#sorry if none of this is coherent i literally have been struggling so hard to even THINK lately- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fair-dinkum-mechanic · 1 year ago

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If only you could know how much it is tearing me to pieces. I know it doesn’t change anything and I know there’s no point because the absolute terror will stay, but I do see it all. I see those muscle men pounding holes, I see the changes and the death of all that was. I’m going to trust or chose to believe that none of it is intended to hurt me. Perhaps it’s easier that way.

But the simple fact is, I wasn’t good enough. How could I have been. Look at me. Look at them. And maybe even if I was good enough at one point I’m definitely not good enough now. I can’t be virile and unafraid of fucking and sex like those men are. That’s not me anymore. I can’t consistently pound I can’t breed I can’t do anything. I’m nothing, I know I’m nothing. And I’m so, so sorry. I really am. I feel sick. I feel fear and agony pulsing through my body every second of every day. I can’t use Grindr to escape because I just see your face in every square. I can’t use Grindr or apps to escape because they just tell me how not good enough I really am.

And I guess I dunno. It doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m just venting. Nothing ever changes. Nothing will ever change. The more I think on it the worse it gets. The less I think on it the worse it gets. I either have to find a way to cope or find a way to entirely forget. And I know I can’t cope. If I could cope I wouldn’t be waking up at 3-4am every night, trembling with tears rolling down my face hearing moans and seeing tall naked muscular men holding you down. That’s why the others are able to still speak to you, because either they can manage that or they hide it really well. Or at least they get to see you still so that probably helps. I dunno. They’re different people. I can’t pretend to know them or how they function.

All I know is that I’m a broken shell of who I once was, and no it’s not getting better it’s getting worse. And I’m just glad I’m able to type it all out coherently for once instead of on the middle of a panic attack where I’m struggling to catch air.

I don’t know maybe it’s just me but any piece of media, any post online, any mention of sex or anything like that pushes my heart into my throat because that’s where you are now. And I just don’t want to think about it. But I have no choice. Sex is literally everywhere and you physically cannot escape it. And no, that’s not a good thing. Not to me anyway.

I know, I know I can never ever be those other men. The boys who have it together, who have sound minds and stable mental health. Who have realistic and stable views on relationships and sex. Who have jobs, go to the gym, are driven and independent and on top of it all can pound and satisfy. I know I can’t and haven’t ever been like them, and it hurts. It hurts and I don’t know exactly why. Because it’s just how it is.

I failed you so horribly. I think that’s one of the hardest things. I promised I’d help with all the trauma, all of that but I only made it worse. If only I could’ve been how they were and awoken this in you but I couldn’t. I failed. And I can’t tell myself anything other than it’s because I wasn’t good enough. And I’m not good enough. I’m so confused and I’m so fucking scared and I know I shouldn’t write all this out I really shouldn’t because nothing matters. How anyone feels doesn’t matter. Feelings do NOT matter. They matter so fucking much to be and perhaps that’s where I’ve failed. I need to shut them out. Kill them even. Just buckle under the harsh reality of the world and succumb.

I just always. Always wanted to be a soft and gentle memory to you. Well; I never wanted to be a memory but now that I have to be I just want to be a soft and gentle one. I shouldn’t want to be any more than that. I shouldn’t want to be “more” than Grindr or men who bulge out of their shirts or who grunt and thrust hard. All I should want to be is a warm memory. I don’t know why I want to be more than those things. When warmth and loge are all that matter to me in life. Why do I want to mean more than those other things to you? It’s fucking stupid. I’m fucking stupid. Maybe I need to start living more for pleasure and less for feelings or love. I don’t know, would that help? I have no idea. I don’t know if I can physically do that though.

And people say “there’s nothing wrong with that, with living and wanting that” but there is. It hurts. You are chewed up and spat out by the world. Constantly reminded that other things matter more and WILL always win. Those things have won every time, in my experience. Just look at social media and our culture. Yes warmth, love, all of that is spoken about but holes, cock, cum, fucking is spoken about and shown to an incomparable level. That’s why I know I’m not good enough. I am not what is truly needed or truly wanted. And furthermore I’m terrified of what IS truly wanted and needed. So of course I’ll be thrown away, locked up, shut out and cordoned off. I’m an anomaly.

God I don’t know. Well, I do, I’m mentally ill. Severely mentally ill. I sometimes wish I had a physical or visible disorder so that people could see it and be like oh okay that’s what’s going on. But no I had to get this broken mind instead. So that it appears as a flaw in my character.

I just need to hear or see that I don’t deserve to feel like this. Or if I do, I just need to see or hear that I do deserve it. I just need to hear something. I need to know that feelings love and warmth matter more than sex. At least to you. At least to those who have permanent places in my heart.

Can I please be a loving, warm, safe, good enough memory? I know that’s all I can ask for now. I can’t be sexy, or desirable, or the MAN who is needed. Can I please be that? I know I’m nothing. Unremarkable. Broken beyond repair.

Ultimately I want to feel like love, hugs, smiles, laughter, cuddles, connections and memories mean more than Grindr, dick, orgasms, hookups, moaning, and physicality. That’s an issue that will take a while to work through but it doesn’t have a specific answer. I just feel like dying because those things are just … Empty.

Please just. I don’t know. I feel chest getting tight and I’m starting to shake so this isn’t gonna make any sense anymore if I start having a panic attack.

Please please just let me know either way. If sex is it or if feelings are it or if I’m a broken memory or a warm one. I know I’m only a sometimes memory. A faded one. Especially during Grindr moments or naked legs in the air pounding one’s I’m likely gone completely. Bht I know all I can hope for is a gentle warm loving memory that pops up now and then. I’ll never be more than that ever again, I know. But: maybe at leas to want to know that I’m at least that. At least I’m something.

Please help me. Please don’t hate or resent me. Just because fucking now makes me want to die.

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re-bee-key · 2 years ago

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Im a very depressed person. I have been for a very long time. I go through spells where i quit my job and dont leave my room for weeks at a time.

When I moved to Arizona, i struggled really bad. The lack of greenery. Hard to make friends. Hard to hold down a job for my anxiety. I was in my room more often than not. I was already in my own little quarantine. For like 3 years before 2020.

At the end of 2019. I got a little better. I enrolled back in school for my Associates and was in a dnd group again. And early 2020, February, I had saved up enough to fly myself to NYC to see two broadway shows. I was walking all the time. Having healthy habits. Finally doing ok.

And then Quarantine hit. (I will note that I was actually sick with Covid before my trip and had no idea. Because we were all told Covid hadnt come to the states yet. I literally asked my science proff if I had covid. He said there was no way. I was like, i for sure got covid here at school. I went home and the next day got an email that school was going digital.

Everything changed. For the worse.

My grades slipped. Not to toot my own horn, but i was sitting at a 4.0 gpa. And it went down hard. I had to drop so many classes. Go minimum time.

My health was terrible.

We weren't sure if we could walk the neighborhood. Cause of the curfews. So we didnt leave the house. I didnt leave my room. Long covid had set in.

My days were spent scrolling the news. That got progressively worse with each month. I took less showers and got infections. I was always tired.

I didnt have a period for 8 months because of the stress. (And long covid probably.)

I shaved my head bald after a mental breakdown. My mom found me crying in the bathroom at 3am.

I played a lot of minecraft. Listened to a lot of podcasts. Didnt talk to friends. But I knew I was lucky. I was safe at home with mom. And felt guilty and sick and miserable the whole time.

For me. Quarantine wasnt 1 year. Or 2 years. Or even 3 years. I had already been inside for so long. It was just... worse. I figure with my depression... its been a long time.

Im in Missouri now. And better than I was even a year ago. But Im still so bad off. Ive been to the psych ward. I'll probably go again soon.

Its... so so frustrating to see the BBC article saying mental health wasnt affected.

I almost died. So many times. To suicide. I know thats tough to talk about to hear. But its true. And I know my story isnt that tragic or hard. I had it easy. Im lucky. But also. Im so broken. And covid made my life so much worse. And I hate everyone that is trying to act like it wasnt that bad. Fuck those people

Anyways, made myself cry. So ill end this here. Sorry for rambling. Its upsetting to think about and get it all coherent. I just wanted to add my story too.

(Also during this time two of my cats died. And a cop shot and killed a guy right behind my moms car in the grocery store parking lot. And we were detained for six hours because they wanted to wear down all the witnesses so we would say the killing was justified. None of us would say it was.)

#covid #suicide mention #tw suicide mention #tw suicide #Pandemic #long text post #long text #sorry for rambling

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teamfreewill56-blog · 2 years ago

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Hi! Same anon here. Sorry I asked you to judged someone's au without their permission. Hope you're having a great month! Also, can you explain to me what makes Shinjuro tick? I know he had depression and an existential crisis after his wife died, he became a neglectful and verbally abusive father after that for 10 years, and he only started to turn around after Kyojuro died, but i can't string them together into something coherent. Could you explain to me why he's like this, and makes him him?

Your other ask:

Hello! I love your posts about Kyojuro and the Rengoku family. Since we're on that, you are the only blog I've read that doesn’t just page Shinjuro as an abusive father and leave it off as that. Would you explain to me about this character in all the ways you can? And does he really think Kyo has no talent, or is he just projecting his own issues? What is Senjuro to him? Hope you're having a good month!

So I’m going to post these two questions together and just answer them in one shot.

Its okay, I accept your apology and thank you for respecting my refusal to judge someone’s AU. I am doing all right, I hope you are too! Thank you for loving my posts I’m really glad you enjoy them! Lol yes, I am the Rengoku Family Defense Lawyer and in particular Shinjuro.

There is a whole whole lot that can be said about Shinjuro so first I’m going to answer the questions that are most specific. Everything with the Rengoku family is fairly complicated which is honestly fun and fascinating to me haha.

Does Shinjuro really think Kyojuro has no talent, or is he projecting his own issues?

Shinjuro is projecting his own issues, and essentially a family issue that has been passed down along with the Flame Breathing style. It started with the Rengoku Ancestor losing confidence once he heard about the 13th form and realizing that he couldn’t perform that move--the move you HAVE TO DO to defeat Muzan.

“The Flame Hashira, who was my ancestor, lost confidence.” This raises its own question, why would the Flame Hashira lose confidence hearing about a Sun Breathing move when he’s the Flame Breathing Hashira? Because he had hoped to master and carry on the Sun Breathing legacy for Yoriichi. Flame Breathing is the closest to Sun Breathing, the Rengoku Ancestor and Yoriichi were very close, and Ancestor Rengoku knew about what happened to Uta and Yoriichi’s baby, so he knew there was currently no way for the Sun Breathing to be passed down. He perhaps hoped to be able to master it since their Breathing styles were so close, and thus its one of the reasons he kept such incredibly detailed records. That way somebody would be able to read the records and maybe eventually do it. Rengoku Ancestor lost confidence though, and its possible he discouraged his descendants from trying Sun Breathing (perhaps due to his own feelings of low confidence as well as maybe respect for his friend) and somewhere down the line those feelings got twisted into bitterness by one of his descendants and they started teaching that bitterness. The Rengoku family is incredibly talented, Shinjuro included, but because they have always compared their feats to Yoriichi’s none of them will acknowledge their talent and therefore they rely on hard work and really struggle to master their Breathing Style even though its literally made for them, mostly because they’ve gotten that worm in their ear of “Yeah Flame Breathing is good but its not Sun Breathing”. And this is the main reason Senjuro can’t master swordsmanship, he has this chip on his shoulder of inferiority inherited and taught from his family for generations, so his confidence is completely shot. He isn’t Kyojuro so he can’t just force his way through it. Shinjuro always knew that Kyojuro had talent, and he admits it when he writes Tanjiro the letter:

“Even when I stopped teaching him…He read the guide to Flame Breathing. And even with only three volumes…he made himself into a Hashira!”

Three. Volumes. By himself. Kyojuro taught himself a sword style through just reading the volumes and got good enough to become a Hashira, if that’s not talent I don’t know what is. This scene of Shinjuro admitting this to me was also a subtle indicator of him admitting that no, Kyojuro was actually talented and he was just projecting onto him. Not to mention during Kyojuro’s wake Shinjuro blaming Kyojuro for being talentless, saying that’s why he died, was easier than Shinjuro having to stop and look at himself and see that if he had still been an active participant in Kyojuro’s life he might not have died. That he actively contributed to losing Kyojuro by not being a part of his life. He admits that he was foolish and that he pulled away and is to blame for his children being alone. He does love both of his boys, and Senjuro matters a lot to him:

“I see that you and Senjuro have been corresponding for at least four months. That boy has grown so much.”

I’ve said it before but I’ll repeat, he says these things because he is paying attention to Senjuro now, because he does love him, he appreciates Tanjiro caring for his sons, and he’s proud of seeing how Senjuro has grown. “Both Kyojuro and Senjuro are wonderful boys”. This is Shinjuro saying he loves them and is proud of them.

Now as for his timeline of all this--while we don’t fully know Shinjuro’s history and every detail as to why he felt that inferiority and self-pity (no one ever mentions Shinjuro ever failing as a Hashira) we know that he had it before Ruka became sick (and based off what Ruka says to Kyojuro and how she talks, he had it even before they got married) and was most likely trying to hide it from the boys including hiding his depression over losing Ruka and his further feelings of incompetence for allowing her to die.

Kyojuro mentions how he didn’t understand how the loving passionate man he had known as a child had suddenly changed, and it’s because it wasn’t sudden. Shinjuro did what Kyojuro does, where he put on a smile and a loud presence (not as loud as Kyojuro’s but passionate enough) and burnt himself past his limits trying to act fine and hide that he was in pain and suffering. Until he couldn’t do it anymore, which is around when Kyojuro did Final Selection and his first Mission. Shinjuro was still active as the Flame Hashira but his depression and toxic thinking had already sunk in and he couldn't pretend anymore.

It ate away at him enough that he didn’t have the strength to keep putting up the facade, so he turned to drinking to try to keep going and function. Instead it turned into an addiction and just went further into his depression until he was so consumed that he turned into our grumpy, bad mouthed drunk. Also, I suspect that Shinjuro said Senjuro and Kyojuro couldn’t do it because he hoped that he would discourage them enough to stop trying so that he didn’t risk losing them. Him saying “The Flame Pillars will end with my generation”. For me is a way of saying “I don’t want you to become Hashira”. Which is a strange thing to say when your family has a legacy of being Hashira. But it makes sense when you consider that he was afraid of them dying in Demon Slaying. Ruka had passed away from an illness, something out of his control, Demon Slaying is dangerous and the boys could die in it, so he tried to discourage it.

We don’t know if he ever told Ruka about his feelings of incompetence, but she definitely knew about them and we knew that she believed he was a great Hashira. That’s why she would remind Kyojuro that his father was a great Hashira--because he was--for a long time he kept being the Flame Hashira even though he was emotionally suffering.

And it’s also why Ruka was so articulate about making sure Kyojuro knew that not only was he a strong and gentle child but that what mattered was protecting and saving people. “Do you know why it is that you were blessed with greater strength than so many others? It is so that you can protect the weak.” Shinjuro forgot that, members of his family before him, had forgotten that. Ruka wanted to make sure Kyojuro remembered the core principle, and that’s saving people. And thanks to Ruka telling him that he was able to protect and save lives, and not get trapped in his head about his weakness, because he remembered what his mother taught him and he never forgot what the true purpose for being a Hashira was.

I hope this helps!

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: T for language and mentions/references to an (emotionally) abusive relationship. Mild, brief violence. Warnings: TW for referenced emotional abuse, mild TW for possible physical abuse (sorry, angry Dani is not 100% gentle with people she doesn't love-love) Notes: Music for this chapter here. If you're following this story and really want to continue reading, but worry about the TWs for this chapter, just send me an anonymous message and I'll write up an alternative version of this post. It's not something I would do without it being requested, but it's also not a big deal so don't feel like you're bothering me if you want that. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Tocatta

Chapter 5: Poco a Poco (Italian: Little by little)

Finding a schedule for lessons to follow proved to be an insurmountable task. Consistency was something that Daniela struggled with greatly, even when it came to things that she genuinely cared about. Things like ensuring you lived long enough to entertain her. Instead of working with you to find a balance that worked for both of you, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter seemed intent on doing things in her own time. Little by little. Which would have been fine, if the two of you weren’t restricted by time.

Fate wasn’t entirely unkind, however. There were still a few things that Daniella recalled from her “youth”, bits and pieces of musical theory, the bare basics of reading sheet music. Not having to teach her proper posture or the structure of a piano would save you a little bit of time. On top of that, you had been informed that, somewhere in the castle, there were a few books of sheet music you could borrow. Assuming you were eventually able to find them, that is. So far they had eluded you, but you hadn’t even had much time to search, as you were still expected to perform your usual Maiden-related tasks.

In the end, it was Daniela herself that proved to be the biggest obstacle in your way.

“Look,” Daniela said one day, barely ten minutes into a lesson, “I think we should take a break… maybe have some fun?” One of her hands is resting on top of yours, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. There’s a smirk on her lips, unsurprisingly, and she’s mere inches away from kissing you. If not for the heavy threat hanging over your head, you would have already thrown yourself into her arms. Instead, all you can do is sigh, turning away from her as you do. “Don’t be like that, sweet thing. C’mon, no one can hear us right now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Babe. Darling. Buttercup, honey, cute little button on a bear, you are not the brightest bulb in the lighting department,” you replied, holding the bridge of your nose between two fingers. Instantly Daniela is upset, giving you a (thankfully) playful smack on the arm. Before she can protest more you continue speaking. “Your family would not hear us making out, true, but they would definitely hear us not playing the piano. I’m pretty sure your mother already thinks I’m doomed to fail as a teacher, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason to drop the curtains this early into our performance.”

“First of all, I am not an idiot,” Daniela said, a bit of a growl to her voice. “Secondly, what harm can a few minutes really do? Don’t you think I’ve been working hard enough to earn a little reward?” Now she’s holding a finger under your chin, lifting it up, making sure you’re looking right at her. There’s no dissuading her, it seems, as she leans in for a soft kiss. This was one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with (courting?) her; communication felt like a one-man play, except the audience was as likely to throw knives as rotten tomatoes. Whenever Daniela acted like this, pushing away your concerns in favor of her pleasure, it felt helpless to try and resist her.

So you kissed back, wrapped your arms around her, and hoped that she’d be more open to compromise afterwards. At least kissing her was nice. Even though it had only been a week since you first kissed her, she was already getting better, evidently learning through experience. The passion behind her movements had grown as well, leaving you a tad breathless. Regardless of her odd perception of romance, and her insistence that she knew best, you found yourself charmed by her. It was scary. Terrifying, really, how you felt yourself falling under her spell. Wait. Hadn’t you been in this sort of situation before?... Staying with someone who wasn’t good for you? Why were you kissing her? Why were you starting to tremble, tears in your eyes, mind falling down a slippery slope of memories?

By the time you snap out of it, you’re sitting on the floor, Daniela awkwardly kneeling by your side. What the fuck? You think, sniffling a little. Head spinning, mind reeling, you struggle to form coherent thoughts. Next to you Daniela is unsure of how to help. But she’s trying, sort of, one hand holding your own, the other gently rubbing your back. She’s saying something, the words going right over your head. Understanding her takes times, focus, like tuning an instrument until the pitch is just right.

“I don’t understand, we were only kissing, what happened? Can you even hear me? Is this your way of tricking me into not making out with you? Because that’s a total dick move and-” she rambles, only stopping when you give her hand a soft squeeze. Then she’s meeting your gaze, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense. “You’ve been weird for a while. Distant. Like you don’t want to touch me anymore. Don’t you still love me?”

There’s real, honest pain in her eyes when she speaks. If the timing had been different… you’d have thrown your arms around her and covered her face in kisses, promising to hold her onto she felt better, promising that yes you cared. You cared so fucking much. But she’s making you exhausted; every second has to be focused on her, not you. Every moment of concern is flipped around until she’s the victim, or at least the one that needs comforting. You didn’t think that she even realized what she was doing. Well, you hoped that she didn’t, wanted to believe that if she understood she’d change.

“Remember the first day we kissed?... how you pulled me close, and I kissed you harder, and we started…. Remember how I made a move and you pushed me away? I’ll never forget the look on your face. I felt like shit afterwards. I should have asked before I tried anything,” you explain, letting go of Daniela’s hand so you could pull your knees to your chest. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to maintain eye contact with her- not right now, not when you could still remember what it felt like to be on her side of this story. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, or make you feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you like that.”

“Oh bullshit,” Daniela snarled, shocking you, before getting to her feet. Confusion doesn’t begin to describe how you feel in the moment as you watch her pace back and forth. Both her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s refusing to look at you. There’s a buzzing sound in the room, faint but growing louder, like she’s a split second away from entering swarm mode. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I want? Shouldn’t it be obvious what I desire, when I’m pinning you to the wall and shoving my tongue down your throat? What more do you require?”

“Holy shit, Dani, I know communication isn’t your forte, but have you really not even considered talking to me? That’s simple, easy, literally the first thing that should come to mind!” You snapped, too in disbelief to keep your voice down. For a moment Daniela stops her pacing, turning to stare at you with narrowed eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you’d be convinced she was ready to kill you. But she doesn’t move to grab her sickle, or otherwise advance on you, instead groaning and tugging on her own hair in frustration.

“Because that’s not romantic, genius!” She replied. Some dots start to connect in your mind, but you lack the full context, as if looking at sheet music with no clefs or time signature. It’s not until Daniela continues that you really understand; and, by extension, realize just how ridiculous this whole mess is. “None of the books I’ve read involve conversations like this. People just… they just love each other! And figure it out as they go along, reading each other’s body language and facial expressions, inferring what they need to know through touches and reactions. Why can’t we do that?”

“This isn’t a fucking book, dumbass! I don’t have powers like you, I can’t just read your mind and figure out what you want. That’s not how relationships work! Communication is key. And you can’t just talk, you have to listen, hard, and understand,” you continued, still on the floor, heart pounding so furiously you thought it might leap from your chest at any moment. As angry as you are, you wonder if you’re being too loud, too angry, wonder if there was a better way to get through to Daniela. Before you can think of a solution the air is ripped from your lungs. Your “partner”/student is grabbing you by the front of your shirt, yanking you to your feet. Instinct makes you struggle against her, as useless as it is.

“I. Told. You. I’m not an idiot!” Her free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek for a moment, then pulling away just as fast. When it moves back up she’s gripping onto her sickle. The sharp edge ends up resting against your neck, the slightest movement threatening to cut you open. This is the most Daniela has ever openly threatened you, and in that moment all your anger melts back into fear, tears spilling down your cheeks. A flicker of something shows in her eyes, making you think that even she doesn’t like where this is going. “Give me one reason not to end this right now.”

“... I don’t… I can’t think. I�� Why would you?” The words leave you in a rush, even with the pauses, and each syllable makes the sickle press into your skin a little more. There’s sure to be a cut there, though you can’t even begin to estimate how bad it is. The blade is sharp, clearly, and it hardly even hurts as it slices you. Thankfully the sensation doesn’t last long. Once you’re done speaking, Daniela’s grip loosens considerably, hand slowly letting your shirt go. Her other hand takes a few seconds to move, but eventually pulls away without any fuss. For a few seconds she just watches you, eyes filled to the brim with a rich sorrow, mouth open but unmoving.

“No lesson tomorrow. I need a break,” Daniela whispers, barely audible. Then she’s dusting herself off, no longer looking at you, and heading towards the exit. Just like the first time you met, she pauses in the doorway. “How’s that for communication, hmm?” When she laughs, it’s empty, forced. Part of you wants to stop her and ask if she’s okay.

Instead, you watch her leave, unspoken words tangling with your tongue until you almost can’t swallow.

Then your feet move, automatically, leading you to the piano. You sit down without thinking. You touch the keys without thinking. When you play, you play without thinking. It’s just a song, the world tells you, and you have no choice but to play. It’s not just a song, you know this, but you can’t think. Can’t argue against the personification of your isolation, or the embodiment of your trauma. All you can do is let yourself get lost in the music, softly, recalling lyrics from a forgotten time.

I’ve been running all my life, trying to find a place to hide ‘Thought that I had settled down, but I guess things are changing now Don’t make me go, don’t make me go Just don’t make me go, this feels like home

As soon as the last note fades out you stand, wordlessly, and leave. Your feet carry you down corridor after corridor, past maidens working, some of whom gasp when they see you. But you don’t stop, not even when you cross paths with Lady Bela, who eyes you with surprising concern. She doesn’t try to stop you, though, and you doubt you would have cared if she had tried. It’s not until you are within your shared room that you finally stop moving. It is there that you sit, shaking, finally pressing a cloth to your neck. Blood stains the fabric, first in just a few dots, then spreading out. There’s not enough to make you fear for your life, but there is enough to make you cry harder. Washing the wound will sting… so you don’t do that. Soon you will have to return to your work, and the thought puts pressure on your skull, summoning an all-too-familiar migraine.

When you close your eyes, you don’t mean to fall asleep, but that is exactly what you do. And when you dream, you do not wish for nightmares. You never do- and fate never denies you their company.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #big oof in the chat for this one boys #introducing the secondary conflict #don't worry the next one will be happier :)#tw emotional abuse #we learn little hints of the reader's backstory here

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

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[Bits & Bobs] we’ll be on the road like some country song

AKA the Run Away With Me Fic

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Davey nearly loses his nerve about a hundred times in between dialing the number and Jack answering. The phone seems to ring forever⁠—for a moment he thinks that Jack’s not going to pick up and that will be that⁠—but somehow, incredibly, the call connects.

“‘Ello?” Jack rumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Davey opens his mouth but no sound comes out, his words smothered down by a sudden wave of bitter, scalding doubt. What is he doing?

“Davey? Are you there?”

He needs to hang up. He needs to hang up, needs to stop bothering Jack and let him sleep, needs to pull himself together and just get it over with because there’s no point in putting it off, no point in pretending like there’s anything to be done except accept the fact that… The fact that he…

He’s holding his cellphone so tightly that the plastic creaks under his fingers, his lungs straining in his chest and his stomach churning and churning. He tries to calm himself, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like you’re supposed to, but it feels like no matter how hard he tries he can’t get enough air.

“Guess not,” Jack murmurs to himself, voice trailing away.

Panic seizes Davey like a hand around his throat.

“Jack,” he gasps out. “Jackie, wait.”

“Dave?” Jack asks. “Hey, what’s⁠—”

“Jackie,” Davey says again, because he can’t figure out how to say anything else. “I—“

“What’s wrong?” Jack says, his tone spiking with alarm. “Are you okay?”

Davey presses a hand to his mouth, hot, shuddering breaths stifled by his palm. His vision clouds over, his bedroom fading into a shapeless, colorless blur, and it’s only then that Davey realizes that he’s crying⁠, tears streaming down his face.

“David,” Jack says. “Are you okay?”

Davey’s shoulders shake. He tries to explain⁠—instead, he sobs.

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, and there’s a flurry of movement on his side of the line: the rustle of bedsheets thrown back, the clattering of car keys, soft, hurried footsteps.

“You don’t have to,” Davey chokes out, because he didn’t call intending to drag Jack out of bed in the middle of the night. He just didn’t know what else to do. “Nothing’s wrong, Jackie, I’m not hurt or anything⁠—”

“Bullshit, you ain’t hurt,” Jack says sharply. “You’re crying.”

“But you don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, in that voice that says he’s made up his mind and there’s no talking him out of it. “Give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Davey sniffs, feeling at once horribly pathetic and unspeakably relieved. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line?” Jack asks.

Yes, Davey thinks, because the last thing he wants is to be alone with his thoughts. Instead, he says, “You shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving. You can hang up.”

Jack hesitates. “Ten minutes,” he says eventually. “I’m already in the car.”

“Okay,” Davey whispers. “Ten minutes.”

Even though he’s expecting him, Davey still jumps when Jack finally knocks on his bedroom window.

He half crawls, half staggers over. His hands are trembling so badly he almost can’t get the latches unlocked, but he eventually manages to get the window open.

“Are you okay?” Jack demands as he clambers inside. He’s dressed like he literally rolled out of bed and drove straight here⁠—he’s thrown a thin jacket on over his shirtless torso, the bottoms of his sweatpants wet with dew and littered with grass clippings, his feet shoved hastily into a pair of his mother’s slippers instead of his shoes. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Davey can’t help but wilt in the face of such genuine concern, guilt and shame spreading like twin frosts across the plains of his heart.

“Jack,” he starts, curling in on himself. “Jackie, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called you, it’s nothing, really, nothing I can’t handle myself, I’m sorry I woke you up, I⁠—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack says, stepping forward and taking him gently by the shoulders. Davey’s frantic ramblings peter out. “Breathe for me, alright, Dave? I need you to breathe for me.”

“Sorry,” Davey says again, struggling to do as he’s asked. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so⁠—”

“Davey,” Jack interrupts, eyes serious. “Nothing that’s got you this upset is stupid. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

It shouldn’t feel like as huge of a question as it does. Davey doesn’t even know where to start, and the thought of having to try to explain makes something acrid and agonizing rise up like bile in the back of his throat.

“The letters came,” he forces out.

Jack’s mouth goes tight. “All of ‘em?”

Davey gives a weak nod. “I’ve been stealing them out of the mailbox. I didn’t want my parents to see…”

“Where are they?”

“In my nightstand,” Davey answers.

With one last reassuring squeeze, Jack goes to look. He pulls open the drawer and unearths a stack of creamy envelopes, each one thicker and heavier than the last: Columbia, Dartmouth, Yale, NYU, UCLA, UC Berkeley... Just the sight of them sends another wave of anxiety rushing through him; Davey hugs himself against a sudden chill, his nails biting into his arms.

Jack flips one of the envelopes over, dragging a finger over the shiny, golden seal.

“You haven’t opened them,” he says, more of a comment than a question.

“I couldn’t,” Davey confesses. “I tried but I couldn’t make myself… I just couldn’t.”

He doesn’t know how to explain, the feelings refusing to condense down into words. Because they’re just letters, except that they’re not just letters, not really. They’re only the start.

The start of another four years of this: of working himself into the ground and being miserable, of studying and struggling and grinding and endlessly competing against this idealized, perfected, unattainable version of himself. A version of himself that his parents want him to be, a person that they insist he must become, never once considering if that’s who he wants to be.

He can’t even imagine spending the next chapter of his life like this. He can’t do it. He can’t.

But even as Davey thinks it, that familiar sensation starts creeping in again⁠—bitter doubt, overwhelming worry, desperate, aching fear⁠—screaming at him from every corner of his mind. Of course he’s going to college. Of course he is, he has to, there’s nothing to be done, no choice but to make his peace and learn to live with...

Another wave of nausea hits so hard and so abruptly he goes dizzy with it, just barely able to keep from retching⁠—not that there’s anything left in his stomach to throw up.

“Woah, hey,” Jack says softly. He wraps a hand around Davey’s forearm to steady him, guiding him over to sit down on the bed. “Breathe, Davey, breathe⁠. I gotcha.”

“Sorry,” Davey mutters.

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Jack replies, his face full of understanding. “You just gotta tell me the best way to help you. Do you need me to open the letters for you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Davey shakes his head, like that might shuffle his scattered thoughts into coherence. “I don’t want anyone to open them. I wish they didn’t fucking exist at all.”

Davey takes a deep breath, straining for calm. Jack watches him silently, rubbing his hand comfortingly along his arm.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Davey admits. “I should’ve put a stop to this months ago. But I didn’t know what to tell them and I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me and now it’s too late, all these fucking letters keep showing up because they made me apply to every goddamn Ivy League in the country, and I don’t know what to do. Jackie, I don’t know what to do.”

“Davey,” Jack says quietly. “What do you need from me?”

“Help me figure this out?” Davey pleads. “I know it’s a lot, but every day my parents ask if I’ve heard back from any schools and I’ve got to come up with a plan before they catch on and I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

He gestures at the pile of letters sitting in Jack’s lap, and as he does, he realizes that his hand is trembling. He lowers it back down before Jack can notice.

“Maybe you can help me sort through these?” Davey suggests. “I just need advice, an outside perspective, an opinion from someone I trust. Someone that will help me pick something I can live with, not just whatever’s most prestigious.”

“But you don’t want to go to any of these schools,” Jack says slowly. “You ain’t even interested in any of ‘em.”

Davey can’t meet his eyes.

“At least one of them must be decent,” he says, in a tone that’s not at all convincing. “It’s just a matter of figuring out which one.”

“And what if none of them are?” Jack says. “What if none of ‘em are decent? What if none of ‘em are right for you?”

“One of them will be,” Davey insists.

“But what if they’re not?” Jack says, still pressing. “What if all of ‘em are horrible? What if we start looking at ‘em and every one is guaranteed to be four years of misery?”

“Then I guess I’m just going to be fucking miserable, aren’t I?” Davey bursts out.

He immediately clamps his hand over his mouth, praying that no one else heard. But the house remains sleepy and silent.

Jack stares back at him, a sea of feeling behind his eyes.

“I can’t think like that, Jackie,” Davey continues after a second, fighting to keep his voice down despite the edge of hysteria that’s creeping into his tone. “I have to hope that one of these schools will be a good enough fit or else I’m actually going to lose my mind. So I need you to help me figure this out. I need your advice because⁠, if nothing else, at least you’re actually on my side. I’m so tangled up at this point that I can’t even tell if⁠—” ⁠

If I’m on my own side anymore, Davey doesn’t say, cutting himself off before he can finish the thought. But Jack looks at him like he knows exactly what Davey was about to say, his expression turning sad and maybe a little angry.

“And you really think that’s what’s best?” Jack asks, voice rough with disbelief and displeasure.

“What else is there to do?” Davey replies, helpless.

Jack’s mouth flattens out into a harsh, thin line, jaw clenched. He stares down at the letter from earlier, then at the rest of the stack, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. He picks one up and at first Davey can’t tell if he’s going to finally open it, or if he’s just going to rip it in half.

Instead, he says, “We could run.”

“...What?” Davey whispers.

Jack turns to him, and the look in his eyes is like nothing Davey’s ever seem before: almost fever bright, threaded with urgency and realization, and speckled with warmth and hints of promise.

“Run away with me, Dave,” Jack says. “Let me take you away from all’a this. We’ll hit the road, drive ‘til the pavement ends, ‘til we’re far away from all these expectations and plans and supposed to’s. Because it’s crushing you. It’s making you fucking miserable, and if distance is what you need to find steady ground and make a choice for your own sake, that’s actually about you and what you want? Then I’m your ticket outta town.”

“Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, stuttering with something like anticipation and fear and terrible, terrible longing. “Jackie, that’s not… We can’t.”

“And why can’t we?”

“Because,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and leave. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we’re supposed to graduate, and fuck, can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and murder me if I left.”

“I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, still looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.

“I just told you—“ Davey starts.

“No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my ridiculously long legs make road trips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone any further,’ or how about ‘Jack, I don’t want to.’”

Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click, swallowing heavily around a sudden lump in his throat.

Jack keeps looking at him, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much to handle, simmering with something quietly fierce.

“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you kill yourself over a life that you don’t even want. Not anymore. Not when it makes you call me at one in the morning, sounding like the weight of the fucking world’s on your shoulders and you’re terrified to set it down. Not after seven months of watching you waste away right in front of me, moving around like a goddamn shadow, pale as a ghost and hollow inside. Not unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that college is what you want. That any of this is gonna make you happy.”

Davey can’t speak. Something’s gone taut in his chest, like a piano wire about to snap. Davey could prevent it. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

Jack leans closer and takes both of Davey’s hands in his own. His palms are warm, or maybe it’s just that Davey’s freezing, has been so painfully cold and lonely these past few months, withering away in the shadow of his parent’s expectations. But the tangle of their fingers threading together is like a balm on Davey’s soul—the spark that reignites the embers of a dying fire.

He’s so tired of being cold.

“I just wanna know that you’ll be happy,” Jack says after a moment—softly, like he’s afraid he might shatter Davey if he speaks any louder, sending the broken shards of him scattering into nothingness. Davey’s not sure he’s wrong. “And I know you, David, and this isn’t going to make you happy.”

“This is crazy,” Davey breathes out, and it’s not what he means to say but it’s what comes out, regardless. “It’s... Jack, this is insanity.”

“Who cares about what’s sane?” Jack says. “Fuck sanity.”

“Jackie.”

“Tell me you’re happy,” Jack says, and the gentleness of the command doesn’t make it any less compelling. “Tell me you’re happy, that you think you’ll be happy with all’a this, and I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it right this second, I swear.”

Davey’s eyes slip shut. He breathes in and breathes out, feeling his ribs pressing against that band in his chest, the last pieces of it holding fast.

“You know this isn’t what you want,” Jack continues. “You’ve known right from the start that this isn’t what you want, you just wouldn’t admit it. But you gotta finally put yourself first for once, Davey. You gotta figure out what’s best for you, and you can’t do that here, not with everything that’s weighing you down.”

In and out. In and out.

“Please, Dave,” Jack murmurs. “Please.”

And the wire snaps.

“Okay,” Davey says, fingers tightening around Jack’s, his lone anchor as the world tilts out from underneath him. “Okay.”

“You’ll—?”

“Let me pack a bag,” Davey agrees.

00000

Tags! @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside, @corbinthecowboy

#run away with me fic #newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #javid #bits & bobs #*the writing desk #*editor's note #thought i'd post one last preview before settling back into tie fic #this is literally the length of an average chapter of mine what even is this fic #i'm just here y'all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#listen: i love them #💕💕💕💕#also this is the working opening scene just in case I didn’t mention that #this is quickly becoming the thing I’m most proud of writing ngl

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whumpcollector · 4 years ago

Text

Lucas Pt.5: Obedience

Hey everybody! I’m not dead. Sorry I haven’t updated in uh *checks watch* hahahahaha we don’t need to worry about that. Hope this one was worth the wait.

CW: Mouth gore, mouth whump, caning, suspension, suspension, stress positions, dehumanization, conditioning, the rack, muzzles, waterboarding, torture, magical whump, healing whump, forced drugging, weird religious stuff but only if you squint.

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The air was silent save for the sound of footsteps and clinking chains. Lucas was being led down a hallway, flanked by two witch hunters. His normal shackles had been joined by matching manacles on his ankles and a heavy iron collar, all of them etched in the same magic dampening runes. All of the restraints were connected by short and heavy chains, forcing Lucas to hunch and hobble awkwardly to avoid straining his body. A large muzzle was strapped to his head, gagging him and muffling the small sounds of exertion he made as he continued down the hallway.

Lucas and his guards continued their journey, winding through hallways for what felt like an impossibly long time. Neither of the witch hunters had uttered a word, and Lucas found himself wishing they would say something, anything, to pierce the nerve wracking silence. After turning one last corner the trio found themselves in front of a large wooden door. One of the witch hunters pulled the door open, and Lucas found himself once again face to face with Edwin.

The boy was terrified, his eyes going wide and his skin paling as he stared at the witch hunter captain. The larger man looked down at him impassively, his gaze betraying no emotion whatsoever. After a moment Edwin turned around and walked down the hallway, Lucas following behind after a rough shove from the witch hunter behind him. The group traveled in silence for a short while longer before Edwin’s voice finally broke the silence.

“Welcome to the witch hunter’s stronghold in Ulbrisk Lucas. I do hope you have enjoyed the tour thus far.”

Lucas couldn’t tell if Edwin was joking or not, the captain’s voice maintaining the same poised, even tone it always had.

“I just got back from a meeting with your master Harold. He has business to attend to and must leave the city today, but has decided to leave you in our care until he returns in a few months time. He has requested that we...remind you of your place while he is away.”

The captain suddenly stopped and turned to face Lucas. The mage tensed, leaning back and swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Something I am more than happy to do. Come, we're almost there.”

With that the group continued their journey through the stronghold. Lucas had not seen the outside of the building, but he figured it had to be massive if they were still moving towards their destination. After a while, the group came to a narrow stairwell that led downwards. Edwin grabbed the small lantern attached to his belt and lit it before gesturing for Lucas and the other witch hunters to follow. As they descended further down the stairwell the light from the upstairs corridor began to fade, and soon the only light was coming from the lantern Edwin held.

The stairwell led to another narrow corridor, and Lucas couldn’t tell if the shiver that went down his spine was from the cool air or the anticipation of what was to come. He had heard whispers of what the witch hunters were like with their prisoners. Something was telling him they were understatements if anything.

“I’m sure you are wondering what we are planning to do with you.” Edwin spoke suddenly, as if he could tell what Lucas was thinking. “My brothers and sisters in the order would have you killed on the spot. They take the title ‘witch hunter’ very literally, and believe that the best course of action is to hunt all magic users and put them down like dogs.”

Edwin paused, reaching for his belt and pulling off a key ring. Fiddling for a moment he found the key he needed and inserted it into the locked door in front of him.

“I am not so fanatical. I believe that magic users can be very useful, that their abilities can benefit mankind so long as they understand their place in this world.” Edwin stepped into the room and Lucas was pushed in after him. “Something you have very clearly forgotten.”

Lucas looked around the room. It was small, the dim light from Edwin’s lantern being more than enough to fill the room entirely. The walls were lined with various chains and mounts for restraints. At the center of the room was a wooden table, tilted at an angle. At the bottom of the table was a winch, and Lucas’ stomach dropped when re realized what he was looking at.

“I see you recognize the rack.” Edwin said as he turned to face the mage. “Rather primitive in its design but effective nonetheless.”

He nodded to the other witch hunters and the two men grabbed Lucas by the arms and lifted him off the ground, carrying him to the rack as he struggled uselessly in their grip. His chains connected to his shackles were undone just long enough for him to be secured to the slab, his weak protests muffled by the muzzle around his face. Almost instinctively the magic in his body began to flare, only to stop uselessly before the enchanted restraints on his body.

Edwin let out a small chuckle. “I see there is still some fight in you. Take my advice Lucas, don’t resist, don’t struggle.” The captain moved slowly towards the winch attached to the rack, his hand resting on its handle. “Once you come to terms with what you are things will be much less unpleasant.”

Lucas could only shake his head, pleading desperately with his eyes. The captain was unmoved, and without another word began to slowly crank the winch, the chains secured to Lucas’ arms and legs growing taut.

There wasn’t any pain at first, just a slight pulling sensation. But slowly, surely, the feeling grew as the chains lost slack. The pull on Lucas’ limbs became more and more severe, his arms and legs stretching ever so slightly more and more. Lucas began to panic, his breaths becoming quick and shallow as he began to feel his limbs strain.

“I take no pleasure in this Lucas,” Edwin said, pausing as the winch began to put up more resistance. “This is merely a means to an end for me. I assure you I hope for this to be over quickly as much as you do.”

Lucas was screaming behind the muzzle now, his limbs feeling like they were being torn off. Every crank of the handle sent waves of agony through his body. He begged for mercy, for the captain to simply stop drawing the chains tighter. The words were lost behind the gag and the winch kept slowly, agonizingly turning. Less than a minute passed before Edwin spoke again, though to Lucas it had felt like hours.

“However, I am also not one to leave a job half finished. When this stops depends entirely on when you learn your place. Not a moment sooner.”

He punctuated the last sentence with one last cranking of the winch handle. With a sickening pop Lucas felt his shoulders dislocate, a strangled cry being ripped from his throat. Sweat beaded down his forehead and his eyes were wide and treaty as he watech Edwin approach him. The captain was holding a small syringe filled with a thick bluish liquid. He plunged the syringe into Lucas’ neck, injecting the liquid and addressing the mage again.

“This will keep you awake and aware. Unconsciousness will not be an escape for you unless I allow it.” He turned away, motioning for the other witch hunters to follow. “Have a good night Lucas, I will see you tomorrow.”

With that the hunters left, leaving Lucas in pitch darkness. The mage panted heavily behind his muzzle, pain wracking his body. Moments crawled by and Lucas desperately tried to find some distraction from the burning in his arms and legs. The darkness of the room offered none and coherent thought was not something the boy could manage in his current state. Still as time passed it felt like he was acclimating to the torture, approaching a point where he could allow himself to be lost in the fog of pain.

Then his magic began to try and heal him.

A primal, guttural scream forced itself from Lucas’ lungs. Magic flowed into his shoulders and arms, twisting and contorting muscles in an attempt to drag the dislocated bones back into place. The restraints around Lucas’ wrists did not provide any slack and as his arms failed to heal properly the magic’s efforts became more severe. Tendons and ligaments tore themselves apart and the bones in Lucas’ arms fractured and cracked under the pressure that was exerted on them. It was an agony unlike any the mage had experienced, any he could imagine.

The futile attempts at healing didn’t stop, only ceasing to become worse when Lucas’ body couldn’t be pushed any farther without ripping his limbs in half. The mage screamed and wailed into the darkness, fleeting prayers for mercy or respite taking hold in his mind before being replaced with another shock of pain. Despite his wishes the serum that Edwin had given him prevented the overwhelming pain from fully consuming him and casting him into unconsciousness. There would be no escape until someone decided to release Lucas, and as this realization dawned on him all he could do was scream into the empty room.

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Moments, years, an eternity. Lucas could not say how much time had passed when the door to his room opened and Edwin walked inside. The boy looked towards the captain, using what little energy he had left to beg as hard as he could with his eyes. Edwin was, as usual, utterly impassive as he hooked his lantern to the wall and slowly approached the rack.

“Hello Lucas.” His voice was as level and polite as ever. “I imagine you would like me to release you from this rack. You look a bit worse for wear if you don’t mind my saying.”

Lucas nodded as quickly and as enthusiastically as he could. Yes, please, he would do anything if it meant making the pain stop. Edwin tilted his head and looked at the mage as if he were studying the produce at the city market. He stood there and pondered for what felt like an impossibly long time before nodding his head once and pulling a key ring from his coat.

Without speaking the captain undid the bindings around Lucas’s wrists. The mage fell to the floor with a dull thud. Without the chains to stop them Lucas' arms began to heal, and in a symphony of sickening cracks and pops his shoulders we relocated and the magic finally, finally, ebbed. Lucas let out a small sob of relief, the pain and tension in his body had become tolerable and the residual soreness in his arms was nothing compared to how they felt before. A part of him wanted to truly and genuinely thank Edwin for his mercy, though he lacked the energy and capability to do so.

Edwin looked down at Lucas passively as he unlocked the bindings on Lucas’ ankles. He lowered himself down, squatting next to the mage’s prone form before patting Lucas on the back.

“I imagine you want to rest after that ordeal. I would be more than happy to allow you but there is one thing we must do first. Come along, all going well this will soon be over for you.”

Lucas looked up at Edwin, a desperate hope in his eyes as he watched the captain stand up and gesture for him to follow. He groaned softly, the exhaustion and pain soaking his body making the mere act of standing up seem impossible. A short time passed before Lucas heard Edwin speak again, the captain’s patience having apparently run thin.

“Lucas, we have something we need to attend to, please stand up.” The captain took a step towards the mage's prone form, his voice turning just a tinge colder. “Unless of course you would like to spend another night on this rack.”

That managed to spur Lucas into action and with what felt to him like a herculean effort he managed to pull himself to his feet. Edwin nodded slightly before exiting the room, Lucas following closely behind him. They walked the labyrinthine halls of the stronghold for some time. Lucas wondered to himself just how large this stronghold was, and if he would ever get to leave it.

“Here we are.”

Edwin’s voice pierced through Lucas’ thoughts, and the mage found Edwin and himself in front of a wooden door. The captain opened the door and gestured for Lucas to enter. The mage obliged, hesitantly keeping his eyes on Edwin. The room he entered was plain, with only a small table and a single chair taking up any space. Lucas looked back towards Edwin, who gestured for the boy to take a seat.

“Please, sit.”

Lucas sat down as the captain moved to the other side of the table. Silence hung in the room as Lucas nervously fidgeted in his chair under Edwins gaze. The captain undid the muzzle around Lucas’ face and then walked to the other side of the table, turning to face the mage.

“Do you remember what I told you yesterday Lucas?”

The mage startled slightly before desperately trying to think of what Edwin was referring to. Vague fragments of sentences formed in his mind but whatever Edwin had been talking about had been clouded by the pain he endured shortly after.

“I said…” Edwin began, pulling Lucas from his thoughts. “That your kind, mages, are meant to serve their betters. And that once you understand and embrace that fact life for you will become so much simpler, so much easier.”

The mage nodded slightly, unsure of where the captain was going. He got his answer when Edwin tossed a pair of rusty pliers onto the table.

“Pull out one of your teeth”

“W-what?” Lucas stuttered out.

Edwin raised an eyebrow, as if he didn’t understand what there was to be confused about. “I want you to pull one of your teeth out with those pliers.”

The mage stared at Edwin with wide eyes, before frantically shaking his head and begging. “P-please, no. I-i promise I’ve learned my lesson. Please.”

“No, you clearly have not.” He stated, disappointment laced in his voice. He snapped his fingers and two witch hunters entered the room, pulling Lucas up from the chair and strapping another muzzle onto his face.

“I gave you an order, and you resisted.” Edwin turned to the hunters. “Do what you wish so long as he survives.”

Lucas struggled frantically against his captors, pleading as best he could through his gag. Edwin merely shook his as the mage was dragged out of the room.

“You brought this upon yourself Lucas.”

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Lucas screamed as another heavy blow landed on his ribs. The boy was strung up by his feet, his head hanging a foot or so off the ground. The shackles on his wrists were secured to the floor, with the shorter chains forcing his body taut. A cloth sack had also been tied over his head, leaving him unable to see what was coming.

Another blow, this one aimed at his left knee, another muffled cry of pain. The hunters that had strung Lucas up paced around him, tapping heavy canes against their palms as they planned their next strike. They had been going at it for hours, taking turns beating Lucas’ dangling body. The lack of sight and unpredictable timing left the mage constantly on edge, dreading the next strike but unable to truly prepare for it.

Seconds dragged by as the slow footsteps of the hunters filled Lucas’ ears. He hated this, hated the waiting, almost more than he hated the beating itself. The anticipation drove him mad and all he could do was whimper behind his muzzle and hope that the next blow wouldn’t-

A cane slammed into Lucas’ stomach, driving the wind out of the mage, causing him to choke and gag. He felt like he was going to be sick, not that there was anything in his stomach to begin with. Lucas sobbed softly, his cries muffled behind the gag and the sack over his head. A tense silence fell over the room again, and Lucas found himself almost wishing it were Devran beating him. The man’s angry swearing and taunts gave Lucas something other than the beating to focus on, some minor distraction. Here he had nothing. The hunters were dead silent, and with his vision blocked all Lucas could do was wait and dread and hurt.

A metallic clinking reached Lucas’ ears and suddenly he felt his body slam into the ground, his arms bent at an awkward angle. The hunters undid the chains that secured Lucas’ wrists to the ground and pulled him upright and began leading him somewhere. The sack hadn’t been removed from his head so Lucas couldn’t see where they were going. The group walked for a time until Lucas felt himself forced into a chair, his arms and legs secured to it with leather straps. The sack was pulled off of his head and Lucas looked around confused before one of the hunters grabbed his head and removed the muzzle from his mouth.

“W-wha-”

A sharp slap to the face interrupted Lucas’ question, and the sack was pulled over his head again. He felt the chair tilt backwards and wondered what exactly was coming next. He got his answer when he felt a stream of water being poured onto his face, soaking the cloth sack on his head. The fabric pressed against his nose and mouth, and Lucas began to gag and cough. The mage struggled against his bonds, his head held firmly in place and his restaurants not budging.

He couldn't breathe. He was drowning. He couldn’t breathe and they weren’t stopping and he needed air and he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die if they didn’t stop and h-

The water stopped and the sack was pulled off his face. Lucas hacked and coughed, desperately gasping for air. His reprieve was short, and the sack was quickly pulled back over his head. Lucas began to panic shaking his head and trying to plead for mercy. His objections were cut short as the flow of water began again.

The sensation of drowning returned immediately and Lucas once again began to struggle. He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t. It was too much. He needed a break, a moment, just one moment, to rest.

The water stopped, the sack was pulled off of his head, and Lucas was given an all too short window to breathe before the process repeated itself. On and on, over and over. Each break felt shorter, each second under the water stretched out longer than the last. Lucas wondered if this would be how he died. He had a feeling his captors wouldn’t be letting him off so easy.

Hours passed and the sack was pulled off on last time. The hunters secured the muzzle back onto Lucas’ face and pulled the mage to his feet again. They dragged him out of the room and down the hall, another torment awaiting him just around the corner.

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Footsteps echoed through the empty hallway as Edwin made his way towards the mage’s cell. It had been just about a week since he had last seen the boy, and he was hopeful that they would come to an understanding this time. The captain stopped in front of a door, taking some time to fiddle with his key ring before unlocking the door.

Lucas stood in the middle of the room, his occasional pants and grunts of exertion breaking the silence. The hunters had left him in a stress position last night. His arms were tied behind his back and a length of chain attached that looped through a hook in the ceiling pulled them upwards. The other end of the chain was secured to a collar secured around Lucas’ neck and to prevent himself from choking Lucas needed to strain his shoulders. The short length of the chain also forced Lucas onto the tips of his toes, forcing the mage to strain his entire body in order to avoid being strangled or dislocating his shoulders.

Edwin walked towards Lucas, whistling a song he had heard in the city square earlier that day. The mage flinched when Edwin got closer, a good sign. The captain unlocked the chains connected to Lucas’ wrists and neck, watching impassively as the boy fell to the floor with a thud. Edwin crouched by Lucas’ prone form casually pulling the sack off of Lucas’ head and pulling him off the ground. Lucas regarded Edwin with bleary bloodshot eyes, his endurance having been long since spent.

“Hello Lucas. It has been a while since we last saw each other.” Lucas stayed silent and Edwin continued. “Come now son, I’m certain you’d like a chance to rest but there is one little thing we must take care of beforehand. Might as well not drag it out right?”

Edwin did not wait for a response as he began walking out of the room. He heard soft footsteps following behind him and smiled to himself for a moment. Their walk was silent as usual, and Edwin led them through the halls of the stronghold until they reached the room. The captain opened the door and gestured for Lucas to enter before following shortly after.

Lucas stood awkwardly next to the chair and Edwin motions for the boy to take a seat. Lucas obliged and Edwin nodded before pulling a pair of pliers out from his coat and placing them in front of the mage.

“Lucas. Take those pliers and pull out one of your teeth.”

Lucas stared at the pliers for a few seconds before hesitantly picking them up. His hands were shaking and Edwin could see his resolve begin to crack as he brought them closer to his mouth. Lucas opened his mouth and began to move the pliers closer but then froze. He stared at the tool in his hands, unable to bring them any closer. He needed one last nudge.

“Lucas. Do I need to have my brothers continue your education?”

That managed to push through whatever hesitation Lucas had. With a shaky breath he clamped the pliers around one of his teeth and, after one last second to prepare himself, twisted hard and pulled.

An agonized cry crossed Lucas’ lips as the tooth came out. He hunched over the table, blood dripped from his mouth onto the table and his knuckles were white from gripping the pliers, the tooth still held between its jaws. Edwin walked forward, standing next to Lucas before gently placing a hand on top of his head. He looked up at Edwin, unsure of what was coming next.

Edwin gave the boy a small smile. “Good boy, Lucas.”

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Tags!: @ladygwennn @dramaticcollapse @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @brutal-nemesis @haro-whumps @rippedjeansandfadeddreams

#whump #fantasy whump #lucas #magical whump #me? take 4 months to write about 10 pages? neveeeeeerrrrrrrrr

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writersindigestion · 4 years ago

Text

taken | edward nygma x reader

“beware of the snakes.”

reader gender: female

word count: 2464

warnings: drugs, violence, suicidal ideation, abuse

notes: i mean, y’all wanted him back, didn’t ya?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Vaguely, she remembered someone handing her a doggy bag, and being driven to the precinct, where she was promptly handcuffed to a cot. She was vastly unimpressed with this treatment, and made it a point to everyone who so much as walked into the med bay. “What the fuck is this? Shouldn’t I be at, I don’t know… A real hospital?” [Y/N] inquired unhappily, rattling her cuffs around - just to annoy her caretakers, of course.

Unfortunately, Dr. Thompkins was the one watching over her, for the most part, and she was very close to smacking her patient for being so insufferable.“You’re under 48-hour suicide watch. They brought you here, because they thought this was the best place to keep you safe, as well as the people around you,” Lee explained, peeling off a pair of thick, plastic gloves with practiced monotony.

[Y/N] tried to cross her arms, but was restricted by the metal cuffs. A discontented scowl made its across her face, she settled again for making as much noise as physically possible with her restraints. “Yeah, yeah - I get it,” She deadpanned, staring blankly ahead of her, “Aren’t they better prepared to deal with suicidal patients at, I don’t know… A real hospital?”

Lee wasn’t pleased, “The order came from a higher authority - I had nothing to do with it. Evidently, my medical opinion doesn’t matter.” She scrutinized her patient for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

The detained woman stopped rattling just long enough to think past her own indignance. A higher authority? It was obvious who that was, regardless of how vague the title. What did he gain from her being at the precinct? What did she lose by being at the precinct? “What higher authority? Why do they want me here?” She was starting to sound like a paranoid addict - which, she was, but that didn’t mean she had to admit it. “I’m terrible. Thank you for asking. How are you? Why am I here?”

Dr. Thompkins’ face grew more serious, and she pulled a stool up next to the bed. “I’m just fine, [Y/N],” She replied, her brow knotted tightly together, “It’s not really my place to question orders - I do it anyways, but that doesn’t mean I get answers.” The doctor gazed over the other woman, observing her anxious, unfocused expression and jittery movements. She was suicidal - that much seemed obvious, but what was going on beneath, if anything? “You are here, because you seemed very intent on killing yourself not even a few hours ago, to the point where you were fighting the cops and were tased. You are here, because we need to watch over you, and make sure you are safe. Do you understand, or are you worried about something else?”

[Y/N] gritted her teeth at the inquisition, goosebumps rising along her limbs. What did he want? What was his plan? What did he gain from this? She shouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t secure here - or anywhere, really. She shouldn’t say anything. She should say nothing. Not anything, not anything, nothing. Words flew from her lips before she could stop them, “Something else.”

Lee leaned closer to her patient, resting a careful, tender hand on top of the other woman’s. Clearly, there was something wrong, and her charge did not feel safe enough to say what that was. She gripped lightly, trying to draw her attention. “The door is closed - are you afraid of someone seeing you? Or is it something else?”

A short silence. “Something else.”

“The handcuffs are in place to keep you here, so we can watch you, and to help make sure you won’t hurt yourself,” She explained, “Are they too tight? Or is it something else?”

“Something else.”

The doctor searched for more things that could be wrong, running over the situation in her head. She blinked, her eyes catching sight of a small pendant around [Y/N]’s neck - a tiny, no-nonsense heart that rested easily near her sternum. Extending from another cord was a shiny cross. Briefly, she checked the area for burns from the earlier tasing. “... Is it your girlfriend? She tried to see you, but we couldn’t get clearance. We sent Chrysanthemum home, and will be calling periodically to check on her. Is that worrying you? Or is it something else?”

The patient’s fingers curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palms. “... Yes.”

“I can try to get her clearance again, if you want to see her. It will probably go through if I make a case for you. Is that what you want?”

Her answer was immediate, “No. Keep her away.”

Dr. Thompkins was obviously troubled with her vehement demand, and tried once again to wrap her mind around it. What higher authority? Why do they want me here? “Is someone trying to hurt you? Is someone trying to hurt Chryss?”

[YN]’s tongue wrestled with itself, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the thing that was screaming at her temporal lobe. She wanted to tell her. It would be so easy. Who would it put in danger? Her lover? Her doctor? Her old coworkers? Herself, least importantly?

Lee didn’t need a response. She pulled her phone from her pocket, swiftly selecting a number and waiting to hear the series of rings - or better yet, an actual reply. No one would pick up.

She called three times to find no answer.

A door opened to their right, an alert-looking officer striding in. “Dr. Thompkins,” He called, an urgent look on his face, “They need you out there. I was sent in to watch the patient.”

The medical professional glanced between her coworker and her charge, concern creating valleys across her smooth face. She leaned in towards the other woman, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need anything.”

[Y/N]’s heart dropped, a renewed sense of dread washing over her like a tidal wave. As Lee rose from her seat to leave the room, she made a grab for her arm, but the cuffs ceased her movements. She nearly whimpered to see the door swing closed behind the doctor. Her attention redirected to the nameless man she was placed in the care of, a snarl painting itself onto her visage. “Don’t you fucking try anything, cocksucker.”

The man’s mind was adrift with conflict, with confusion, but he had been given orders, and it was his duty as a cop to fulfill them. His face steeled, and he crossed the room to her side, smothering a scream with his palm as he fumbled with a syringe. He tried to keep quiet, tried to keep his trap shut, but it wasn’t in his nature to cause distress in an otherwise harmless person. “I’m really sorry about this,” The officer stuttered, his hand making its way towards the meaty part of her thigh, where he inserted the needle

She did not immediately quiet, like he’d seen in movies and tv, but his ‘superiors’ had warned him about this. He simply kept his hand pressed to her mouth, his free arm stopping her from struggling too much. After only about a minute and a half, he felt the woman in his grasp slowly decompress, and fall lax. The man removed his hands from her personage, taking a step back to observe. It was incredibly unnerving - her eyes were open, though half lidded, and it was easy to pretend she was awake.

Except she still was, barely.

A gurgle rose up from [Y/N]’s throat, and her head lolled to the side, lips parted just slightly. The cop panicked, reaching forward to cover her mouth again. Briefly, he felt her fingers start to curl around his wrist, and he relented.

[Y/N] was fading fast, and had she the mental capacity to feel afraid, she would, but the strongest part of her knew that something had to be done. She had things she needed to say, topics she needed to address - there was a very, very tiny allotment of seconds in which to speak. Operating her tongue had been getting increasingly hard over the past few months, but never before had she been so thoroughly tranquilized that she literally couldn’t talk. Finally, with her mouth stuffed full of rubik's cubes, and her muscles full of cotton balls, she managed to slur out, “He’s gonna hurt me.”

The officer almost screamed himself, hearing the words that she had to say. He panicked four times over, trying to shake the woman awake. A door opened behind them, and his voice lowered to a frantic whisper, “Who? Who?” But she was too far gone this time, her eyes glazed over to meet the figure that entered into the room.

[Y/N] woke up probably twelve hours later, her body wrapped in slimey, icy tendrils and her hair wrenched back. She screamed, squirming away from the tentacles that swarmed her figure, but they only pulled her tighter.

The foreign limbs were scaly and had the strength of 1,000 men, tugging her deeper into their coils with every passing second - no matter how hard she struggled. And they grasped around her throat, coveting every fragile, raspy breath that she tried to draw.

Minutes passed by, though they seemed like hours, and she couldn’t help but feel that her life should have ended several moments before. She was choking, she was unable to breathe, but she still lived, she still struggled. It was just another nightmare that she couldn’t wake from.

Except she was awake - sort of.

Eventually, it occurred to her that someone was speaking - a nearby voice, a cruel, smooth tone. She knew who it was, but who was it? Her consciousness would not allow her to access that part of her memory. The voice continued, rattling on about things she could not comprehend, and all she could do was listen as the tendrils fell away from her body.

“Are you coherent now? Nod if you understand.”

[Y/N] wasn’t sure what coherent meant, still seeing the tails of snakes in the corners of the room. She nodded anyways, breathing heavily against the soft fabric below her. It didn’t feel like her bed.

The other person hummed, a vague sound of disbelief. “If you could see yourself right now, you’d understand why I doubt your coherency very much. It’ll just be a few minutes now.”

None of their words quite held in her perforated headspace, just as they failed to before. She watched the bodies of reptiles creep about the floorboards, her eyes trailing behind each creature. One of them moved close to the bed, winding up the leg of a rustic-looking chair and across the lap of a long, thin man who sat with his ankle atop the opposite knee. The woman almost cried to see the snake disappear behind his figure, and desperately waited for it to return. They almost felt like friends now. She wondered what its name was.

How strange that something so sinister had become an emblem of consistency in her otherwise tumultuous life?

She ran her tongue around the cottony caverns of her mouth, staring just past Edward onto the ornate wallpaper behind him. Her voice was croaky as she spoke, “Am I allowed to ask why I’m here?”

He’d been reading a newspaper, which he folded carefully and placed on the bedside table. His hands clasped together, a quirky little grin etched onto his cheeks. “You may ask whatever you wish - you’re a guest in the mayor’s house, after all.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes, the wallpaper still holding her rapt attention. “Why am I here, then?”

“You’re on suicide watch, and the precinct no longer felt that they could care for you,” Ed started, idly checking his watch, “You should be thankful. This was the best alternative.”

She was quickly becoming annoyed, and made a move to sit up before realizing that she’d been strapped - on her stomach, spread-eagle - to the bed she lay on. This distracted her from his vague explanation, if only briefly. “Does the mayor normally let his guests be held captive by his employees?”

“You misunderstand - you’re technically being hospitalized.”

“Yes, because you are the best ‘medical professional’ to watch over a suicidal woman,” [Y/N] deadpanned, “What do you mean by alternative? Where else would I have gone? A real behavioral center? A real hospital?”

“Well, they did mean to send you to Arkham-”

“Arkham?” The female shrieked, lifting her upper body off the mattress to the best of her ability, “I’m not a fucking criminal, Nygma. They would never send me there. I’m not insane, either, unlike your sorry ass.”

Edward’s face cinched dangerously, and he uncrossed his legs, leaning closer to impose on [Y/N]’s space. “You’d do good to watch where you throw words like that - you just might hurt someone’s feelings,” He warned, “And if I remember correctly - you disrupted public peace, assaulted a police officer, and resisted arrest. This town cares little for the mentally unstable, and they’d think little of you as well.”

“You and I both know that’s not true. I want to see a lawyer. There’s no legal way for you to keep me here,” She rattled, grasping at straws that she knew would only be ripped away from her.

“No self-respecting lawyer in Gotham would represent you against the mayor,” Ed countered, “They think of him as a saint for sheltering a poor, suicidal woman rather than letting her rot in the asylum. They think of him as an advocate.”

Frantically, she looked for an argument - as if her fate wasn’t already sealed. Just as she was about to open her mouth, the head of a snake crawled out of his sleeve, its body extending gracefully to the bed. She was immediately entranced by the movement, watching intently as it moved towards her.

The reptile slithered up to her face, greeting [Y/N] with a familiar smile, and she smiled in return, her lips parting over her teeth. It responded by pushing past her gums, pressing down her throat until she swallowed it whole.

Edward watched in amazement as the woman before him choked and gagged on nothing, a deep chuckle rising up from his chest. “Ketamine is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? A perfectly safe tranquilizer - given that you don’t mind the hallucinations upon waking.” He reached forward to wipe the drool from the side of her cheek, and she visibly cringed away from him.

The female breathed heavily, tears welling up in her sinuses as she tried to recover. “You’re the fucking devil, Edward,” She droned, unable to find the energy needed to curse him out like she really wanted to.

#edward nygma x reader #edward nygma fanfiction #gotham fanfiction #dc fanfiction

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imagination-of-a-melted-bitch · 5 years ago

Text

Destroyer || Zora x Reader

Author’s Note: Well, well, well, I haven’t stopped writing, I’ve just been writing for non-existent people. Anyway, any matter, ignore my self-indulgence. Here’s a smut I wrote for Zora Ideale from Black Clover, enjoy!

Prompt: Inspo

Pairing: Zora x Reader

Word Count: 1.914k

Warning: none~

After a long night of partying alongside your fellow Black Bull squadmates, you find yourself stumbling down the hall, a pair of hot hands on your waist. You're nothing but a giggling mess, shirt slipping off your shoulder, those hands finding their way up your skirt. You stop, back against your door, hands running over the hard body of the owner of those hot hands. They are curious, feeling over every inch of his body, up over his abs, feeling the way he flexes them under your touch, over his chest. His share the same curiosity, under your skirt, slipping past your panties to run over your quivering slit. His fingers are calloused, as expected in his line of work, but they feel so nice sliding down your heated core. He grits his teeth at the unexpected wetness, his fingers eager, twitching in excitement as he pushes two of them past your entrance. Your hands grip his shoulders, steadying yourself, holding yourself between the door and his hard body. He drops his head so his lips are next to your ear, his fingers moving faster, almost taunting you, almost assuring you. "I can feel your blood pressure rise." Those words pack a punch, a deep feeling in your stomach, a feeling that can almost be mistaken for butterflies but is nothing more than a shared lust.

"Fuck this tension," You whimper, opening the door you laid upon, the both of you stumbling into your room because of the action. "I need you Zora." Those words are everything he needs to hear, everything he wants to hear. He rips his fingers from that sacred spot between your legs, running the digits over your quivering lips. You suck the two digits into your mouth graciously, moaning at your taste, moaning at the lewd action of tasting yourself off his fingers. You're quick in disregarding your own clothing, by the time the two of you hit your bed, you're completely stripped of any pesky obstacles and Zora's pulling his own jeans from his body. You color yourself impressed, watching him pull the tight leather fabric from his thick thighs. He wears a pair of briefs, a dark spot decorating the front, his arousal thick, clouding. Your lips are hot against his, hands exploring once again. You're pulling him close, needing to feel him flush against you, his skin hot, almost fiery, burning a memorable impression against your skin. One of his hands holds your face, it isn't a loving touch, not even caring, it's almost as if he's holding you in place, right where he wants you, right where he needs you.

"I know you taste delightful." Those words carry meaning, one that lets you know he was more than eager to taste you, the other letting you know he regretted letting you taste yourself off his fingers. "You want that kitten? You want me to taste you?" He doesn't await an answer and instead slips down your body, forcing your legs wide open for his wondering tongue. His tongue snakes over his lips like a serpent's, delving between your swollen lower lips. Your back arches off the bed, had it been this long? Is the only thing you can wonder, his tongue feeling like fire against your slit. His tongue is long and slender, easily flicking along your quivering cunt. His eyes lock with yours and it's like time's frozen when he sucks your throbbing clit past his lips. Your eyes snap shut, thighs clamping around his head, trapping him. Zora can only chuckle, the position comforting, warm, holding him directly where he wanted to be. His tongue flicks against your clit, a deadly combination with his action of sucking the aching bud into his mouth. You know the hideout is crowded with your fellow squadmates but the noises that leave your lips can't be helped. These rooms aren't exactly soundproof, and the proof is in the pudding, the sounds that you produce as a result of his tongue moving skillfully against your cunt.

"Zora," His name is a breathless moan, one of your hands pushing through his fiery locks, tugging at the roots. "Zora," His name is the only thing that runs through your mind, his tongue, his touch, the only thing that clouds your mind, blocking all other coherent thoughts. You were putty in his hands, it had been a long time but he was honestly just that skilled. He wasted no time with his fingers, his tongue running wildly along your core, licking up every last drop, truly tasting you as he had expressed. "I'm close," You cry, your other hand stretching forward to embed itself in his hair, tugging at the locks, pulling him impossibly closer. You can feel him smirk against your heat, his cherry on top, the graze of his teeth over your bud. "Zora!" You scream his name like a mantra, hips wildly bucking off the mattress, the grip you have on his head with your thighs only tightening. You feel as if you're floating and so soon in. Zora has to force himself from between your thighs, only to catch his breath. He sits between your thighs, and without his mask you can take in all his beauty. He sat, cocky as ever, almost as if he were an animal, basking in the hunt, basking in the feast. His face is glistening in the moonlight, the bottom half of his face covered with your juices, when he got down to business, he got down.

"You taste just as delightful as I've fantasized." There's that word, that roll that rolls beautifully from his lips, invading all your senses. Zora wipes his face clean, making a show of sucking your juices from the two digits he had used to finger you in the hall. He moans at the taste, his usually hooded eyes wide, drinking you in, not wanting to miss a thing. "I'm sorry, kitten, but I don't think I can wait any longer." He frees himself from his briefs, and you can't say you were expecting what you were greeted with. His cock is long and thick, countering his physical appearance. His shaft is rigid, a vein running up the underside of his cock. You reach down, a hand wrapping around him, he's warm, throbbing in your hand. At your touch, his tip can only leak more, the liquid pooling against your abdomen. You find yourself dazed, almost drunk with your own lust, and your fingers dip in the pool of the liquid, sucking the salty evidence of arousal into your mouth. "Oh, come on, you keep that up and I'll just have to destroy this pretty little figure of yours."

You run the tip of his cock along your slit, rubbing it against your clit, whimpering at the action of your own self-indulgence. Zora watches the way you move his cock over your core, just a little more, just a little closer. You place the tip of his cock at your entrance and bring your other hand up to cup his chin, bringing his attention back to your face. "Then destroy me." Zora lets out the most animalistic growl, teeth-baring as he pushes forward, his hips meeting yours in a rushed movement. "Zora!" Your legs wrap hastily around his waist, pulling him in closer, wanting to feel him all, needing to feel everything he had to offer. His cock nearly splits you in half, his movement pushing you halfway up the bed, head hitting against the headboard. Zora's hands hold your waist, pushing and pulling you along the bed, pulling you to meet his thrust, his thighs meeting the back of yours. You hold onto him for dear life, your new hold allowing you to stay somewhat in place, the hitting of your head against the headboard stopping.

"Destroy you?" Zora lets out that blood-curling chuckle, the noise settling deep in your stomach, a new wave of juices gushing out around his cock. "That's all you had to say kitten." His hips are relentless, bruising your pelvic with ease. The sounds that leave your lips resemble that of an animal in heat, your chest heaves, pleasure overtaking your entire form. Your body shakes and trembles under him, you've completely succumbed to him and his feverish touch. To him and his honey words, to him and his cock as he split you in half, fuck quite literally fucking the senses out of you. The only thing you can manage to say is his name but even that sounds slurred, almost unrecognizable. "I'll destroy ya, alright." Zora leans over your body, chest pressed against yours, forehead pressed against yours, a position you'd never imagine him liking but yet, this closeness, this proximity, is what he needs. His pace only increases, nearly tenfold, his hands pulling your legs away from his waist to sneak them over his shoulders. "You take me so well kitten. So warm and so tightly wrapped around my cock." He shudders above you, a sign of his own end nearing. You're sure you can come from just this, with the way you're reacting to just his thrust, it feels so good, almost too good as if it were a dream, nothing more than a fantasy of finally being able to have him in this way.

You cup his face, his eyes wide open, boring in your e/c orbs. He's begging you to finish, to come around his cock. "I'm gonna-I'm going to-" You can't finish your sentence, fingers grasping the hair at the nape of his neck. You finish, and with a crash. Your thighs shake, toes curling onto themselves. Your orgasm hits you in waves, waves that you struggle to keep your head above, clawing and scratching for the surface. It was too much, a wave you could not best, a wave that dragged you under, your body succumbing to its force, its power. Despite this overwhleming amount of pleasure you can't bring yourself to close your eyes, needing to watch his every move, the way the vein in his neck pops when he reaches his own ending. The way his eyes flutter shut for just a moment, his soft lashes hitting the apples of his cheeks, he looked so beautiful in this moment. He shudders, cock swelling against your walls, his cock pumping you full of his seed.

"Fuck," He chuckles, beads of his sweat hitting your chest and they feel like they each way a ton. Zora moves your legs from over his shoulders only to wrap them around his waist, keeping his position. He finds himself acting out of character, lips crashing against yours as the heat of the moment dissolves in the room. You can only kiss him back, the taste of yourself invading your mouth, the taste of himself invading his mouth, more intimate than either of you could imagine. Zora pulls himself from you, and his softening cock rests against your inner thigh, heavy, reminding you of just moments before. "You're such a fun little kitten, so unbreakable-" Zora chuckles, rolling to your side. You giggle, rolling over onto your side as well so you're face to face once again. "You keep looking at like that I might just have to stay around here for a little longer than planned." You can only smile at his words, so very much like him.

"You leave again, I will never let you touch me." You huff, turning your nose up at him. Zora makes a small noise and before you know it, you're wrapped in his arms, splayed across his chest.

"Now, now, no need to get hasty."

#admin tay #black clover #zora #zora ideale #black clover smut #zora smut #zora ideale smut #anime #anime smut

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years ago

Note

darling dearest, i am in need of some advice and you were the first person i thought to ask (your fanfics are so deep, you have unrivaled wisdom. also you are an adult, which is very useful right now)

so, acting means a lot to me. in fact, it means the world. one of my first coherent sentences as a baby was, "mommy, i want to be on tv," so of course i developed an interest in theater.

it's my first year of high school, and my first thespian convention, and it's 500 dollars. for some context here, my parents had their first kid in high school. my mom never graduated, my dad joined the army instead of going to college. and then they had four more. on top of that, my dad's retired so we're all around dirt fuckin poor hahah. in other words, no one in this family has 500 dollars to send me (except for my middle sister, but that really is too much to ask for).

except for me! i had the money! only, it's in my college fund (which is 660 right now, no one set up a college fund for me as a baby--i only started saving two years ago). like i said, we're dirt poor and no one has the money to put me through college. my sister is a lawyer and has been practicing for years, and is still 200,000 dollars in debt from student loans. i'm having to rely on being smart to apply for scholarships and grants, and if i'm really special, i can get into harvard for free. which is such a huge deal, and one i'm kind of counting on.

even if i don't go to college, i need the money for when i ditch my home state and live in the big city for my big shot at being a successful actress. i can't do this every year. i've already decided to drop cheerleading and adv math next year so i can get a job (i'm not allowed to get one until i can drive). but i don't know if 3yrs of work will even be enough if i want to do normal teenager things and still go to college. chances are, i'm not getting into harvard, much less for free. i'm not gifted like i was as a little girl, and i think the stress would be too much. my mom says she'd help but she's saving for her own house and already getting me my own car, and she doesn't have money either. i don't think i can ask her for that.

thank you for even bothering to read this, thank you times one thousand if you respond.

Goodness lovely, I'm so sorry to hear you're going through this. This is such a big burden to carry and I know it must be really intimidating to think your future is restricted because of money. But take a deep breath, we're going to talk about some things, okay? I'm still new to being an adult myself, I'm in my final year of uni and money is hard.

So first let's talk about this $500 for your Thespian Convention. First, if this is a school event, a lot of schools do wave or reduce fees like this for families that can't afford it. They also may offer scholarships. I would look into seeing if that's possible, but otherwise let's talk about covering that cost from your college fund. I'm assuming from your language that you're American, which means that if you're earning the federal minimum wage (7.25/hr) it will take 60 hours of working to pay that off. That could take anywhere from 2 weeks to a month to work off if you're working part time, so you need to ask yourself if you feel like the thespian convention is worth a month of work that you could be putting towards your college fund. (Also, I know you said you can't get a job until you can drive, but maybe see if there's anything local you can do for extra money, like maybe tutoring or babysitting?). And if you can't go to this Thespian Convention, see if theres a less expensive alternative you can pursue.

Another important thing to consider is that, if acting is definitely what you want to do, you don't need to go to college to be a successful actor. Leonardo Dicaprio, Emma Stone, Ryan Gosling, there's plenty of major A-list actors that skipped college alltogether to pursue their careers. Here's a list. And if going to college is something you really, really want to do, you also don't have to go to college immediately after graduating high school.

This is something they didn't push a lot when I was in high school, and this would have been mind blowing for me when I was a freshman. In my high school going to college was like the expectation for families that could afford it. And they also offered great support for struggling families and first generation students. But I did something super unconventional for my town and I took a gap year. And that gap year changed my life. So my love, you don't need to worry about 3 years being enough time to do normal teenager things while working your butt off to pay for school. You can give yourself as many years as you need to get that money together, or to pursue your acting career or both. College is ready for you when you're ready for it. There's no set timeline. And I wish they told high schoolers that more often. I wish I was told that sooner.

But let's say that you really want to go to college and you really want to go as soon as you graduate high school. That's totally fine too! Let's talk about your options. Getting a full-ride scholarship is competitive and a lot of pressure to put on yourself. I say go for it! Go for as many as you can and apply for every scholarship available! But also give yourself the breathing space to think about other options. This is a list of no-loan colleges in the US. These are schools that will meet 100% of your financial need if you get accepted. Now the tricky thing is you still have to pay for your EFC (estimated family contribution) and sometimes your FAFSA (federal application for student aid) grossly overestimates how much your family can actually contribute. But it will definitlely eat a big chunk of that money away and there are still loan and scolarship options for that remaining sum. Also when applying for these schools a lot of them do offer an application fee waiver for families that can't afford it.

There are also loads of private scholarship available options from various companies. Talk to your high school counsellors, they *should* have great resources for finding this kind of stuff. I wish I could remember where I found all of my scholarship info, but it's been almost 5 years since I've done that research. I think maybe fastweb was something I found useful? And I also found this website and this website after a cursory google search just now. I'm sure you'll find good sources too! Freshman year is not too early to start applying to private scholarships. A lot of them are directed at seniors, but there are all kinds and sometimes they're just fun contests with small rewards, but it all adds up!f

You can also try killing two birds with one stone! See if there are any acting jobs available either in your local area or even just online! Maybe set up a fiverr and read scripts for people, or see if you can work as a counselor for a theater camp in the summer. My first job was as an acting job as a dancing penguin at a local summer festival when I was 14.

Okay and now I feel obligated to tell you something. You don't need to go to college in the US. This probably sounds outrageous as a freshman, it definitely would have to me. But I'm literally typing this from where I now live in the UK, after taking that gap year and realizing that american school is ridiculously expensive and way less cool than european schools? Do your research, there's lots of options available to you and the US is not your only one. I've saved loads of money going to school here and I'm happy as a clam. Here are some fun links.

Anyway my love, I know that was a lot of information and I'm sure none of it magically solved your problems or took that burden of your shoulders. But take a deep breath. Everything will happen in its own time and there will always be opportunities for you to pursue being an actor. There will also always be the option to decide to go to college at any point in your life. The biggest and most important thing is to just not give up. Focus on the here and now, focus on your grades, and the rest will follow. You got this, I know you do. And please, always feel free to come to me with any questions or even if you just need to rant in my inbox, I'm here <3

#Big love to you #I know it will all work out in the end

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only-lonely-stars · 4 years ago

Text

The Future is Bright, Chapter 4

[Chapter 1 (Beginning)] // [Chapter 3] // [Chapter 4 - you are here!] // [Chapter 5] // [Chapter 10 (End)] (FFN)

Cole and Jay have a bro talk in this installment... maybe a refresher would be nice. After all, it’s been years since they saw their futures.

Summary: What would happen if Cole had indeed had a reflection in the tomb of the First Spinjitzu Master? How would that have changed his life later? What would it have been? This story follows what might have happened if he had seen something, and what it was; who he would have become. What if his future was already decided?... (Rated T for safety. Alternate title: the Cosmic Spoilers AU.)

Chapter 4: Late Night, Early Morning

When the Ninja at last returned home from Shintaro, it was very late in the evening.

That night, everyone went to bed quickly, content with sleeping off their accumulated exhaustion. Their time under the mountain had worn them down, breaking their defenses and walls of fortitude with a quick strength that was rarely found elsewhere. Now they were tired beyond belief– most of them were too tired to think.

When they arrived at the Monastery, Cole tried to rest as well. He went to bed and readied himself for it... but quickly found he couldn't sleep. He was tired, but his mind wouldn't rest.

In his defense, Cole had a lot to think about. His mother, the temple of the Masters of Earth, the Geckles and Munce, the Sorcerer… Vania… his future. There was so much to wonder about, so much to ponder and process. It was certainly too much for a sleeping Cole to process, clearly... so he didn't manage to rest at all.

Some time around two in the morning, Cole eventually roused himself from bed. It was defeatist to try to sleep now, so why try any more? He wandered around the Monastery, looking for rest, but found none. Even a glass of water and a slice of ice cream cake from the freezer didn't help, although it did wake him up, so he went back to wandering.

As he wandered, Cole eventually spotted a dim light in the living room. He headed to the doorway to see who it was.

When he poked his head in, Cole spotted Jay, lying on the couch with a comic book and a reading light that was entirely too big for what he was reading. Jay's face was the picture of focus, and he read with intense ferocity, completely engrossed. Cole stifled a snicker. That was his brother, all right, completely stuck in his own world. This was the perfect chance to get his revenge for that night in the palace!

Silently, with all the stealth a master ninja should muster, Cole snuck up behind Jay. He was thankful for the low amount of light, because he didn't cast a shadow that night. Jay didn't notice his presence at all, only turning another page in blissful ignorance... he was the perfect prey.

For a moment, Cole primed himself. After he was sure in his footing, he grinned and took a breath. Then he tackled Jay.

"EEK!" Jay screeched, landing on the floor with a hard thump as Cole landed on top of him, the comic book and light falling face-down on the floor. Jay immediately started to struggle against Cole's grip. "WHAT IN THE FSM!"

Cole burst into laughter and grabbed a pillow, whisper-shouting in Jay's face. "For Shintaro!" After saying so, he immediately whapped Jay in the face with it.

"Oh my word– COLE!" Jay grabbed the pillow, using it as a shield. "Let me up!"

Cole only laughed more, having pinned him. He would've kept laughing if Jay hadn't smacked him in the face with the pillow, knocking him to the side enough that he could get up. "Cole! How dare you!"

"Easily!" he retorted, still laughing a little.

"Okay, for one, that was completely unfair," Jay pouted, throwing the pillow back on the couch and grabbing his book to point the light at Cole. "For two, I'm gonna get you back for that. Way to scare a guy!"

"Yeah, I know." Cole grinned shamelessly, adrenaline settling already. "That's why I did it."

"Seriously! Thanks a lot," Jay pouted.

"Sorry." He got to his feet, not feeling that sorry. "I just saw the opportunity and took it."

"It's fine," Jay drawled, ruffling his already-messy hair. "I should've been paying more attention. Then I could have gotten you into a grip hold and made you yield!"

Cole snickered more. "Like you could've heard me! I'm the quietest of all of us."

"I don't agree, but whatev's." He rolled his eyes. "Is there any reason for you being up this early besides to scare me?"

Cole sighed, his thoughts coming back around to the forefront of his mind. His coherency dried up as he struggled to put them to words. "I, uh… I never went to bed, actually."

Jay's jaw dropped. "Seriously? Why not? You're exhausted!"

Cole nodded dumbly, feeling dumb. "Yeah, uh…" He gesticulated wildly. "You know. Future stuff. Shintaro. The thing with the tomb. Couldn't sleep."

Shock gone immediately, Jay instead raised an eyebrow, gleeful. "Oh, I see. Do you mean your crush on Vania, or hers on you?"

"Jay!" Cole groaned. "I do not have a crush on Vania, okay? Stop saying it!"

"Sure, sure you don't. I believe you."

"It's true!"

Jay nodded, clearly disbelieving. "Mhm. It's totally true. One hundred percent."

"Come on!" Cole felt like he was pleading with him. "I'm telling the truth."

"What, do you expect me to actually believe you? It's obvious!"

"Wh– yes, I expect you to actually believe me! Why would I lie?!"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe because you don't want it to be true!" Jay laughed. "You're the one literally losing sleep over it."

Cole hesitated. "...You got me there."

"I got you with all of it. Don't lie to me."

"You're the one accusing me of lying about how I feel? That's rich."

"Not the point!" Jay crossed his arms. "Just out with it. What's really wrong here? Otherwise, I'm going to assume it's because you didn't get Vania's phone number before we left."

Cole glared at the floor, silently retorting that yes, he actually did get her number. It wouldn't help his case to say so, though...

"Fine." He looked up at Jay, feeling exposed. "I just– you know I don't want this, Jay. I just want to know what it meant and to get past it so I don't have to deal with the future hanging over me. I can't stop thinking about what will happen."

Jay sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Cole, just because you don't want it, doesn't mean you can avoid it. The future comes no matter what we think, after all..."

"I barely even remember it, though."

"The vision?"

"Yeah. It's been years, after all."

"Hm… well, that could be a problem," Jay mused.

"You're telling me."

The two lapsed into comfortable silence, but Jay broke it a minute later by clapping, startling Cole. "I know! Let's just go back to the tomb and get a second look!"

Cole looked at him, wide-eyed. "What? Can we do that?"

"Sure, why not? We just have to borrow R.E.X. again. It could be fun!"

"Well… it could," he conceded, starting to plan. "Helpful, too. Would we bring the others? Nya and Lloyd never got to see it."

"We could ask." Jay shrugged. "Lloyd probably won't want to– he's seen the future enough, why would he want more prophecy?– but I'm sure Nya would. She always wants to be involved with that kind of stuff."

"I guess it couldn't hurt..." Cole sighed heavily. "Anything to figure out what the heck I actually saw is good."

Jay nodded, but as always, had to say more. "What'll you do if it's what you think it is?"

"I guess I'll go back. Maybe Vania can help me figure it out from there." He shrugged. "I can draw it so she can see, actually."

Jay shrugged. "Either that or show her yourself. Maybe she'd want to see her future?"

Cole shook his head immediately, the idea completely unwelcome. "No way. I don't want to make her have to see that. She already knows what she's stuck doing, being the queen and all that. She doesn't need one more thing telling her what to do."

"I doubt she sees herself as being stuck doing it, but okay." Jay fell back onto the couch. "Suit yourself, don't show her."

Cole shrugged, sitting next to Jay a lot more gently while wrestling with his thoughts. How could he convince Jay? "I mean… Well, y'know. It's not exactly fun wondering about the future, much less not knowing if you even want the future you'll have. It doesn't leave you a choice."

Jay scoffed. "Well, here's the thing." He turned and gave Cole an uncharacteristically serious look. "Think about this, Cole. If your future is to live in Shintaro– which is really awesome, honestly– with someone you love enough to spend your life with, would you accept it? It's practically a dream come true."

Cole paused, thinking about it, and hating how his thoughts always seemed to settle on one person. Internally, he blamed the fact that Vania was the only girl in Shintaro he really knew, but he still didn't like the fact that his mind always went back to her... It was always her, with her intelligent eyes and cheerful smile. What was it that had made her stick in his head so much since they'd left?

Eventually, he sighed. "I guess. It couldn't be that bad."

"You… guess?" Jay stared. "Wow, you really are against this."

Cole threw his hands up in exasperation. "Is it so bad that I don't want to leave Ninjago? We've protected this place for years. It's my home– pretty much everyone I know and love is here."

"I guess not, but…" Jay trailed off. "If there's a girl you'd die for, just to keep her safe, wouldn't you want to be there with her? Wouldn't you want to keep her safe?"

More silence fell between them, still enough to hear a pin drop. Cole struggled to sort through his emotions, and for once, Jay was quiet.

"Yeah. I guess I would."

"Then there you go." Jay leaned back against the arm of the couch. "Most of the time you can't control who you love, Cole. If there's a girl who makes you feel everything at once when you're with her, you'd want to stay. I know you'd choose her over Ninjago, and that's okay."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. It's better than just thinking."

Cole snickered. "Yeah, okay. I'll take it from you." He elbowed Jay good-naturedly. "Seeing as you know all about that."

Jay elbowed him back, grinning. "Oh yeah. I've had tons of experience with this."

"Lots of it with that one girl. So much."

"Oh, shut up! I think I can count my almost-messed-it-up-so-many-times romance as 'lots of experience.'"

"Yeah, okay," Cole laughed. "You and your fairytale romance."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jay rolled his eyes. "We're talking about your love life, not mine. Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject!"

"You just did, like, two minutes ago." Jay grinned. "Anyway. I'll ask Lloyd and Nya in the morning, you talk to Ronin about R.E.X, and we'll all get going as soon as we can before you chicken out."

Cole rolled his eyes and stood up. "Okay. Sounds good to me. For now I'm going to go to bed."

"Yes you should. Go to bed, child; it's good for you."

"I'm older than you, Jay."

"Shush! Bedtime." Jay shooed him out the door. "Go!"

"Ha! Go back to your comics, child."

"I will, thank you."

Cole rolled his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning, Jay. Thanks for the pep talk."

"No problem." Jay pointed at him meaningfully. "Oh, and Cole? FYI, I'm going to get you back for tackling me. Not tonight, but I will."

"Sure you will. Tomorrow." Cole snickered. "See you in the morning."

"Yes, see you in the morning!"

Cole chuckled as he left, not looking back as he went back to bed. He wondered... was Jay right? Maybe seeing the ice caves really was how he'd get closure.

#OLST fanfic #ninjago #ninjago fanfic #ninjago cole #ninjago jay #cole brookstone #jay walker #ninjago vania #princess vania #vania #cole x vania #vania x cole #vanillacake #vanillacakeshipping #colania #the future is bright

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bellamygateoldblog · 5 years ago

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rate best to worst parental figures of the 100

worst → best (I tend to ramble throughout this, sorry!)

19 — Nia : I mean I don’t think an explanation is needed here lol. She burned Echo’s parents alive, it’s implied she then renamed her Ash, before forcing her into the identity of another child and filling her life with assassination and espionage. Mother Of The Year?

18 — Aurora : so firstly we have Octavia- who’s existence shouldn’t be. It was so incredibly irresponsible and selfish to subject her child to this life. If the ark hadn’t been dying and Octavia never caught, would she had been expected to grow old and die under the floor? Would Bellamy have spent his life, even after Aurora was long dead, being nothing more than his sister’s keeper?

And Bellamy- to manipulate your six year old son into believing it’s his responsbility to protect and care for his sister, so engrained into his mind and sense of self that he still lives by this mantra well into his 20s, to treat Bellamy being Octavia’s whole world as normal, having him go through his life with this small girl attached to him, entirely dependent on him, placing such a heavy weight onto a child- it’s UGH. No words, just a grunt.

He gave up his education and his personal life and he became a father when he was six years old. She took his life away.

This early family dynamic is at the root of ALL of Octavia and Bellamy’s major character traits, struggles and flaws, it drives them still, it’s effects are still felt and reinforced. BOO.

17 — Raven’s unnamed mother : And here is where I go off on a rant criticising the writing more than the actual mother. Just like Octavia, Raven was raised by another child, except in this case her mother is emotionally absent and said child is the same age as her (or younger) and thus i expect their experience and maturity levels are matched through their lives. Could this have bourne some co-dependency? Perhaps, but it’s never talked about i think because Raven’s backstory is practically a Schrödinger’s cat scenario with all the retconning that goes on. Like here- we recieved some more information in season six that directly contradicts what was already established of their mother-daughter relationship: “she never used me.”

*deadpan narrator voice* She did, however, use her.

That’s if we choose to accept this one as canon and not that one, god this writing is atrocious. Raven’s mother was neglectful, so much so that the only way she ate is through a boy sharing his own rations with her. Raven believes “she only had [her] so she could trade [Raven’s] rations for moonshine.” SHE DID USE HER DAUGHTER.

Furthermore, in season one she defended her mother (context: when a remark was made about selling sex in exchange for supplies), she tells her not to “dare talk about [her] mother that way” and i get the impression she at least respected her, but in season six she straight up calls her “a drunk who sold herself for booze.” In fact in season six she goes from being deluded one second- “she never used me”- to being scarily desensitised by a harsh reality the next, the same way she was in early seasons, speaking casually of her mother’s alcoholism. WHAT IS THE TRUTH? None of what we know of Raven’s family and backstory can coexist and yet here we are, talking about Raven’s family and backstory as if the writers ever cared enough to make it actually coherent.

16 — Murphy’s unnamed mother : did love him once, very much so, but let her grief poison her and turn her against her son. Another alcoholic/addict mother to add to the collection. We don’t have a lot of details about her, but the knowledge that she blamed her vulnerable little boy who had no control over his own health for the death of her husband who made his own conscious choice is enough for me to place her down here. The source of Murphy’s lack of self worth, *implied* intrusive thoughts, and difficulty connecting with others, and just in general sometimes being a total jackass. Yeah, it’s all her fault.

15 — Clarke : like mother, like daughter. She electrocuted her child, but what I find to be remarkably horrific about this is the simple fact the device is the same one used to torture her in the beginning of the season, the same one used by the so-called ‘villains’. She felt and endured the pain herself, and then decided subjecting her own daughter to that same treatment was an acceptable and necessary choice- before leaving that decision completely redundant later by switching allegiance and having Madi lead the army afterall. Madi was dependent on Clarke, the silent agreement is trust and respect, and this one singular action showed Clarke violating everything it means to be a guardian and protector. Also, she never apologised to Madi for this, nor did their relationship experience strain as a result when both of those things absolutely should’ve happened. That’s my main gripe with the relationship, the other being that it’s bourne of the same strain of co-dependancy as the Blakes.

Something about Madi wanting to go to school and be a regular child and Clarke responding to that with an ultimatum doesn’t sit right with me. At this point nobody cares about the Commander. Nobody- literally every single grounder is asleep- and, as her mother, Clarke has the right and the power to have Madi take out that damn flame to preserve her safety and youth and she doesn’t. She continues to let Gaia train her 12 year old for a dead position. Clarke is just as much culpable for the Sheidheda fiasco as Spacekru are for putting the flame into Madi’s head in the first place. That thing should’ve been removed as soon as it was no longer necessary. Clarke’s young, she had a child practically sprung upon her, and i want to give her the benefit of the doubt- but I won’t.

14 — Abby : I had no idea where to put Abby on this list and I think i’m being too generous but she’s a tricky one because I don’t think she’s necessarily a bad mother, not compared to the others on this list anyway, but the harsher aspects of her personality along with the high-stakes environment leads to the natural break down of her relationship with her daughter. I got the impression they were once close; Clarke is seen reaching out for her mother for comfort and validation multiple times during the first couple of seasons and she’s devastated and betrayed at the knowledge of what was Abby’s culpability in Jake’s death. Over time this falls apart. Abby never harms her biological daughter, but does have a very weird rival-like relationship with her, imo this being because they’re so similar. I can see so much Abby in Clarke and vice-versa. And they clash because of it, and Abby just doesn’t have any authority over Clarke, and over time their relationship distances to a point it lacks emotional value and other characteristics that make mother-daughter dynamics unique and meaningful. They love each other, no doubt about that, Abby’s been prepared to throw others to the wolves for her daughter a few times, just as Clarke does later in life. But the relationship between Abby and her daughter is strained from the beginning of the series, which makes her position as Clarke’s mother complicated.

Upon meeting Abby, Raven instantly viewed her through an almost idolistic lens- “relax, it’s a compliment, Abby’s a badass”- making me believe she latched onto this idea of The Mother She Never Had, and Abby’s first thoughts when encountering Raven were literally that she reminded her of her own daughter- “reminds me of someone.” This dynamic is absolutely intended as mother-daughter. While a mother-figure to Raven, though, Abby has directly and intentionally caused her harm. She’s electrocuted her, she;s then tried to avoid acknowledging her wrongness for that action- Raven in this moment of torture is as betrayed as Madi was by Clarke- she’s also hit her and while in a systematically higher position than her no less. These instances automatically make me wince away from the relationship because in no way does it come across as comfortable and safe for Raven. On the other hand, they’ve had a bunch of heartfelt moments even though they’re disguised as harsh jabs taken at one another. They’ve expressed the hard truth when nobody else will in times of the other’s vulnerability.

There is a stark contrast though between how she treats Clarke and how she treats Raven and the lack of biological relation, i think, is a buffer for Abby. IMHO i think her care for Raven is conditional, but unconditional for Clarke.

I don’t know what i should be feeling about her motherly-ness.

13 — Kane : I didn’t pay much attention to Kane’s dynamics, honestly, because I just didn’t like him, but as far as I’m aware he tried to do well by Octavia, Bellamy and Clarke, somewhat self-righteously and blaming, but trying is trying and he is always framed as in the right and morally superior so I guess that’s gotta count for something. This was all ruined during season five, though, with him attempting to have every one of them killed among other things. He didn’t appear concerned or reluctant- or anything about any of them.

12 — Hannah : I think it’s safe to assume Monty had a good relationship with both of his parents pre-show. Hannah came across as misguided and manipulative towards Monty often, though, which i think came from both a place of love and desire to protect, but also, at points of most controlling, from a place of desperation and fear having already lost her husband. Honestly all I remember is not liking her very much so i’m placing her here in the middle/neutral area with Indra and Jaha.

11 — Indra : I place her here because we don’t actually have a lot of information about her relationship with Gaia. And I view her relationship with Octavia as mentor-mentee and eventually friends. They’ve had some sweet heart-to-heart moments, but i’ve always struggled to see the maternal connection. Octavia might be the daughter Gaia never was to Indra (I think Gaia might’ve even said this in the actual show?) but such a fond and pronounced memory of Aurora still exists within Octavia and with her very narrow-minded vision I don’t see her prepared to replace her or at the very least share that position with other people in her life. Indra is a stoic character, but it’s almost as if her emotional expression is reserved for Octavia. This speaks something of the closeness of their bond, but also tells us the climate between her and Gaia is more distant and troubled. There’s love there though- she was, afterall, planning to die so Gaia could live. Is this the only intended motherly sacrifice we’ve seen on the show?

The Blodreina of it all, while on one hand strengthened one dynamic, shattered the other. Indra is someone Octavia respected, trusted and listened to. I have to believe she was in the position to guide and advice her through the entireity of the time jump, but instead we saw her stand by and let Octavia slip further and further into her own darkness before turning on her in the most critical moment. And she might’ve tried and nothing worked, but really? You want me to try to make sense of this myself? The writers were on a quest to villainise Octavia and the fall of this relationship was a product rather than an intention.

10 — Jaha : he created a treasure, i’ll give him that. Admittedly we don’t know an awful lot about Wells or about his relationship with his father, but we do know he risked his own life to take care of Clarke, similar to Bellamy and to Raven who both also came to Earth to protect someone they loved. Both of those examples had terrible parents, so Wells’ goodness doesn’t necessarily mean we can credit Jaha, and as far as i can remember Wells never actually defended his father against the angry delinquents. Does him choosing to follow Clarke over staying with his father in space mean he must really love Clarke, or could it ellude to a certain father-son relationship not being as comfortable as it could be? When Jaha’s handed another child later on, he stops Kane giving him extra food because of something along the lines of: ‘he needs to learn the world’ so I think his parenting style may be more of the tough love and respect type. Wells is practical and strives to maintain order and squash rebelliousness thus his butting heads with the rest of the delinquents, but he has people’s best interests at heart (letting Clarke hate him rather than Abby, for example) and those are very Jaha characteristics i can see he inherited/observed and imitated.

9 — Monty and Harper : we only have a handful of information on this. Jordan has fond memories of them, but so does Octavia and Bellamy about their mother and we all know the truth about that one. Jordan is a backwards Octavia. Monty and Harper were all he had growing up, he wasn’t forced into hiding, but I can’t imagine it was a fun existence for him to grow up in isolation- watching the faces of other children behind the glass and never being able to wake them up to play. BUT his childhood is different to Octavia’s in a few ways that make a big difference and land them further up the list: 1) he’s clearly educated, 2) he has two loving parents even if they are all he has, 3) he has knowledge about the Earth, it’s story and the people from it so has a much stronger and more complex understanding of morality, meaning he’s less judgemental, and he’s also better prepared to interact with others by the time this oppurtunity arises.

They get points for leaving him in Bellamy’s hands, but are automatically relegated a few places for making Clarke his god mother.

8 — Bellamy : yes Bellamy is on this list because yes he is Octavia’s father and nothing you say matters. So every child he’s ever ‘adopted’ has died, but he tries his best to think of these children when nobody else was ever doing that. Octavia’s damaged and her more toxic traits have a tendancy to become amplified in times of high emotion, especially in the vicinity of her brother, but he was just as much a victim in all of this as she was and Aurora is entirely to blame for the disaster that is the Blake sibling relationship (I mean neither of them even had a frame of reference of what siblings look like, how were they to know how to relate to one another?).

He tries. He’s more equipped to and committed than most on this show to helping vulnerable people, he’s proven time and time again he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect and love his sister, he gets it wrong sometimes, his efforts can be misguided and recieved differently than he might’ve intended them to be. But the facts are: he understands what it means to be a parent, he knows what it’s like to lose their child, he knows what it’s like to pour himself into someone else and hope for the best of them.

7 — Luna : she founded a clan and those people were, in a sense, her children. She kept them safe for years, it was peaceful, life was simple and fulfilling. Clarke observed her interactions with the actual children that lived there and they loved her, she was good with them. Her people respected her.

6 — Monty’s father : yet another heroic father to add to this fucking collectio-

5 — Ginger dad : in one of the most heartbreaking scenes on this show to date, he does the David Miller thing, or i guess David Miller does The Ginger Dad Thing, and sacrifices his own life to pump more air into his child’s lungs.

4 — Murphy’s unnamed father : in a place you’ll be executed for petty crime, risking it all and stealing something as valuable as medicine just to give your son a chance at more life is commendable. He loved his son (literally) to death. It’s his memory and his sacrifice, like with Raven and Clarke, that pushes him to survive.

3 — Jake : I think the show has demonstrated quite nicely that Clarke is a daddy’s girl. Jake The Good Engineer, Jake The Good Father, Jake The Hero. He inspires Clarke so much she goes to prison for it. And, like Sinclair-Raven, Clarke’s consciousness dreams him up whenever she’s in an intensely stressful situation and/or feeling hopeless about life and void of direction in general. This was a comfortable and secure bond, and his death marked the beginnings of Clarke’s entire story.

2 — David : easily one of the best fathers on the show, i mean he gave up the oppurtunity of claiming a spot in the bunker just so he could give his son better odds of surviving, he gave up the possibility of being in the bunker with his son. Another fatherly sacrifice for the collection. He loves Miller unconditionally, even when Miller himself feels like a disappointment.

1 — Sinclair : this was an obvious retcon, but still good as long as I don’t think about it. A cute father-figure, the mentor that took a chance on her, the first (or second) person to pick her. Everything about this relationship is sweet and healthy, a nice diversion from the usually exhaustingly complex dynamics. Their relationship was so meaningful, in fact, that it was him who Raven’s dying mind manifested to encourage her to go on living. 10/10.

(and don’t think i don’t peep that bad/cruel mothers, good/heroic fathers pattern here. These writers WACK…)

#the 100 #rosie tag: share with the group #the 100: we ask we answer

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castlevania-afterdark-imagines · 6 years ago

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Trevor/FemSO, getting tipsy and frisky

"You did that on purpose," Trevor hissed under his breath. His arm was still reaching across the table, thumb pressed forward in what had been a perfectly noble effort to catch a drop of ale that had escaped the corner of your mouth. You had repaid the gesture by quickly locking your lips around his thumb, giving an unnecessary suck to clean it off before leaning back into your chair. You gave him nothing in reply, shrugging and waiting for his next move. It took everything not to laugh as he very slowly retracted his arm, gripping his mug a little too tightly, and eyeing you over not unlike he did a new hunting target.

What happened next you could count on your own heart beats. One, his wrist snapped up and he downed the rest of his mug. Two, he'd reached across to pluck yours from your relenting hand and finished that as well. Five, there were coins being tossed onto the table, probably enough for your drinks and three more. By eight he'd adjusted his cloak back on his shoulders, hauled you up by your arm, and was dragging you towards the stairs leading to the rented rooms above the tavern. You grinned cheekily at the couple of patrons who stared as Trevor herded you by, even giving a wave to one who merely raised his glass in the universal "good luck kid" gesture.

Once you reached the stairs you slipped your arm out of his grasp, he hadn't been holding you very hard as you were more than willing to go where he lead. With a fit of giggles you bolted up the stairs two at a time, giving a small squeal of delight as you heard him growl playfully, fingers grasping for the hem of your shirt but letting it slip through. You were half way up before you risked a glance over your shoulder. He'd waited at the bottom, a hand on the banister, with a shit eating grin on his face. He hunched over a little, clearly hamming it up for your amusement, which only made you twitter into laughter again as you turned to face up the stairs again and gave him a nice view of you wagging your arse at him. When you heard the creak of the banister as he launched forward you bolted as best you could, heart thudding in your ears as you tried to reach the landing before he could grab you. You barely managed to keep upright the rest of the way, using your hand to catch yourself on the wall as you launched yourself off the last step. Your feet never quite hit the floor though as you felt muscular arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against Trevor's chest.

"Gotcha," he huffed in your ear, relentlessly kissing up your neck as you squawked, wiggling in his grasp and laughing hard enough for some tears to fall. He carried you like that the rest of the way to your room, your toes brushing the carpet as you tried to turn around to return his short pecks along your cheeks. He only let you down when you both reached the door to your room, to dig around in his pockets for the key. Once you had your footing you turned to face him, cupping his scruffy face between your palms to pepper his face with kisses, everywhere but his mouth which tried to chase yours between laughs.

When he finally managed to fish the key out of his pocket his left hand returned to your body, holding you by the waist while he reached behind you to open the door and none so gracefully shove you back into the room. You sauntered back, letting him by so he could remove his cloak and toss it on the floor near the unlit fireplace. You took the responsibility of going back to firmly shut the door and lock it. No sooner had the bolt turned when you felt him behind you again, his right arm braced on the door over your shoulder.

"Trying to keep somebody out?" he teased, pressing his forehead against the back of your head while his left hand gently slid over your waist, nudging you back until you were leaning against him. You sighed into the warmth, feeling his lightly panting breath rustle your hair and smelling the earthy scent that was distinctly Trevor. Like a wild thing, plucked out of the forest from his pine brush lair with just enough stale ale on his breath to keep him perfectly human. "You know that won't work on the noise..."

"True, but it will keep anybody from interrupting," you pointed out, pressing your hips back to feel his stiffening cock nestle right in the cleft of your ass. He groaned softly, the hand on your waist squeezing a bit before sliding over your stomach and up over your breastbone. The arm that had been on the door finally reached down to grip your hipbone, holding you steady as he ground up against you. He'd lowered his head to kiss your shoulder over your shirt, giving a soft growl in approval when you leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder, going pliant in his hands to let him steer your body how he liked. Your own hands found their way to his head, fiddling with the mess of hickory colored hair while pressing your chest up into his hand. When he finally moved to grab handful of your left breast you moaned, feeling him punctuate the motion by stilling his hips and pulling yours forcibly against him. He could bruise you if he wanted to, probably break you, but he only held you still long enough for you to start panting, small breaths turning into whimpers when his right hand moved to press between your legs.

"I still have to pay you back for that trick downstairs," he muttered against your ear, left hand releasing your breast to reach up and run his thumb over your quivering lower lip. "Riling me up in a crowded room, surely you can't have thought that would go over very well."

Any retort you had forming about how this was exactly what "going over well" looked like in your mind was forgotten as he pulled you back from the door and positively tossed you onto the single bed. You landed on your stomach, huffing out a breath and shaking your head to toss your hair out of your face. You opened your mouth to complain only to immediately snap it shut in a barely contained moan when you felt a hearty slap across your right ass cheek. Whipping your head around to glare at him you felt the expression wipe from your face almost instantly. Your disaster of a man was giving you the largest lopsided grin, already trying to fumble out of his shirt before you could roll over.

"Take off yours," he ordered, his outfit was much more complicated to remove though lord knows he'd become a pro at it since meeting you. You made a show of flopping onto your back, dragging your hands over your chest to the hem of your shirt. He was already down to his trousers by the time you dragged the fabric over your head, shaking out your hair and collapsing among the covers. If Trevor was trying to look unimpressed he was doing a sorry job of it, finally breaking his "frustrated" expression into chuckles before he slowly reached for a dagger on his belt. "Well if you're going to be a pain about it..."

As much as the idea of him literally ripping the clothes from your body sent pleasant tremors over your skin you both knew you couldn't afford to replace everything come to morning. With a groan you struggled out of the rest of your clothes quickly, kicking them unceremoniously off your legs while scooting back up the bed to lie properly, giving him the needed to room to crawl over you once you were completely bare. You parted your legs so he could crawl between them, nuzzling his stubble covered chin over your stomach and up your chest as he went. By the time he made his way up to drunkenly claim your mouth you's wrapped your legs around him, fisted your hands in his hair, willing to have as much of your skin touch as possible.

For hours he shaped you as he liked. His hand between your legs could force you to bend your spine like a chapel archway. When he drove himself into you he knew for days later your legs would ache from how your knees had been forced to nearly meet your ears. He left with his own marks as well, kitten scratches down over his broad shoulders and bite marks around his neck and jaw. The convenience of your monster hunting profession the perfect excuse, most of the time, for the bruises you both would bare for the next week.

The last coherent thought you had before falling asleep, body still shuddering and aching from the crown of your head to your toes, was that you hoped the owner of the tavern didn't notice the new crack in the headboard come morning.

The Ao3 link, for those interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764178

-Mod Soviet

#trevor belmont #fem reader #mod soviet #imagines #Castlevania

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inazumine · 6 years ago

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Reflections on EnGou - Ultimate BROTP and Otherwise

So, I’ve been rewatching bits and pieces of the old series and reflecting on a lot, but… can we just talk about Gouenji and Endou for a second?

(Warning, long ass post ahead. Read if you dare)

GouEn is the first ship I ever shipped in Inazuma Eleven, and whether or not you see them as an OTP, more of a BROTP, or even a NOTP (that would be real hard but to each his own), you can’t really deny how important they are to each other and Endou’s role in Gouenji’s character arc.

I’m no master analyst and I really can’t form coherent thoughts worth a damn, but I just really wanted to write this and get my feelings out about them so here we go!

In the beginning of the series, Endou’s primary reason for interacting with new people is recruiting people for the soccer club. Raimon’s future looks bleak and Endou won’t let it just fall to pieces, so he’s aggressively recruiting anyone he can to fill their roster. Soccer is something that Endou loves, and ultimately he’s trying to find people he can play and enjoy soccer with, but there’s some desperation to his recruitment too. He really doesn’t care how interested someone is, or how much they’ve actually played soccer, they just need to be there as a warm body and he’ll make them like soccer and things will work out somehow.

Then, Gouenji comes in.

Forewarning, I’m trying to only put observations of canon in to this, but I have some headcanons about Gouenji and his mental state so bear with me.

Gouenji, I’d say, is a loner by nature. It’s not that he doesn’t like having friends or doesn’t want to make them, he just doesn’t actively push for it. He’s a man of few words and only speaks when he feels necessary. However, on his introduction, he seems pretty closed off from interacting with Endou, and pretty much everybody. It’s mostly Endou’s mention of soccer that tips Gouenji off, but I think context is important here. Gouenji’s a teenage boy who’s experienced the passing of his mother, believes that he’s guilty of putting his sister in an indefinite coma, and gets little emotional support from his increasingly distant father. He has very little in terms of a support system (thank God for Fuku-san), and has just abandoned his team in one of the biggest matches of the season, while moving to a new town where he knows no one. On top of all this, most of these events happen within what has to be a few months of each other, and Gouenji’s made to deal with it pretty much all by himself.

Soccer should be an emotional outlet and a way to have fun, but for Gouenji in the first part of season 1, it’s something that causes him to feel guilt. It’s his fault that Yuuka’s in a coma. He left Kidokawa for no good reason without telling anyone, so it’s his fault they lost. So, Gouenji decides to punish himself, and stop playing soccer. Why should he be able to have fun and play soccer while Yuuka suffers?

Gouenji’s depressed, and he internalizes a lot of negative emotions. He’s prickly, not willing to open up to people or make friends, and isolates himself on purpose. He has a thing for punishing himself, and as we see later, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to come to his own defense, not necessarily because he doesn’t care what people say, but because he doesn’t think they’re wrong.

Okay, so back to Endou. Endou meets Gouenji, and while Endou is a friendly person and genuinely cares about people, I daresay he doesn’t really act very empathetic towards Gouenji, at least initially. This is definitely not on purpose, more of a result of Endou’s one-track mind and general tactlessness in the beginning of season 1. Endou goes on and on trying to bring Gouenji back in to playing soccer, because if he can kick a ball like that, of course he should be playing, despite Gouenji being standoffish and uncomfortable. He doesn’t know anything about him, and ends up treating Gouenji like a phenomenon, some dude who’s going to come in and help solve the soccer team’s problems. This is quickly subverted when Endou and Gouenji start to see each other differently.

Gouenji see’s Endou as less of a nuisance and more a guy with a lot of passion and a good heart. He sees what he loves about soccer, and someone who enjoys it to the fullest, and it’s hard to keep denying himself. Endou accepts that Gouenji has his reasons for not playing and starts to see that Gouenji is a good guy that deserves to be left alone when he says he wants to be, but he wants to understand Gouenji and help him where he can. The key here is that Endou knows Gouenji isn’t happy not playing soccer, so while he doesn’t try to recruit him, he still tries to nudge Gouenji back towards it.

And that’s the beautiful thing. Because of Endou bringing soccer back in to Gouenji’s life, and giving Gouenji someone to lean on, Gouenji finally begins to lift a lot of those burdens off his being. He makes friends in Raimon, smiles a lot more, and opens up to others a lot more. Gouenji starts to feel happy again, and it’s because Endou is willing and ready to care about him.

(I almost damn cried when I saw this opening again and caught this, because it’s Gouenji and Endou and it’s Endou’s casual kindness that pulls Gouenji up and starts all this waaaahhhhhhh)

It’s this emotional investment in each other that grows in to a deep friendship built on trust and care. Later on in the series, Gouenji gets confronted with being pulled away from soccer again and again, and each time we see that it tears him up inside. He doesn’t let anyone know what’s really bothering him, except for one person: Endou. During Aliea, Gouenji can’t tell Endou what’s up, but he feels bad enough that he’s leaving again that he says sorry, and even tears up. None the less, Endou hides his sadness and tries to cheer Gouenji up, because he trusts that he’ll come back no matter what. Gouenji trusts the others to carry on and keep winning until he comes back, and he trusts he’ll have a place to come back to.

The real kicker is in season 3, when things get so much sweeter. Gouenji’s almost ripped away from soccer one more time, and we see how much this means to Endou. Gouenji hides his emotions because he doesn’t want to make anyone worry, but Endou’s so in tune by now that he notices something’s up, and Gouenji almost leaves without telling him anything, but he just can’t lie, not to Endou.

Now, we see Endou emotionally distraught, for a lot of reasons, and I kind of want to compare this to when Kazemaru left in season 2. During Aliea, Endou gets monumentally depressed because not only does Kazemaru leave, but Kazemaru leaves of his own accord, and Endou’s questioning his ability as a friend and as a captain. This, a long with the pressure, breaks him down and leaves him without direction. Here, instead we see that it’s clear Gouenji doesn’t want to leave, and that he’s trying to convince himself and everyone else that this is okay, but it’s not, not to Gouenji and not to Endou. Here, Endou is sad, but he’s frustrated on his and Gouenji’s behalf, and this has less to do with leaving Inazuma Japan, but more the fact he’s leaving Endou and soccer behind while trying to act like it’s not hurting him.

Endou goes as far as trying to appeal to Gouenji’s father, and it’s heartbreaking to hear Endou’s voice crack while he struggles not to cry, and this is the only time something like this happens in the series. What’s important is that while he’s talking, Endou doesn’t bring up how much Inazuma Japan needs him, but how happy soccer makes Gouenji and how he can’t take him away from the thing he literally lives for. Endou wants Gouenji to be happy, and he wants him there when they take on the world. So, it’s not a one-way street, and you can see that they appreciate and rely on each other through the rest of the season.

Gouenji goes through a journey from season 1 to season 3 of opening himself back up to people and soccer, and Endou is the catalyst for it. You can see how Gouenji becomes more talkative and expressive as the series goes on, and we have Endou to thank for it. This isn’t to deprive Gouenji of agency in his own mental affairs, but to emphasize how important Endou was in helping Gouenji start this process of healing.

It’s also why I think we see Gouenji play such a big role in helping others solve their problems. Gouenji by himself is really observant and cares about others, but he notes that it’s because of Endou that he makes it a point to look in to others issues. With Fubuki in season 2, his and Gouenji’s talk really says a lot. Gouenji flat out says he’s scared and imperfect; he lives with the fear of not being enough and hurting others along the way, and even though it’s something he can’t get over super quickly, he knows Endou and the team will have a place for him, no matter how many times he’s abandoned them or not been enough. And in season 3 when Gouenji gets all prickly again and starts not being himself, falling back down in to the Gouenji rabbit hole? It’s Endou who notices what’s up and decides to confront him. Gouenji learns from Endou’s habits, and he becomes someone who speaks up to help his team.

“You’re the one who taught me that.” - Gouenji being sweet as hell

Just in general, GouEn moments in season 3 are really sweet. The fist bumps get real emotional, and Gouenji starts initiating emotional GouEn moments a lot more as the episodes go by, which just rips me apart internally. In season 3 especially you see a lot of Inazuma Japan trying to help Endou block the goal and carry some of that burden, and Gouenji, more than once, tells Endou he’ll score goals to do just that. It’s not just to help them win, it’s to make sure he helps Endou carry that responsibility. He could have just not said anything, as we know Gouenji’s a man of few words, and could’ve just let the goals speak for themselves, but he chose to say it out loud and reassure Endou, so you know to Gouenji it means something more.

I think it’s easy here to say Endou is Gouenji’s rock, but I think Gouenji is more Endou’s rock. Gouenji is someone who brings Endou back to earth (the irony) when Endou starts thinking too deep and not being himself, and is the constant Endou relies on to keep going in a lot of aspects. I’d rather call Endou Gouenji’s buoy. Throughout the series, Gouenji threatens to and does slip off the edge back in to deep water, his guilt, his shame, and his tendency for self-punishment, but Endou is always there to pull him back up and keep him afloat and let him breathe new air.

Anyway, I think I’ve done enough rambling about things everyone already knows. I won’t go in to Go but long story short, it’s another situation of Gouenji punishing himself to set things right his own way, but trusting Endou (and the others) enough to hold down the fort, and no matter how guilty Gouenji feels after all is said and done, Endou welcomes him back immediately with open arms.

This was really messy and dumb but I had to get my thoughts down somewhere. We don’t have a whole bunch of GouEn moments in Ares/Orion as of yet, but I have hope and I’ll keep waiting for them. It’s almost impossible to keep these two apart for too long, so it’s only a matter of time.

#GouEn #inazuma eleven #oh god first post on tumblr jeezum #hope i didn't mess it up #inazuma 11 #ie11 #engou

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shadowsof-thenight · 6 years ago

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Had a voice: Chapter eight

Story summary: For two years you had let him dictate your every move. Dictate your time, your friends, your work. Everything, literally. And for the life of you, you could not understand why you’d done so.

Now, here you were. In a beautiful but still strange city that had never become your own. And you were all alone. It was time to take back your life.

Ship: BuckyXreader

Words: 1794

Warnings: a little angst and a lot of groundwork for future chapters.

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one. Between being sick and needing to change everything I had in mind for this chapter, it took a little more time. And this month time is a little scarce. Work is crazy, positively crazy and add that to the usual hectic december month and I am fearing for my sanity.

I hope you all like it! Next chapter should be out this weekend, if the changes can be kept to a minimum haha.

***

Masterlist Story Masterlist ***

A week had past when, finally, everything changed.

You'd been asleep in the chair next to Wanda's bed much like every other day this past week. Clint was still fixed on the other side. He had left her bedside even less often than you. And after the second day of Wanda's stint in the hospital, Vision had joined you. He had been called back from his mission and became a permanent fixture in the room ever since. He'd only left shortly, once, for a debriefing. Tony had made it mandatory, since all and any information could be vital.

Which perhaps had been a good thing, for he had not heard the sounds of distress that had awoken you and Clint from your restless slumber. A gurgling sound and panicked trashing had made you open your eyes. Clint had quickly jumped up from his seat and called for a doctor, which prompted hurried movement outside the door.

You had placed a hand on Wanda's forehead as you whispered to her that everything would be all right. Everything would be okay now, now that she was waking up. Realising she was trying to breath over the breathing tube, you spoke in hushed calm tones, informing her that someone would be removing it soon. Her eyes were wide in terror and cold sweat formed on her body as she tried to keep still. Her whole body was tensed up, as she fought the tube that had been breathing for her the past week.

Soon the nurses ushered you and Clint out of the room, while they removed the tube and checked her vitals.

Clint quickly began pacing in front of the door, while you stood frozen in place. Within minutes all the avengers that were not currently on a mission, had found their way to meet you.

Natasha hugged Clint close to her, whispering in his ear, helping him relax. Vision hovered next to you, quiet and Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Tony choose to walk into the room to ask the doctors how Wanda was doing.

Steve, Bucky, Rhodey and Bruce were on a recon mission for the past two days and while they would receive notice of the change in Wanda's condition, it would be some time before they could be here. Meanwhile Pepper was called out of a meeting she'd had on the other side of the city and joined everyone as quick as she could. Speed limits had probably not applied to her.

While not much was clear about the state that Wanda was in, everyone felt a sense of relief that she had woken up. They had all feared a different outcome, even if none had spoken it aloud.

When Tony stepped out of the room a few minutes later, a smile was plastered on his face. Too big a smile and it immediately didn't feel right to you. Wary you waited for him to speak. Your gaze met Natasha's and you noticed the same apprehension in her eyes. Something was off. You shuffled in place and clenched your hands, impatiently waiting for him to say what it was.

“She is awake and her vitals are good” Tony spoke, the fake smile still in place.

“But?” you asked, surprised by the sound of your own voice. It was strong and certain. As if you knew what you were doing. Which was so far from the truth it was almost comical. Except, not really.

“She seems to suffer from some memory loss” Tony said, the smile fading finally.

“Temporary?” Clint wanted to know. Beside you, Vision hung his head and retreated ever so slightly. Quickly you took his hand in yours, squeezing it in reassurance. His or yours, you weren't sure.

“We don't know yet, possibly. Most likely,” Tony said solemnly, “We've called T'Challa for help and hopefully we can figure this out quickly”

A chill went down your spine as those final words left his mouth. If they could not figure this out without Wakanda's help, did that mean there was more than he was telling you? As far as you knew, memory loss after a head injury was not uncommon. It would not require specialists, usually.

Again your gaze sought out Natasha and once more she seemed to share your worries. The group quickly began a debate on who should go in first, as you scurried off after Tony, who seemed to think he could sneak off.

“What are you not saying?” you demanded to know, as he paused at the elevator. His whole body seemed to tense up as those words reached his ears and he turned around ever so slowly. His gaze was directed towards the ground as he deliberately appeared to avoid your eyes.

He sighed, but remained silent as he seemingly debated with himself what to say to you. You gave him some space to figure it out, but were not planning on giving too much. You needed to know.

“It's not that anything appears to be different” he finally said, “But her abilities stem from the mind and there is just too much we don't know. We don't want to mess this up”

Tony looked up to meet your eyes as he finished the sentence, possibly to show his sincerity. A thing you didn't doubt with him. In return you just nodded, accepting his explanation.

“You'll tell me if something is wrong, right?” you asked softly, just as you were turning around to go back to the room at the end of the hall. You glanced over your shoulder, to see him and he nodded solemnly. Satisfied with that answer, you walked away from him swiftly. You were off to see what the rest had agreed upon.

As you got closer you could hear a heated argument between the whole group, apparently they could not come to an agreement. You walked closer, thinking of who you thought should go in. You wanted to be the one to go in, but weren't sure if that was the best choice in this matter.

“Perhaps it should be Clint” you voiced as soon as you got into hearing distance. The arguments stopped and they looked at you in surprise.

“Why?” Sam wanted to know. He didn't sound angry, just confused.

“He was the first person she connected too. Perhaps he could be again” you said and Natasha smiled, agreeing with you. This did not surprise you at all, she would obviously always choose Clint. It had quickly become clear to you just how close they were. Vision began to protest, but Sam also nodded in agreement and hushed Vision. Sam explained to Vision that he could see her next, but that Wanda needed to come first and not our own emotions.

Clint was in her room only minutes, before coming back out looking defeated. Wanda had asked to be left alone for the time being. With her memory gone, the faces and new information had quickly overwhelmed her. She'd grown tired and wanted to just be alone.

This instantly prompted Natasha to grab your hand and lead you off, deeper into the building. You followed her, without question. With the adrenaline of Wanda waking up wearing off quickly, you found yourself becoming drowsy.

“I think it's time you slept in a bed” she said, as she pulled you into a room. After explaining that the room was vacant and you would not be imposing on anyone, you eventually agreed. Natasha brought you some new sweats to sleep in and left you alone.

It was strange, to hear the silence that overcame you in this empty room. The past week you had lived and breathed Wanda and now suddenly, here you were. Alone in a quiet room, with the comfort that Wanda was going to be okay. Physically at least. She just didn't know who you were.

As you moved a hand into your hair, you realised it needed washing and you headed into the adjoining bathroom. Standing before the mirror the state that you were in shocked you. Deep dark circles under your eyes, a pale complexion and hollowed out cheeks. You really needed to start taking better care of yourself. Otherwise you;d be of no use to Wanda in her recovery.

And taking care of you, began with a shower, followed by a well deserved rest in a comfortable bed instead of a chair.

You woke hours later, confused. The window to your left, showed you that it was dark out. The window was large and gave a beautiful view of a wooded area. This was definitely not your room.

It took you a few seconds to remember where you were and then you tried to figure out what had awoken you in the first place. It could not have been enough sleep, since you were struggling to keep your eyes open. A soft knock on the door, gave you the answer. Smoothing out your hair a little, you called for whoever it was to come in.

“Hey” the deep gruff voice of Bucky greeted you.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, near your feet and looked at you with a sympathetic smile on his face. He obviously came to check on you and that thought made you smile.

It did however pose a question. How were you feeling? A big part of you was happy that Wanda had woken up and seemed to be in good health. However, she had also been your lifeline in this world and now she didn't know you any more, which was hard and confusing.

“I didn't expect you back so soon” you said, trying to give yourself some extra time to come up with a coherent answer for Bucky.

“We came back as soon as we could, once we heard” he explained and you just nodded.

“Did Steve go to see her yet?” Steve thought of Wanda as a little sister and Wanda had told you how protective he had been in the past. Her waking up must have been a huge relief to him.

“Yes, she didn't recognise him either, but she was willing to talk to him. So there's that” Bucky said optimistically.

“Right, that's good I think”

“Why don't we go get you something to eat?” he then asked and as if on queue you stomach grumbled. You weren’t even sure how many hours it had been since your last meal. Some food would not be a bad idea. Besides you had already established that you needed to take better care of yourself. Food did seem like an integral part of that.

Chapter 9

Tags: @gracelynn318

#Had a voice #MCUfanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fanfiction #james buchanon barnes

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modernart2012 · 7 years ago

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An Arrow Can Only Be Shot Forward (Unless it's a Boomerang Arrow)

For @lostindarkplaces Happy belated birthday!

(At AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11445942)

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Katherine, called Kate. Kate was on the cusp of full adulthood when she met a man who would change her life, but only after she had knocked his around too. They met in a war, when he was running and she was just trying to be a hero. He gave her his nom de guerre to use, because she embodied everything he tried to be as a hero. She was worthy and so he dubbed her “Hawkeye”. After, when the war was over and they were both heroes using the name Hawkeye, they were friends and equals. Which isn't quite right, because he was an Unmitigated Disaster and she was Not As Much of A Disaster but still Equal. This isn't that story, though, because frankly, they got up to (Mis)Adventures and those were WILD.

”Clint, boomerang arrow. Why?”

Clint looked up from where he was fiddling with the eponymous boomerang arrow. He signed, grinning, “Kate, I think I figured out how to fix the boomerang arrow!” He waved the arrow around by the shaft.

Kate, having learned from the last time(s) there were boomerang arrows around backed away a (possibly) safe distance (read, an arms length away). She signed back, “Clint wear your hearing aids, F-F-S.”

Clint frowned, “Can't. Stark has them because I keep hearing this high pitched squealing.”

Kate stared at him, unamused, “Dot. Dot. Dot. Like, maybe the squeal of a metal tire rim against wooden floors?”

Clint stared, then squinted, “Did you just sign ‘Dot. Dot. Dot.’?”

“That's what you focus on, not the fact Lucky’s been chewing on a tire rim?! T-E-T-N-U-S!!!” Kate threw up her hands in defeat.

Clint gesticulated back, “I thought that was a random but specific example! Nat does that a lot!”

Now, the thing is, the Hawkeyes are remarkably remarkably human. When your normal standard is machines, robots, super-powered individuals (of various varieties) and Gods and Creatures of Legend and Myth, not to mention plain old aliens, the fact that they're just human is easily forgotten. By which, you should understand that they are prone to forgetting nearby hazards such as (but not limited to): a one-eyed dog dragging around its latest chew toy (a SUVs metal tire rim, slightly rusted), a half-full coffee cup (cold and from last night) precariously placed on the edge of Clint's fletching bench, and most importantly a half fiddled with boomerang arrow.

Which brings us to the salient event: Kate signs sloppily and wildly to which Clint reacts by signing back sloppily, and in doing so waves the boomerang arrow right in front of Lucky, who for all his intelligence is still just a dog, and who then leaps for the arrow. Kate reacts by trying to catch Lucky by the collar (ineffectively), but they all still end up knocking into a surprised Clint (still holding a boomerang arrow). They all go falling back, and instead of landing on Clint's fletching bench, they land in well-manicured gardens.

(Elsewhere, in a rather worn apartment in BedStuy a mug of coffee spins and falls to the floor, shattering. There is no one there to mourn the loss.)

Kate would like to have it formally On Record that she Stuck the Landing, thank you very much. A perfect front tuck and roll, textbook if anything. Kate wants this On Record because it is Quantifiable Proof that she is the Better Hawkeye, and it is Irrefutable. Mainly because while Clint also Stuck the Landing, he did so in a topiary. A very nice topiary, but still. It has A Hawkeye stuck in it and that is Problematic. (It also has a Lucky stuck in the topiary, but that’s less of a problem because the dog gets himself unstuck after a bit of wriggling. Clint, however, does not.)

Kate is thankful Clint can’t see her, because it means she can keep up a running commentary while extracting Hawkeye from a shrub and not get any lip back, “F-F-S, Hawkeye, can you ever not do things like this? First with the War and the dead, then the dog, and the building, and the whole Bros thing, and then the kids, and more kids, and the War and more dead - do I have to go on? I mean, honestly, where’s the Hawkeye who bluffed a God? Where’s that Hawkeye?” She planted her foot on the body of the shrub and tugged backwards, hands fisted in Clint’s tactical vest, “Though, the Time with Santa was awesome- we took out Santa. He is plausibly a villain, and we just roasted him. Definitely ranks on the list of escapades. Why don’t we have more of those adventures?” She pauses to reset her foot more securely, “And another thing - we are cutting you off from the pizza when we get back, oh my Gods. We will invest in cooking classes and exercise proper nutrition -”

Kate would like to preemptively deny any and all accusations that she squeaked when Clint finally was removed from the shrub. She would also like to deny that she shrieked at the mass of well dressed people staring at them from the gravel path. Neither of those two events happened. At all. There is no evidence, you cannot prove anything. There are not witnesses.

The crowd of people don’t count.

Of course this is all moot by the fact that Clint climbs back to his feet, smiles broadly, and exclaims, “Hello!” The crowd stares back blankly, a few awkwardly smiling back. The general atmosphere is uncomfortable as the group stares and Clint (plus Kate who fails to take over about the time Clint starts beaming because that always promises shenanigans, for which she will never forgive herself) stare back. When it becomes clearly apparent that Clint isn’t going to do squat to salvage the situation, Kate steps forth to offer, “We’re Hawkeye. Sorry about your topiary.”

This does not stop the strange and uncomfortable looks pointed their way; a man with a massive, dark, curly wig addresses the (slightly, it’s really not much, but still) less ornately dressed man next to him, “Qu'est ce qu'elle dit?”

The second man stiffly clears his throat, before responding, “Je vous demande pardon, Majesté, je ne le sais pas. Ça ressemble à ... Anglais?

For once in her life Kate is thankful to the sodden sack of shit that is her biological father for forcing her to take French lessons. She turns to Clint and signs, “Aw, flèche Boomerang, non.”

In all fairness, the subsequent chase was less of a premeditated and agreed upon event and more of a ‘Oh-look-one-of-those-tiny-fluffy-rat-dogs-just-started-barking-at-Lucky-and-then-took-off-Oh-hells-Lucky-chased-the-damn-dog-come-back-dog-oh-shit-they’ve-sent-mens-after-us-oh-Gods-run-for-your-life-catch-that-dog-not-the-other-one-shit-twat-dodge-zig-zag-serpentine-jump-run-run-reindeer-Clint-this-is-not-the-time-to-sign-Christmas-songs-aggggggghk!’ (The last bit was from toppling into a fountain. Everyone has those days, okay. No judgement.)

Though honestly, the full 5 minute chase was delightfully full of highlights - trampling on the back of ladies dresses (who in their right mind had a cape built into their dress?!) and jerking them backwards or straight to the floor, yelling (lots of French, Kate was learning lots of curses and was looking forward to the next opportune moment to use them), toppling some poor person headfirst through a door in a highly mirrored hall, and knocking over a latrine and the unfortunate soul perched on said latrine. It also became increasingly apparent, during these 5 minutes, that they were in fact in Versailles. America had taken Kate once, and certain things sort of stuck with you. Like the amount of gold. And the highly mirrored hall. (Not the latrines. Those were new old.)

Of course, none of this really registered until about the time both Hawkeyes and dogs were cornered in a particularly elaborate bedroom, complete with guardrail. While it was ever increasingly apparent that the uniformed men were not well trained soldiers and either Clint or Kate could probably take them blindfolded and without coffee, these sort of altercations tended not to happen in historic monuments without a Good Reason. Or a Billy or Wanda or Strange On Hand, in that order of preference. Which would have been all well and good, had some enterprising fool not taken their cornering as an opportunity to whack both Hawkeyes over the head with something heavy. (Kate would like to have it on record that her last coherent thought was, “How Rude.” This is, somehow, Incredibly Historically Important and Need to Be Recorded for Posterity.)

Kate wakes up in a Cloud of Perfume and Lace. No, like literally. She is being sprayed down by perfume and the lace frills on the ladies spraying her down tickled her nose enough to wake her in annoyance.

“Hey, hey - what -” She struggles up off the divan, suddenly in a only shift over her undergarments, only to have a sweet cake stuffed into her mouth by one of the many hands in the cloud surrounding her. It’s delightfully cakey, and chocolatey, but too much for her cake-hole and difficult to chew and swallow politely. By then it was entirely too late and she was half in some Gods Cursed contraption, some thing with lacing being yanked on and another apparatus that looked more like it belonged in a dungeon than in the ornate room Kate was presently in.

“Wait, what - hang on, that’s not - oh come on, ack - ow, what is this?!” Another strong tug of the lacing thing and Kate yelped harder. “Torture is not legal under the Geneva Convention you know!”

Not that it helped any, all the women kept fluttering like so many silk-clothed butterflies, except one who sharply rapped Kate on the wrist with a fan, “Mademoiselle, eef you keep wreeggling wee weel neveer get you drezzed en tiime to meet with zee King.” The lady paused, “ Marie, laisse ses vêtements seuls. Le pourpre n'est pas votre couleur, et vous êtes entièrement trop gros.”

Kate caught that, “OI, MARIE, GET OUT OF MY COSTUME!” She twisted hard away from the woman with the pins and the triangular piece of cloth, only to get caught by a woman who pulled a mass of (still, thankfully purple) cloth over her head and then stuck with one of the pins. “Fils de Pute!”

“Oh, you speeak ze French? Tres bien!”

“Non, non, non my French is horrible!” Another cake was thrust into her mouth. “Where is my belt?!” It wasn’t with her jumpsuit; Nat was going to kill her for losing her utility belt, especially with a taser in Versailles. Old Versailles. Pre-World War Versailles. Carnie Gods above, what if someone set it off? Talk about a security nightmare!

“Ze, ceinture, comment dites-vous….? Ze ceinture, eet weel bee reeturned lateer. For now, ze clothes. Quelle scandale, une fille qui court dans un pantalon!”

Truth be told, the subsequent attempts to run away were often thwarted by liberal application of cake to face, which Kate did attempt to protest, “Eating cake is going to get people dead!” Or sharp swats by the lady with the fan, whom everyone paid attention to, and was also the only one who seemed to know some English, however accented, and also seemed to be some ancestor of Nat or Director Hill because She Always Got Her Way. Only, instead of Her Way being World Domination and Complete Authority of Humanity As We Know It, her way was decidedly getting Kate into a massive purple outfit covered in embroidery and sparkled more than a debutante coming out party. Did Kate fail to mention it was hard to walk? It was hard to walk. The draping at the back did not help, not to mention the massive panniers and her hair. Kate was going to have a Time getting her hair Sorted back home, she could already tell.

The only plus side was that Kate found at least 45 different places to hide weapons in her monstrosity of an outfit, not counting the hair. Maybe Nat was right about ball gowns being walking armories? It didn’t really matter at present, because she was without her belt, bow, and quiver, but Thoughts, Kate was Having Them. If she could just get her weapons and belt, she and Clint could break out of this place and make a run for it with adequate protection.

The room they are herded to is by any modern standard lavish, almost to the point of distaste. The rest of the ladies wait outside, but Kate is pushed through the doors and almost entirely into Clint. Which is good, because at least he’s not causing a Disaster somewhere where Kate can’t keep an eye on him, but sucks, because he doesn’t have her stuff, which included their back up bows and quivers. It also sucks, because the whole place seems to be wanting to blind people with wealth. Every available solid surface is decorated in bright gold, and the walls and furniture are draped in damask, brocade, and velvet. Including, and certainly not limited to, both Hawkeyes, who are positively chafing under their sartorial gifts.

“No wonder the lot of them lost their heads,” Kate signs to Clint, who per usual, isn’t really paying attention.

“This has to be the best detention cell I’ve ever been in!” Clint signs excitedly to Kate, from where he’s been examining the massive painting mounted on the wall. The far corner, filled with 3 guards, a priest, and a nun, dissolves into whispers, and Kate breaks out her (admittedly rusty) French with her best glare from his side, “Il n'est pas un magicien diabolique, il est sourd.”

This does not abate the whispers, but given that they are no longer talking about trying them for witchcraft, probably, Kate lets them be. Also because Clint is signing to her about guard patterns and she needs to pay attention - Clint keeps throwing in commentary about how sloppy the fortifications are and it’s hard to parse where the actual information is and where the commentary is due to the lack of punctuation and intonation.

They both get jolted out of their collusion on how to break out of the worst defended prison in the world, oh my Gods, this is going to be a cakewalk by the sudden stillness of the cadre to their right. The whole bunch have bowed, and our intrepid Hawkeyes spin around to face the same man with the largest curliest wig known to the rest of humanity. The man next to him is completely different from before, but the lady whom was getting Kate dressed is there, and Kate Loses All Hope. Of What, Precisely, is uncertain, but She Loses it and Loses it Hard. (There is no way, her subconscious supplies, that this isn’t going to end in an explosion. It’s the way these Things always End. It’s practically a Law of the Universe, or barring that, a Law of Hawkeye-hood. Hawkeye-ism? Hawkeye being? Hawkeye Existence? Watchful Eyes of Luck and Fortune, apparently she does need to take that higher level philosophy class, even though it’s not required for her major. )

It takes a long moment, but the gentleman previously established to be a King, gestured at the stools placed by the table. “Pleaze, sit sit.” A second gesture and servants bustled in bringing a steaming teapot and small cakes and other such items. Just as quickly as they came, they were gone, though Kate didn’t notice because Clint was wearing his gleeful evil smile and the last time he had done that was before the dog chase and Kate could only presume that meant he was aiming for Socially Unacceptable Awkwardness in the name of …. Science? General Chaos? A Larger Plan that Kate wasn’t Yet Aware of? Kate stares at a point somewhere around the woman’s shoulder, her wits slipping past her. Lucky panted at her heels, freshly cleaned and neck sparkling with a diamond collar that looked like it belonged on a Queen rather than a dog. Still it was comforting to have her dog. At least the dog didn’t fail to follow species conventional rules at random, unlike someone else.

She only comes to when she notices everyone staring. The King takes a pointed, yet condescending sip of his drink, nonchalant. Clint’s still smiling that slightly manic smile and Kate feels the despair begin eating at her again.

The gentleman who is not the King clears his throat, “Monsieur, Mademoiselle, youu aree iin ze prezenze of Hiis Majeesty, ze Kiing Louis XV. Hiis Majeesty haz zome queztiionz for youu, and wee wouuld greeatly appreciiate eef youu wouuld anzer zem. Comprenez vous?”

Kate exchanges a pointed glance with Clint, who just grins harder and Kate can feel her lifespan shorten dramatically. The man continued, “ I aam le Duc du Fronsac*, and I weel translate for youu aand foor ze King aas weel.” He shuffled his legs on his stool, “ Youu mustt eemaginee zhat yourr … appeerrance in ze garrden waz …. Uuneexpeected. We eexamiineed yourr appareil, whiich waz perfecctly cleear in zhat youu aree Engliz, zhough what zhis appareil eez, wee aree not zurre. What wee wouuld likee too knoow eez whaat youu aree dooing ‘eree in ourr beloved Versailles.”

Kate stares at the delicate teapot, and then into her still full cup of chocolate. She could drown Clint in that much chocolate right? Nat said something about only needing three inches, but Kate had been concussed and wasn’t sure if that was the minimum length of a stilletto knife to kill a man or the amount of water to drown a man. Clint waves frantically to get her attention. Kate Has So Many Regrets.

“So we’re from the future! Not that frogs need to know exactly when from, they don’t even have heliocentrism down as a scientific fact!”

“Greetings, Your Majesty, Duke, Madame. I am Katherine Bishop. My… mentor, Monsieur Clinton Barton, says that we are not from here and that this has been an unfortunate event caused by Science practiced by those uneducated in its practice.” Kate speaks carefully - Bruce and Jane have both regularly give seminars and review seminars on Time Paradoxes and How to Avoid Causing Them, Kate has religiously attended and taken notes okay. She is Prepared.

She lets Duc du Fronsac translate, listen, then respond, “Wee arre preepareed too acceept zhis, yourr appareil makeez eet verry oobvioouz zhat youu ‘aave ze, ‘oow doo youu zay… eet eez cleaar youu aree noot off zhis … timee.”

Kate groans internally, “Monsieur Barton and I are very glad that you have … extended us such faith over such … unbelievable news.”

“In any case, this stuck up dickwad took the boomerang arrow and that’s gonna cause problems. Tell them that under no circumstances are they to touch it. Hell, they shouldn’t even breathe on it. They’re gonna blow something up and then Nat will glare and Steve will do his disappointed face and Tony will cackle and Tony isn’t allowed to cackle. He sounds deranged.”

“Monsieur Barton would like to express his… concern over the technology that made us arrive here. He believes it is still in your possession and that it could pose a great risk to the empire of France and her people due to its dangerousness.”

The Duc frowns, and relays that to the King, who whispers back in less urgent tones. “‘ees Majeesty wouuld liike to say zhat zhere ees no need too woorree, ourr finezt scieentific minds aree handeling yourr teechnologee. ‘ee eez verry eenterezted een zhe taalking deevice.”

Kate and Clint both went deadly still at the same time. They’d been messing with their phones? Had the unauthorized opening attempts set off the security measures? “Aww, phone noo. I just took new photos of Lucky on that! How else am I supposed to rig the SHIELD cutest pet lottery?”

“Ze fleche, zhat eez an eenterezting deezign, non? Noo onne caan geet eet too woork.” He put down the fine bone china on the low table, then picked up the teapot and gestured at Kate in the universally understood language of ‘shall I pour you some more?’ This must have been one of those situations Nat talked about, where you have to understand that your captor (thinks, but that’s only ever true in Nat’s case) has you in a corner and you have to comply in order to (hopefully) get more information out of them. Carefully, she leans forward to let the Duc fill her cup, trying not to let the way the Duc and King watch her chest un-nerve her.

The Lady interrupts, “Mademoiselle, doo noot bee soo aalarmed. Wee aree seemplee eenterested een yourr knoowledgee.” That in fact, does not help the alarm, but rather alarms Kate further. No one is ever “just interested” in knowledge, not unless they had ulterior motives.

The Duc continues as if he does not note Kate’s stillness or the vicious edge to Clint’s unfaltering grin. “Le Madame eez correct. Wee arre simplee … curious, non? ‘armless.”

Kate cannot bite her tongue any longer, “You know what they say about curiosity.” And there’s the famous Hawkeye need to talk. Lucky, from beside her barks.

The King rejoiners, “Aah, but ze satisfaction, az you say, it brings ze cat back.” He waves off the Duc, “Youu steel havee not spoken of ze waay youu arrived ‘eere.”

The Duc looks (falsely, the frou-frou futz-stick isn’t even trying to fake well) appalled, “Majjesty! Zhey were jjust abouut too saay, oui? Teel uz, ze eventz zhat led youu ‘eere?”

Clint smiles harder and Kate can feel a migraine building - Clint only ever looks so delighted when he has Plans. Last time he looked like that he punched a Doombot in the face. With a boxing glove arrow. “Well, what do they want to know?” Clint pauses, then lights up like Tony at Christmas, “Katie-Kate, my favoritest Hawkeye, help me Do the Thing?” He then clearly signals for “Just remember if we’re caught, I’m deaf and you don’t speak English.”

Kate signs back, “Clint, we’re already caught, you are deaf, and we both speak English!” She pauses, “And I don’t think that plan works when people already know all three of those things!”

Clint signs back, suspiciously gleeful, “Which is why they’ll never suspect! How ludacris do you think we can get? How many ‘Yeah!’ references do you think I can fit in?”

“Clint, this is not what Nat meant when she said to give interrogators hell. They could cut our heads off! And ‘Yeah!’ is by Usher!”

“Eez zhere a prroblem?” La Madame taps her fan against her knee.

“No, there’s no problem! None at all. There’s just… a lot that happened. And neither of us … agrees when to start.”

“Zhen just start. ‘ees Majjesty eez verry buizee, afterr alll.”

“Oh come on Kate!” Clint signs. “When else are we going to get a chance to jerk around a King? T’Challa won’t even blink an eye anymore!”

“Monsieur Barton is in full agreement with this. We just need a moment to agree on the start?”

“But of courze.” The King sat back on his armchair and nibbled at a small cake.

“Okay, obviously we have to start with the the carnival. There was a carnival that was coming down, and word of mouth had let me know. So we had to check it out. It was a pretty poor carnival, let me tell you; it takes a Carnie to know a good carnival from a bad one.”

“A traveling entertainment group came by our… town. We are the primary law-keepers of our town, and because of the size we had to supervise the event.”

“Bien sûr. One must enforce the law, especially during such times.” The Duc nodded. Okay, so they were definitely still in the clear for beheading. No one was meeting a guillotine today. Unless guillotines weren’t invented yet? When were guillotines invented? Kate cut herself off. She still had Clint Wrangling to complete.

“The duck shooting stall was okay though, perfectly fine for civilians. Obviously, you and I were smoking the place out. Then I noticed the Dagger-thrower giving me the Stink Eye.Totally full on, no remorse, no blinking. Every Carnie knows you don’t go Full on Stink Eye unless you want to start Something. So he started it, got up in my face and said I was a pathetic sharpshooter and that I was a Disgrace.”

“There was a bit of trouble by the target shooting booth.” If Kate wasn’t completely and utterly sure Clint was making this up on the fly, she almost would have believed it.

The King interjected, “Quite ze lot of gesturez for a bit of trouuble?”

“Your Majesty, if I believed you needed the … finer points of what occurred to start the trouble, then I would most certainly tell you. However, if you must know, one man had too much ale and called another man’s mother - ” Kate spread her hands and did her best to project innocence.

The King winced, “Ah, in zat caze, continuee.”

“Oh, are you going off script? In which case, King Lou here is a total lackwit. Ruining the monarchy and all that. Has no one told him eating cake is going to get people killed? Heads will roll. Oh, hey, bread pun!”

“It seems that at some point during that trouble, there was a sinkhole.” Kate pauses and considers the blank faces. “When the ground suddenly collapses.”

Enlightenment dawns. “Ah, que horrible.” Madame exclaims.

“Since we were trying to quell the fight, we fell as well. There was a secret laboratory, and the fight hadn’t stopped - drunkards, you know - and we were pushed into something which brought us here. That’s all we know.”

The Duc only sighs. “Zis doez not address ‘oow youu got here. Buut timeez muzt ‘ave chaanged foor woomeen to bee offeecerz of ze law. Arre zer noo otheer men?”

Clint was suitably offended. “Kate, tell Dick du Fondlesac to go jump in a flaming barricade if he thinks we know how the hell a boomerang arrow works. And while you’re at it, inform that sleezeball of a King to quit staring at you chest.”

“Did you just call him Dick of Fondlesac?”

“I don’t really remember his actual name… And he’s being a dick.”

“That doesn’t make things better!”

The Madame interrupts, “Eet doees noot seem az eef youu knoow of ze deetailz beehind ze eevent. Purrhhaps zhen wee shhouuld deescuz zhis, zhen deecide, non?”

The King rises, “Zhis eez ze bezt plan. Youu may await Ouur verrdict wherreverr youu pleaz.” The nobles sweep out of the room, the King with the Madame in emerald trailing after and the Duc bowing out after.

Clint squints after them. “Boo, I didn’t even get to punch out Dick of Fiddlestick.” Lucky barks, seemingly in agreement. Kate sighs.

“Mademoiselle Bis’op, bonjour.”

Kate would like to Update the Record in order to categorically deny that a flamboyant man in heels on marble floor snuck up on her ever. It did not happen, there are less witnesses than with the garden. Of course, her stupid trained debutante muscles flex and she sinks into something vaguely resembling a curtsey. Though, she’s glad the King is here and not elsewhere, because Clint is currently climbing the outside of the palace after they’ve successfully eavesdropped on some guards about where their stuff is. “Bonjour, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, please, rize.” He extends his hand and grasps her fingertips, holding them a waist height away from their bodies. “I am verry glad zhat I fouund youu. Wee deed noot geet muuch chaance too speak beefore. Tell me, wwheere aree youu frrom?”

“Ah, from what you would know as the colonies, Your Majesty.”

“Ze coloniez? Zer aree verry manyy of zhem; wwheech one?” The King strolled slowly, as if the herd of courtiers trailing behind him weren’t there.

“Mmm, a British colony Majesty. I’m quite sure the details thereof aren’t in your interest.”

“Aaaah, but zhere youu arre wrrong. Eef ze coloniez ‘ave such beautiez such as youu, zhen I believee eet eez verry much myy eenterest to knoww.” His gaze flicked over the front of Kate again, and she immediately wished she could punch him in the face. Repeatedly. With a knife. Through each eye socket.

The King was (unfortunately) saved from grievous bodily injury and Kate from having her head chopped off for causing said grievous bodily injury by the admittedly questionably executed call of a peacock, and screaming. Plus French cursing for good measure.

Kate, taking her cue, dove through the windows, just in time to slam on top of the carriage racing past. Lucky barked at her from within the cab of the carriage, clearly alarmed as she forced her way through the too tiny window - she could hear the damned panniers ripping and breaking, but she could not care less, this is why her normal jumpsuit was formfitting for Lucks sake.

Clearly, Clint had done his job well for once, with their gear neatly stowed on the plush seat. The Arrow Alarm was already up and pulsing with the activated alarm, so she ignored it in favor of undoing the transdimensional pouch with her spare energy bow. She checked out the window, then pulled Lucky to the floor and crouched over him, just in time to weather the massive crash through the gate.

Just in time for a volley of gunshot to punch into the back of the carriage. Kate leaned out to yell at Clint, praying he had taken the time to put in his spare hearing aids, “Hawkeye, can we get this thing moving a little faster?” She then leaned back and sent off three energy arrows into the chests of the pursuing mounted guards. They fall off, foundering the men behind them and sending horses skittering and careening into a mosh pit of panic and trampling, but there’s still pursuing guards coming up fast which can only mean one thing. She bangs twice on the roof, “Clint, I’ve got a Plan.”

She vaguely hears Clint swear, and call back “Hawkeye, your Plans suck!” as the carriage bumps and jolts and outright races through the bumps and twists of the path.

Kate straightens her posture and thinks of the Battle of the Nile, of the Orient and the 10 minutes of confusion. She pulls back her bow, lets the plasma thrum and churn and get hotter and hotter as it builds up potential energy, until the skin on the side of her face is probably really truely burned. Then she carefully aims, and with the exhale lets go.

The Resultant Explosion sends a shockwave through the chasing men, leaving the only noise the shake and rattle of the carriage. Clint slows the lathered horses, working his jaw against the ringing in his ears, “Kate, why do we always have explosions. I’m already deaf, this is going to leave me more deaf.”

Kate climbs out of the carriage cab window again to slip in beside Clint on the driver’s seat. “Maybe we need to step up on offering The Good Stuff to your Carnie Gods?” The Alarm buzzed faintly in her hand, indicating that they were headed up on the extraction point.

“Do you think they’ll like scones? Or will they need something more?”

Kate shrugged, “Who knows. Wanna empirically test it?”

Clint grimaces, “The Neighborhood Association will have to sign off on it.”

So that’s a no then. That’s fine, cause She’s Hawkeye, and the Rules Don’t Really Apply to Hawkeyes for Some Unknown Reason. Murphy’s Law or something, they’ll figure it out eventually. Until then maybe being Kate Bishop, Hawkeye and Going On (Strictly Ill-Advised) (Mis) Adventures with (and without) her fellow Hawkeye would be enough.

Afterwards:

“Princess, I have never seen you look so fancy.” America whistled lowly from the portal. “What do I have to do to get me some Fancy Clothes like that.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MIGHT HAVE BLOWN UP VERSAILLES?!” Steve bellowed from the distance.

“Eh, it’s a long story….” said Hawkeye.

#art writes #for lost #i'm so sorry #dumpster fire #crack dumpster fire #disaster fic #i did the thing #I have so many regrets #asjdfhaldhflahlfd

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