbles something under his breath at your words, then turns the car again, too hard. Even you struggle to stay upright. He’s still fighting off the rush of energy he’s feeling running through his veins. “Maybe we should call someone. Go to a doctor, or call Curtis. You’re still jumpy.”

One of his hand’s dropped from the wheel, and after he checked the rear view mirror one more time, confirming Bobby was passed out, his hand landed on your thigh. He did this a lot while he drove, his hand nearly covering the entirety of your thigh. Fingers absently wandering, like he had all the time in the world to tease you, even if he didn’t mean it. This time, he definitely did. His thumb was drawing circles on your skin, his palm slowly dragging the rest of his fingers up.

“Just got to work it out of my system, yeah?” You swallowed, the simmer of heat in your stomach bursting into flames at the horse growl of his voice. He dipped his hand over further, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh twitching in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was because he was half high on…you, or what he exactly was planning to do, but as his hand gripped you tighter making you jolt in your seat, you sat a little wider. Giving him access. He swore under his breath.

“Yeah. Maybe you should g-go on that run. Work out or something.” He smirked, and held his hand there while you held your breath. He was toying with you, fucking with you, for sure… was he really going to…here? The tip of his fingers were so close, and you were practically sweating now, heart thumping in your ears.

“I think I got a better idea.” He looked at you quickly, his eyes nearly completely black, pupils blown out. Your eyes squeezed shut, at his mercy completely.

Then, his hand slid down slowly, resting where it usually did when he drove. Much lower, and much further away from where you fucking need him right now. When you open your eyes again he’s still smirking, a smart ass look on his face like he knows how worked up he just got you, even when he’s the one with all the extra energy.

All of a sudden, like Frank often encouraged in you, you forgot about everything else except how long this car ride was. You said you wanted to get home, but the more you thought about it, it was less about a destination and more about him. Home.

[next chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tag list:

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#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

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aita-blorbos · 7 months

Note

WIBTA for leaving my team?

hi. i (15 nb) have a dad and brother who were in a space program who, along with their pilot, allegedly “died” on a mission to one of plutos moons. after getting over the initial shock and grief i started to realize that things weren’t adding up, so i did some of my own research. i got into the space base and pilot training facility to get more sensitive info i couldn’t find online, but i was caught each time and eventually banned from the premises with a promise to press charges if i returned. i wasn’t going to give up, though, and knew something was VERY wrong at this point, so i altered my appearance considerably, ran away from home and enrolled as a cadet communications officer under a false identity, using the spare time muster to gather more info.

at first i was wary of the two other cadets i was grouped with (my pilot, L (16M) and engineer, H (16M)) but they grew on me quickly enough, and eventually i started to consider them as my friends, although i still tried to keep my identity and intentions hidden from them in case they were to expose me or distrust me.

a couple of weeks ago (? i’m not actually sure how many earth days have gone by, my laptop displays a date but we are FAR away currently and i’m unsure if there is time dilation to account for) i managed to successfully start picking up unknown signals on the roof of the building at night in spots i wouldn’t be detected. i was going to just add this to my data and continue from there but unfortunately eventually my friends caught me sneaking me out and followed me up there. before i could feasibly explain myself something fell to earth VERY close by— which we determined was the pilot of the mission my family went missing on (S, (20s something M)). more than ever i KNEW they weren’t dead. the three of us took off to try and rescue him, and were intercepted by someone ELSE, (a dropout pilot, K, (16M)) who apparently knew S and wanted to be the person to rescue him from the med techs trying to take a look at him after he plummeted from space in an alien spacecraft. eventually the five of us made it out of there, and K took everyone on his low flying craft out to a shack he apparently had been living in since dropping out. K and i compared notes on the aliens and eventually the group of us located a very odd looking alien craft, which reacted to L’s presence, and to avoid the military searching for us we entered it, where it sent us halfway across the universe. we learned that THIS spacecraft were made by an extinct race with only two surviving members, who were cryogenically frozen for ten thousand years, and were apparently the only ones that could stop a different alien race, which is evil and what had taken my family.

we all eventually got assigned different spacecrafts, which were all lion shaped mechs, that could form together to make a very powerful and incredibly advanced super-mech-thing that you’d only see in comics. so, a lot to take in very very quickly.

as we’ve been fighting off the evil alien race, i’ve gained some valuable information regarding where i might start to really look for my dad and brother. as much as ive been happy to be able to help out, in the end tahts not the reason i came out here and my family has always been my first priority. recently i’ve gotten my things in order and prepared to leave before we took the next step, which would be getting off the planet we’re currently stranded on. i went to tell my team this and K told me i was being selfish and that everyone has a family they want to get back to and saving the universe would save everyone’s family anyway. i still want to leave but i’m not trying to be selfish. this was my intention from the BEGINNING even if things got very off track. they don’t know how hard i’ve worked to get here.

UPDATE: i didn’t end up leaving, but it’s been a few months (i think) and K found out something about HIS family (apparently he lied and he’s an orphan, but maybe he isn’t, i don’t know.) and now HES leaving the team to look for HIS family. also he’s part alien (specifically the evil kind). go fucking figure

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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freedomfireflies · 4 months

Note

Hey girlie. I'm coming to you cause you helped calm me down about my London trip and I need advice again.

So, my Niall concert is June 11. I've had these tickets for a year and now the friend I was supposed to go with said she doesn't want to go anymore/doesn't want to ask work if she can take off. (We work for the same company. I know she can. She just doesn't want to).

I've asked literally everyone I know and people either can't go or don't like Niall.

I know I'm an adult, but my mom doesn't want me to go to concerts alone (i dont mind going alone. Although ive never been to the venue). And my mom works at night so she can't go with me.

And I'm stressing about it. I've had anxiety since she said she wasn't going.

Do you have any advice?

This kind of tension can always be so incredibly stressful, I'm so so sorry you're having to go through this with your mom!! And with your friend!

It's hard because the internet can be such a scary place and even if you did find out someone else was going from online, you never know how well that will go over!

Is there any way your mom could take just that one night off? Especially if she's worried about you going alone? It's not at all fair that you'd be expected to go alone or find other arrangements when you were the one forced to rearrange your schedule so last minute!!

IF you did have to go alone, I know you'd still have a wonderful time and would hopefully be surrounded by other people just wanting to enjoy the show that would make you feel a bit more at ease! But it's always better to have someone, so hopefully either your mom can go or one of your other friends will tag along!

I know that's not too terribly helpful, but your friend sounds so incredibly selfish! Even if she simply lost interest, she could have at least helped you work out what you were going to do instead!

If anyone has any ideas, please let us know!! At the end of the day, you're so incredibly brave and while I do agree that we need to be careful and cautious, you deserve to see this show that you've been so excited to see!! Even if that means having to go alone! You'd still have the best time! And then you wouldn't have to worry about another person potentially ruining the mood for you!

I'm so sorry this maybe wasn't the best help, but if anyone else has any ideas or if you wanna chat about it privately, we absolutely can ♥️ Sending you so much love, Britt, and I'm so sorry you're having to go through this!

#swiftmendeshoran

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iwannabeastarstarrockmann · 1 year

Text

I was delusional to think this year would be different. TW:SH/ED

why are moms so toxic? i cant remember one birthday in which everything went smoothly ansd i truly felt loved by her. she has always made it clear to me that im not enough, she has sacrificed too much for me, im a waste of space, im a lazy sack of shit and she wished she never had me or my sister.

I just woke up a couple hours ago really excited because she stayed out late last night so I didn't get a chance to talk with her (we were starting to get along weirdly) and my birthday is tomorrow so I wanted to hear what her plans were and instead she yelled at me for not getting up earlier, for not having a job yet, (even though I had to quit my last one because of her and I've been applying for jobs ever since) she said I should stop using being autistic as an excuse because I'm "not really autistic", I'm "completely normal, I'm just a giant asshole"

why would she say that??! and then to make matters worse, a family friend is planning to make me food for tomorrow and so my mom said the least I could do to earn such a gift that I don't deserve, I should go swimming with her in her pool, although I cannot because I recently relapsed heavily and have sh scars all over my arms and legs and I would rather politely decline a swim rather than worrying everyone I know and love. so anyway, I couldn't tell my mom why I couldn't swim so I just said I'm really not feeling up to it and she replied with "okay well then, you're dead to me" and strangely as punishment forbid me from using her shower ever again?? I have a shower, but it's infested with mold, and we didn't find that out until I passed out after a shower, so I think that means I really am dead to her?? ouch!

I'm really sad though, more so because we just bought groceries and now, I may be wasting food because I'm fasting. how can I be a good anorexic though when my fear of wasting food overpowers my fear of gaining?? idk maybe I'll just cook for everyone else on my bday, that is, if I knew anyone to cook for. I also feel bad for not swimming with our friend especially because she is cooking a whole feast for me! something my mother would never be caught dead doing. a lot of my issues with food come from having no structure nor comfort in my household growing up, i went from eating too much to never eating enough. i love it though when i see family friends and they are always telling me that ive gotten too skinny and i need to eat more, and as a result always cook food for me and lecture my mom for not paying attention to me, not that shes obligated to, as im almost 20, but as long as im stuck with her due to finances and just a tad bit of codependency, she should be a little nicer to me right??

am I crazy for thinking that regardless of my age or life situation, when I'm home it should feel like home?? if I were going to college no one would question me for still being here, I'm just trying to save up some money but every time I do, my mom demands to borrow it and then threatens me that she won't pay me back if I don't do this or that for her. did I mention that she always plays the victim too?

she genuinely believes that the world owes her something. she thinks because of her disability, people should bow down to her and cater to her every need! that is so immature! its every man for themselves, if you can't hold yourself accountable, how do you expect your life to improve? doing the same thing over and over with no result gets you nowhere! that's insanity, its naive. I don't want to waste my life catering to her when I spent the first 19 years of my life being the adult and her being the child. I deserved better.

now I just want her to see how terrible of a job she did by rotting away. I don't care anymore, I know that's selfish but I just don't care about anything anymore, I want to starve, I don't want to eat anymore. I know better than to starve myself, but it feels so damn validating when I'm losing weight.

#ed bllog #ed relapse #tw ana diary #tw ana shit #tw ed diet #ed vent #i only harm myself and no one else #i wanna be weightless #starv1ng #starv3 #tw ana fast #ana trigger #ana and mia #emotional abuse #mommy issues #tw sh related #i wanna be perfect

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frayed-at-the-seams · 2 years

Text

SVSSS AU

I have read AUs where Shen Yuan is a separate character from SQQ, Shen jiu. And I’ve read ones where Shen Jiu and Shen yuan are related or exist in the same AU.

What I want, if any kind soul would write this for me, is a AU where Shen Yuan and Shen jiu are the same person. Shen Yuan is like SQH and reborn into Proud immortal Demon Way as an infant without his memories. He lives as Shen jiu until the moment he first kills someone (Qiu estate probably. I imagine him getting his memories back as he torches the place). All the memories as his life as Shen Yuan comes back to him and the system activates. It lets him know that he is the scum villain twenty years before canon events start.

Jaded, savage and a untrusting Shen yuan (maybe he chose to revert back to Yuan in hopes that he will get the small amount of warmth he’d had in his previous life) is forced by the system to continue down the path of becoming a sect leader. He meets disciple Qinghua along the way and they both band together as transmigrators to continue the story line. (Maybe they change a few minor plot points along the way. Gathering evidence on the Huan huan palace to give to Tianlang-Jun, once SQH had spilled about his drafts of course). SQQ uses both memories from his two lives to grow and change. He still has trauma and rage from his early years as Shen Jiu, but after a lot of talking with YQY over the years he forgives him. He also grows close with SQH and they become proper friends. (Maybe he later assists him with hiding the wounded Mobei-Jun?) of course he still has trauma and misdirected hatred on those with power who abuse the weak. He snaps when vulnerable and his communication is still terrible but he is not as naïve as he was as Shen yuan. The childhood of abuse as Shen jiu made him sharp and more selfish. But he is healing.

By the time Binghe joins the sect, SQQ has a reputation. He is still sharp tongued and insulting of those who he considers a threat or beneath him. But he is not a trope villain. He cares for children and would never harm them. Even the rivalry Shen jiu had with LQG in the book is dulled to mutual respect for each other’s skills but distance, neither browning closer until SQQ saves him. His relationship with YQY is tense, since SQQ recalls their childhood, but brotherly. YQY doting on him as usual and SQQ putting up with it. He still visits brothels, enjoying the time to gossip and talk with the women. (I suspect he has his sexual awakening before canon events begin).

He never treats Binghe unkindly, treating him with the same Shen yuan care as he treats his other disciples. He shows more control over his favouritism, only helping LBH when signs of bullying were too obvious to ignore. Of course Binghe soaks up any affection like a sponge. Maybe SQQ has a nightmare about the Qiu estate and wakes up screaming. LBH, who might have been doing chores at night, hears and bursts into the room to protect his Shizun. The moment of concern over his vulnerability is what breaks the wall of SQQ’s heart and is how Binghe moves into the room next door. Cue gay crush on shizun growing in little white sheep Binghe’s heart as he begins to work out that his Shizun had maybe suffered to. He swears to look after him.

As such things happen according to canon. But SQQ doesn’t get poisoned. Instead of defending LBD against the demon, he merely pulls them both of The way just in time for LQG to swoop in. This SQQ would be more cunning and selfish than the original Shen yuan. He wouldn’t loose all rationality over LBH brewing harmed, trusting in the protagonist halo. Other than that, events would continue up to the endless abyss scene.

Instead of spouting hatred against demons to LBH, he maybe reveals that he knows about LBH Herat Ive and tells him to jump down to save both their skins. The other cultivators would kill the boy on sight if they knew he was a demon and SQQ’s reputation would be ruined. He might even be expelled from his peak for harbouring a demon. With this method of manipulation, LBH jumps down himself. When he comes back to court his Shizun with riches and prestige, SQQ pretends to be annoyed but is secretly glad that he now has someone who he can fully trust.

Less angst and more badass SQQ really. I just want scenes of SQQ who remembers Shen jiu’s life and Shen yuan’s, being able to navigate the story with the attributes of both personalities and using the skills of both life. No getting caught in plot device miscommunication over amnesia. He has healthier relationships with all the characters and is able to tell when people are hitting on him. Just more badass and socially intelligent SQQ.

#shen yuan #svsss #bingqiu #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #au #svsss au #please #badass SQQ is all I want #Shen jiu and Shen yuan as the same person with all their memories

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silverstonesainz · 9 months

Note

Am I old & senile or were post goals for fanfics on here a thing??? like “10 reblogs & 30 likes and ill post the next chapter!!!!!!!” type things??? Was that a thing??? Cuz it should be I think //

they were totally a thing. they just weren’t successful overall. most people would just stop reading or engaging, which would cause the author to lower the required stats to get the next chapter out. The ones that were success already had a massive following with tons of engagement so the requirement weren’t hard to accomplish. it caused a lot of tension between readers/authors. fanfiction.net had a whole ass war in the HP and Twilight Fandoms because of it. There were whole forums posts listing what Authors did/didn’t require interaction along with a boycott list for those that did.

As far as people not RB anymore. That’s been a problem in ever fandom on Tumblr for the 15+ years I’ve been on this site. I do think it’s become more of a notable issue because Tumblr is one of the only platforms that require a RB, because it doesn’t have an algorithm like TIKTOK or Instagram. And there have been drove of that are leave those sites and ending up here. I can always tell when a user is new because they tag EVERYTHING. Like every driver will be tagged, thinking it’s going to boost their post when all it does is get them blocked.

didn't know there was all that DRAMA over it. as a writer, it just sucks to put so much time and thought into a fanfic/edit for people to just like it and have it not circulate the community you know?? its soooo discouraging and i would say partially to blame for why im in such a rut with my writing and content creating.

i put in hours and hours into SMAUs and days to weeks on fics its insane. and then to post and see ratios like 1000 likes to 20 reblogs is so fucking discouraging. i appreciate the bare minimum interaction but also, i just expect more. and maybe that makes me a shitty person but is it so hard to hit reblog and share it with everyone else after i've put in such a huge chunk of my time to make it?? like if you can take the 2 extra minutes to reply and come into my ask box asking for another part, surely surely you can reblog it too ya know?

i realize that this might come off as selfish and whiny and ungrateful, but its how ive been feeling. im always grateful to every person who has followed and interacted with me and my work in some form or another, but i just dont think the scales are balanced tbh. does that make sense? i should stop talking

#a-nonnie

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magnoliamyrrh · 2 years

Text

hearing my professor say "sex workers" in class after and while literally and explicitely talking about nonwestern victims of sex trafficking using those terms like. im gonna eat my own tongue. im gonna scream so loudly and so silently it will burst my lungs. im going to become a black hole.

in general i find that term to be so fucking offensive bc it can only maybe apply to a very very small minority of well off economically privileged women who "choose" to do "sex work" (and even many of them talk abt feeling exploited - almost like prostitution is inherently expolitative wow) but. you know sometimes those "sex workers" are the only ones ppl rly picture, they dont picture street prostitution, hitckhiker hookers, sex trafficking, child sex trafficking, that the averege age of entering prostitution is 14, drug addiction, pimps, constant violence, etc

but. dear lord help me. in the context of literally taking explicitely about victims of "sex" trafficking in relation to poverty. to still have this postmodern god forsaken fucking nightmare so dug into your hear you say SeX WoRkErs;;; I ;;; I. Honestly im so offended. Its so fucking offensive. Like i almost wanna fucking cry. And she aint even white lmao shes indian like maam as a fellow immigrant please stop parroting the western bullshit i beg you. its so god damn fucking offensive and this bullshit is passed off as progressive and right and parroted by professors and taught as a given and preached and taught uncritically and then parroted by students and then. someone posts it online and some idiot reads it tells it to another idiot who tells it to another idiot. And then this insanity affects the whole westenrn "FeMinIsM" movement. And then, not only do I personally have to deal with a bunch of fucking idiots who have the gull to tell ME how the fuck I cant or can speak and how I should fucking feel when they dont got a single damn clue, BUT ALSO. this sort of cultural fucking idiocracy leads to real life impacts. Ala, western european states legalizing prostitution, thus the horrid rise of sex trafficking, child sex trafficking, child pornography, etc, of mainly balkan, roma, refugee, immigrant, poor, etc etc women. Ala, there was this article written by a Romanian prostitute in spain. She was complaining about how because of this sex work narrative now even more men come to prostitutes bc theyve bought this bullshit narrative of the "happy sex worker" so. now, they have to put all this extra fucking emotional effort into pretending like theyre enjoying what these men are doing to them and like they want it and all this shit. Which, let me tell you, its a whole lot easier to just dissociate when you get used to being regularly raped than it is to have to pretend like you fucking want it and enjoy it too. Something along the lines, these men want your soul not just your body, and this much worse...... And how, because of this, they also have to invest more in makeup and shit to look "well" which fuether just sinks them into the whole cycle which is quite hard to get out of. So. So.

As far as Im concerned. All the god forsaken postmodern nonsense that is propagated in western social sciences academica - has real life fucking effects. It has. The things written, the things discussed, the things professors say. Ive said before, that maybe postmodernism has some academic value (though we didnt need french people to be like, yo dude did you know multiple perspectives on life exist? inssne!). But. It doesnt fucking stay in academica. None of this bullshit stays in academica. And apart from this sort of bullshit not even being "feminism" and being inherently detrimental to the unity needed for social movements, inherently complacent, inherently antirevolutionary, inherently fucking REEKING of western individualism and selfishness up the fucking ass,,,,,,,,,it has real life fucking affects.

Westerners whove never fucking been through any of this shit sit in universities coming up with all these fucking theories but who pays the price. Who pays the god damn fucking price? Who? For their thought experiments? For these societal experiemnts? For these bullshit western ideas of freedom and progress and feminism? We do. My people do. We do. God fucking damn it

#Im gonna eat glass #Im not going to stay in academia but if i was. I think theyd kick me out of the anthropology department #before i got my phd #fuck this shit #Someone needs to fucking do something about it. Someone needs to fucking critique it form the inside #which i can actually say i did lmao because i <3 showed up at office hours <3 and uhh #said my peace.#which im sure she wasnt expecting but. im also genuinely glad she listened. i guess #its a big harder to just cancle someone or tell them to shut up #when they tell you frankly tat they were sex trafficked as a child and come from one of the sex trafficking #capitals of the world #like. <3 sorry lol i have more a right to speak then you! lovely! great!#i didnt direct it at her in particular lmao i went a roundabout way of critiquing what i called privileged western bullshit #but im sure she also got that I was biting back against the sex work thing while speaking abt fucking victims of sex trafficking #AND lmaoo i did go on a very short but well put together quip abt postmodernism being inherently individualistic #and detrimental to movements and literally funded by the CIA in class lmao SOmEONE NEEDS TO SAY SOMETHING #just enough to get people looking and curious and wanting answers and QUESTIONING THIS SHIT #i came back to this country after being back home having none of this shit dkdkd #............. how you can even be from india and admit you've seen the horrors of street prostitution and still propagate the sex work shit #in the same breath is beyond me #it really is #and how you can propagate these western narratives of individualistic ChOiCe #while also teaching abt nonwestern concepts which view equality and freedom in nonindivualistic terms #...... maaam...... how is the cognitive dissonance not hitting #...... this was some weeks ago but like. idk thinking back on it its like #again lmao. its so fucking offensive. its........ how fucking deep do you have to be to explicitely speak about sex trafficking victims #stricke by poverty and call them sex workers #.....................#...#like maam. maybe youve been in this country too long. maybe youve been in westenrn academica too long. its time to wake up a bit

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luckyduck0 · 10 months

Text

☁︎︎clouds disperse☁︎︎

“There you go, Miss Sandy! All better!” Mio smiled, wrapping up the last of her wounds.

Sighing, Sandy moved her arm, it was a little sore, but nothing some pain meds couldn’t deal with.

“Thanks..” She muttered, staring blankly at the wall.

Yuki and Mio shared a look, one of concern and worry.

“We need to cheer her up! But how?” Mio whispered to the older girl.

“Hmm…maybe some tea? That always helps Ms. Yashiro when she comes back from missions!” Yuki whispered back.

“Oh! Good idea! You go make it and I’ll stay here and try to make her feel better, ‘kay?”

Yuki nodded, heading out of the room swiftly. With an ever brightening smile, Mio looks back to girl sitting on the cot.

“So, what’s you’re favorite color?”

Sandy blinks, realizing a bit late that she’s being spoken to. “Oh..what? Mine?”

“Yes! My favorite color is pink, but yellow is also good.” Mio spoke, putting a finger to her chin.

“I guess, I really like blue.” Sandy shrugged, folding one leg over the other.

Mio almost beams with excitement, a toothy smile spreading across her face. Just then, Yuki returns with the tea.

“Here you are, Miss Sandy.” Yuki said, setting down the tea on bedside table.

“Thanks…uh…sorry, what were your names again?” Sandy asks with a nervous grin.

The girls waste no time in answering, bright smiles on both their faces. “I’m Mio, and this is Yuki!” Mio points to a slightly taller girl with

“We’re training under Miss Tsubaki to become healers! As well as medical professionals!” Yuki giggles, holding her head with pride.

Mio nods along. “Mmhm! You’re actually one of our first real patients, Miss Sandy!”

“Yeah?” Sandy arches a brow, her mouth quirking up a bit.

“Yup! Miss Tsubaki doesn’t really give any of the serious tasks to us just yet, since we’re so young, but she’s been a bit more lenient with letting us help out!”

Confused, all Sandy can manage is a weak nod. The most she’s been able to do for the past few hours is sit and zone out. After seeing what happened to Xen, there’s something creeping in her head. She was powerless to do anything to help Xen, and the only reason her best friend didn’t die was because of some weird magic-science shit. Sandy was useless, and an innocent person, one of the only people to ever understand her, almost paid the price.

How could she face Xen again? Wouldn’t that be selfish? Clearly something’s going on, and Sandy’s more than out of the loop. She’d just get in the way, right?

And almost as if sensing it, Mio frowned. “Is everything okay, Miss Sandy?”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sandy looks up to the girl, whose now sitting on the cot.

“I’m fine.” Sandy says, clearly not fine.

Yuki and Mio share a look, but just as they’re about to say something, a figure rushes into the room.

“Yuki, Mio! Make some room!” Another girl demands, her bright pink hair the first thing Sandy noticed.

In a matter of seconds, the girls move things around until another cot is placed down, along with many machines beside it.

“We’re ready, Shiori!” Yuki shouts, and suddenly the room is crowded.

Two girls hurry in, carrying a man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Widening her eyes and scooting back a little, Sandy watched the organized chaos that was these girl’s process.

The girl with pink hair, Shiori, helps another with brown hair tied into braids lay the man down. They quickly start to hook the man up to the machines, putting what Sandy could only assume was an IV in his wrist. The man in question, however, just used his other arm to remove his cigarette and blow out smoke.

“Evenin’ ladies, how’ve ya been?” He smiles lazily, his thick southern accent sounding like something straight out of a cowboy movie.

“Mr. Mustang please, throw that out! Not only is smoking bad for your lungs, but smoking is extremely prohibited in the Infirmary!” Shiori commanded, glaring a bit at the man.

He only shrugs, taking another drag. “Tsubaki ain’t here, so what’s the big deal? This id’nt hurtin’ nobody..”

“Maybe you can survive it, but we have another patient in here, sir!” Mio pouts, pointing to where Sandy was sitting.

Taking notice of her, the man widens his eyes a bit, and Sandy is able to fully look at him. He’s got shoulder-length, messy blonde hair with a stubble along his jaw, as well as snake-skin boots and a flashy belt.

“Well now, didn’t see ya there darlin’, that’s my mistake.” He grins, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Who’s that? I thought y’all only took care of agents and special cases?”

The girl with twin braids answers, “She came in last night with Nyxx, who insisted that we take care of her and her friend.” She explained.

Nodding, the man, or…Mustang? Flicked his cigarette into a nearby trash can. “Friend, huh? Must’a been real bad if Nyxx had somethin’ to say about it.”

“That’s what I was thinking, considering he only really talks to Ada and Red.” Shiori expressed, looking up in thought.

More confused than ever, Sandy merely sat on the cot, staring as the girl’s worked around the man. Yuki, looking over, perked up.

“Miss Sandy! You haven’t had any tea!” She walks over, a gentle smile on her face. “Trust me, it’s good. It’s one of Miss Tsubaki’s herbal blends, it’s supposed to make you feel lighter!”

Hesitating, Sandy merely looks at the tea. “Thanks, but I think I’m alright.”

“Don’t be shy, uh, Sandy, was it?” Mustang calls from the other side of the room.

“Yeah.” She confirms flatly, already tired of this conversation.

“Well, you can trust me on all this tea business, alright? It really does make ya feel good, and who knows? It might loosen ya up!” He laughs.

Narrowing her eyes, Sandy turns from the man to stare at the tea once more. Then, with a sigh, she downs it like a shot. Well, all that partying experience really does pay off sometimes.

Not in this case though, because as soon as she set the cup down, Sandy felt every kind of dizzy. “The hell…?” She mumbled, her words slurred.

“Oh dear, oh no! Miss Sandy! You aren’t supposed to drink it that quickly!” Yuki panics, reaching her hands out then pulling them back.

“Haha! Alright! This girl knows how to party! I’ve only seen alcoholics down a drink in one swig like that, I’m impressed!” Mustang cackles, throwing his head back.

“Mustang! Do not encourage this!” Shiori grumbled, tightening the bandages she was wrapping around his waist.

“Ow! Hey!” He winced. “That’s where I got shot! Ain’t ya supposed to be a healer?!”

“We’re doctors, Mustang, not push-overs. Now shut up and settle down, otherwise I’ll just call Miss Tsubaki in here to deal with you.” Shiori threatened, and Mustang quickly shut his mouth.

Still recovering from the wooziness, Sandy could barely focus. Blinking rapidly, she gripped onto the cot.

“What was even in that?” She rubs her head, then the room begins to look wavy. “…the fuck?” Sandy mutters, looking around as things start turning into other things.

“Great, she’s having hallucinations.” The brown-haired girl sighed.

Clearly barely holding it together, Mustang struggles not to laugh, avoiding the glaring daggers of Shiori’s eyes.

“Oh goodness! Please, Miss Sandy, lay down! The effects will wear off in a few minutes, so please be still!” Yuki frowns, looking more like a frog with stars for eyes than a human in Sandy’s vision.

“This is fuckin’ craaaaaazzzzy…” Sandy giggles, falling back into the cot, staring at the ceiling.

“Miss Tsubaki is gonna be so upset!” Mio whines nervously, tapping her foot in worry.

Finishing up with Mustang’s injuries, Shiori heads over to check on Sandy.

“Relax, both of you, she’ll understand if you tell her it was an accident. After all, this girl isn’t a regular patient, so really the blame falls on no one.” Shiori reassures, still looking a bit displeased at the giggling Sandy.

And Sandy, well, she accepted the fact that she was definitely tripping. The ceiling turned into a blue sky filled with rainbows, and cupcakes walked with hairy legs. Laughing harder, she could barely contain herself.

“Holy shit, haha! This is so wild!” Sandy cackled, kicking her feet.

On the other side of the room, Mustang bursts out laughing as well.

“Mustang!” Shiori yelped, furrowing her brows at the man.

“Sorry, I-I just can’t! Look at her! She’s droolin’” Mustang slaps a hand over his, his whole body shaking.

“You know what, I’m just gonna go find Miss Tsubaki and let her handle this, Nanami, come on.”

—

Xen wakes up with a start, as the smell of burning fills her senses. Shooting up, she looks for the source, panic settling in when she can’t find it. Her breaths shorten, and theirs a burning sensation in her lungs.

“…en. Xen. Xen!” A voice shouts, shaking her shoulders harshly.

Centering herself around the voice, she grabs onto the hands, squeezing them. Unknown to her, tears fall down her face, steaming.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re alright, Xen, calm down.” The voice comforts, sounding vaguely familiar.

“Wha…what?” She mumbled out, her voice sounding strained.

The sensation wears down, until eventually fading all together.

“There you go, that’s good.”

Looking up, Xen meets the eyes of Nyxx. His mismatched eyes are both a bit weary from something, but they also hold a bit of understanding.

“Nyxx?” She asks, struggling to figure out if this was real or not.

He nods, then takes his hands away from her shoulders. “You, uh, you had a lot of people worried, you know?” He rubbed his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

Still a bit confused, Xen tries to gather her bearings. She seemed to be in a hospital room, but nothing except Nyxx felt familiar. How long was she asleep?

“I did? Sorry.” She apologizes, fiddling with her fingers. “Uh, where am I, again?”

“You’re at EDEN Academy, a school that specializes in training people to help get rid of Ghouls, or become Devil Hunters.”

“Riiiiiight.” Xen arches a brow, a bit disbelieving. “And, why are you here? In my hospital room, I mean.”

He smiles softly. “I was just checking on you, Tsubaki asked me to, after all.”

A bit flustered, Xen is distracted by the distant sound of running. It’s a bit strange, Xen normally couldn’t hear that well, so how…

Just then, the door flies open, revealing a very distressed Sandy with a Coke in her hands.

“Xen!” She yelled, relief written all over her features.

“Sandy!” Xen squealed, smiling broadly.

Opening up her arms, Sandy wasted no time running into them.

“Jesus Christ, dude! I thought you were gonna die, don’t you ever do that again, got it?!” Sandy rambled, still holding the can.

Laughing a bit, Xen covered her mouth. “I promise, and, I’m glad you’re okay too, Sandy.”

“Haha, yeah…”

Sandy’s voice drifted off, and the telltale sign of her realizing something flew across her face.

“What’s wrong?” Xen wondered.

“Uhhhhh, it’s nothing! Just, uhm.. okay, don’t freak out, alright?” Sandy grinned nervously, squeezing the can with both hands.

A bit scared, Xen tried to figure out what Sandy was worrying so much about. “Okay…? What’s happening, right now?”

Sandy glanced to Nyxx, who looks equally as frazzled. He shrugs once he notices her stare, and Sandy turns back with a huff.

“Okay, okay. Just, seriously, it’s not a big deal, like, at all.” Sandy began, her eyes flicking to above Xen’s head.

Without thinking, Xen pulled on a piece of her hair, a nervous habit, then paused. Raising it up, Xen noticed the bright green that replaced her previously dark brown hair.

For a few moments, Xen lived in ignorant bliss, not comprehending what she was seeing. Then, the realization kicked in.

“Sandy…” She muttered, her eyes widening.

“Xen?” Sandy squeaked, cringing back.

“Sandy!” Her voice raised higher, looking to the other in terror.

“Yeah?!” Her shoulders bunched, her smile nervous.

“MY HAIR!!” Xen screamed. “IT’S GREEN! WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!”

Sandy could only laugh, her tone anxious. “What do you mean? It looks great on you! Matches your eyes! Or…uh.. never mind. Do not look at your eyes!”

With more horror settling in her bones, Xen scrambles out of bed, toward what she assumes is a bathroom.

Her entire eye, from the iris to the sclera, it was all green. The only part being saved were her pupils, which remained black.

Her mouth fell in shock, and all she could do was stare. Until it became to much, then she screamed.

“WHAT?!?!”

—

lmao that was hilarious @3xen

#my ocs

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