#and also pitiful and powerless against them

[whump-kitty]

There's just something about the word remade being used in a whumpy way to me- like "I'm going to remake you" or "I remade you"...there's just something so amazingly permanent about it, something about how the whumper shows, with this, that the whumpee won't be the same ever again, no matter what they do and how much they heal, or whether or not they get rescued... that they'll always be defined by the pain they experience there, whether they like it or not

[notenoughfanficofthis]

Meant to be

Dark!Morpheus Soulmate AU

Trapped in this prison for almost 80 years, powerless, weak. He had lost so much already Jessemy, His kingdom, his relics what other torment awaits him. His captors endlessly asking for gifts or the illusion of safety in exchange for his freedom. The king wasn’t one to relent so he waited. Petty and pissed he waited and waited, and waited looking for an opportunity to escape this prison.

Normally he’ll remain still in silence waiting for his moment, but today was different. There was something in the air he couldn’t quite figure out. Sitting up abruptly when feeling a sudden pull, as if soemthing was calling out to him. For the first time in years the feeling of desperation overcame the feeling of pettiness leaving him restless wanting out of his cage impossibly more then ever pressing his hands against the glass. His sudden movements left the guards watching him on edge for this is the first time they’ve seen him in any sort lively. Nervous it made them but they knew he couldn’t get out, could he?

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room soemthing was happening. A child was born, it was an everyday occurrence for humans to have children but this one is more special than anyone had yet to realize as the first time in millennium a soulmate had been birthed as a gift to the Endless. It’s as if someone had taken pity on the god that’s been trapped and in fear of how it would effect him and the waking world when he gets out the cosmos blessed the king with his other half. Such pure magic that was meant to bring mortals together in early times of man it had never before done to an Endless.

Morpheus didn’t know at the time what it was but a sense of calm euphoria overcame him. A peace he hadn’t felt in a long time, though still trapped in his glass cage for the first time in years he felt his body relax and bask in the feeling of the pull that’s calling out to him. Something about this pull also began to stir something feral in him, something dark.

Years passed since the first feeling the pull call out to him and he hadn’t gotten any easier. Though, powerless he found himself able to dream -no not his own but one he’s put on spectator mode for quite sometime now. Watching , waiting as he always does. He often dreams of a young girl running about in the meadows blissfully unaware of the darkness of the world that had yet to seep into her. He’s gotten quite used to the young female, after a while you could say he had grown rather attached to the young lady having no choice but continuing to watch her grow over the years.

Soon the young female had grown into a beautiful women. She enticed him in every way possible as he became more and more restless watching this now grown women. He believed his presence to be hidden, unknowing to the female tired of being a spectator in her dreams for once he wanted to reach out and hold this women close to him. He’s uncertain as to why he’s grown so attached to the female, why are these feelings coming so natural for him. As if it isn’t odd of him to want a being a mortal at that as much as he craved the embrace of this women.

Only a year before his release was he finally able to make contact with her. Unbeknownst to morpheus the women had knew of his presence all of her life. Always seeing him from the corner of her eye in her dreams. Though, unfamiliar with the man she had never grown to fear him. If anything she wanted to step closer to this being, touch him. Of course she had found it strange that she’s dreaming of a being as beautiful as him that she’s sure she’s never met but something in her told her he meant no harm. In fear of approaching this beautiful being that he’ll disappear if she tried to make contact, so from a distance she admired him. Grown to love him even despite never having officially met or spoke with the man.

So imagine the feeling that overcame her when one day basking in the sun watching the life that surrounds the meadow in her dream she suddenly felt arms wrap around her from behind. Though unexpected for some reason she wasn’t scared if anything she leaned back furthering the embrace sighing in content. Somehow she knew it was the man who’s always been a spectator in her dreams. No words was shared between them at first merely just basking in the feeling of each other’s skin resting against one another. After a while of this peaceful silence she felt him moved not wanting him to go just yet to clutches onto his arms wanting to bask in this feeling a little longer sensing her desperation he chucked remaining still of his hold. The sound of his laughter left a strange sensation in the women a feeling that hadn’t lightened since.

Her dreams after went on like this for quite sometime never really getting a good look of the man who now spends every minute of her dreams laying in warm embrace. One day she grew too restless despite having spent so much time together they’ve shared little to no words with each other. The feeling that overwhelmed her in his presence became too much to bear. So, the next night she dreamt she was determined to get answers. Waiting for the feeling of the warm embrace that followed her dream lover she’s quick to escape the hold and get a good look of the man who’s been consuming every fiber of her being. To think he was beautiful was afar words did no justice to being able to see him up close. He looked startled not expecting her to change the of routine but he remained quiet waiting, watching for her next move. All words she had planned to say to the man caught in her throat. Something was overcame her and before she knew it she grabbed a hold of his face leaning forward not exactly knowing what she’s aiming for. He lets her do this both beginning to breathe heavier then before as they wait for the other to make the first move. Timid and scared she begins to second guess herself and back away but morpheus had waited to long for a moment such as thing as he lunged forward drowning in the warmth of her lips. Unable to help the urge to return the kiss and more she’s ripped out of her dream caused by the sound of her alarm blaring.

The abrupt departure left morpheus aching for more, yearning to be in the presence of this women in the waking world as he does in the dreaming. He’s decided, he needs to get out. Now. Becoming restless once again as the feeling of her lips torched him. He wanted more. He had figured long ago that the pull was the women he had been watching over the years. He wants to answer the call, to run to her side but as always he had to wait and wait and wait until he finally had his moment.

————————————————————————-

The alarm did no justice to calm her racing heart and thoughts as she had been ripped from what she believed to be the best dream ever.

But that’s all it is to her. A dream. Despite how strongly she felt for the man in her dreams time and time again she had to remind herself that he wasn’t real. What she’s feeling isn’t real. But no matter how many times she chants those words to herself everytime she wakes up she can’t help but still be consumed by the being that consumed her every waking and resting thoughts.

When he had first appeared to her in her dreams her waking life paid the price as she tried within all her power to go back and spend all of her time being with the man of her dreams. When it began to consume the life she had built in the waking world she had to pull herself together. Try to find comfort in actual real life people instead of yearning for a dream. Seeking out for an attachment for someone to spark that feeling he gave she had went through many lovers but none filling the hole that he left. Nevertheless she kept trying. She had too.

She spent her day as she does almost every day it seems now, where she’s just barely getting through life dragging her feet wherever she goes counting down the minutes she’ll be home and asleep. But, she noticed the next night that he hadn’t come to her. Not any night after that for a long time. Used to his presence all her life she can’t help but endlessly call out to him hoping he’d appear but he never did come back. She felt rejected and ashamed those feelings bleeding into her waking life. It wasn’t until the third day of the second month she decided it’s time to move on no matter how much her body aches for her dream man.

It took some time but she moved on found herself a love that reminds her of her dream man all while trying to fool herself that he wasn’t what she needed anymore. Found friends to keep her company filling up the deafening silence that filled her dreamless nights. She slowly began to come to terms with the fact that the comfort his presence brought her whole life is gone now. No longer waiting for him to return after a while she began to rest easy once again. The ache that grew in every fiber of his being since his absence became background noise a part of her every day life she barely notices anymore.

But, he hadn’t forgotten her nor did he abandon her. It’s as if someone is getting sick pleasure watching him receive further torment no longer able to enter her dreams after so long it left him once again lonely, angry. He had so much taken from him but this this he can not let slip from his grasp. Fortunately, after a century of this torture the seal had been broken. The rush of his freedom within grasp all he can think about is running to that pull.

————————-

During his escape she could feel his presence vibrating in every fiber of her being. The intensity of it was too much that it had woken her up startled from the sensation. Looking around the room to find everything still in place and significant other asleep beside them they sigh in relief letting herself relax into another slumber.

Soon, I’ll come for you, my love

Overwhelmed with emotions hearing the voice of the being she tried to move on from she once again shot up the bed startled. This time it had waken her lover who tried to bring her comfort with affection. Half asleep they lay her back down and hover over asking if everything is alright.

But, before she could answer looking around the room trying to get a grasp of safety she stills silver eyes watching in the dark corner behind her unsuspecting lover. It’s stare was of a predator everything about it screamed familiar but even so she let out a gasp keeping her eyes on the figure trying to push far back into her bed alerting her lover who followed her gaze to find nothing. Trying to calm the situation they tried to comfort her as she processes what she’s feeling, what she’s seeing.

The figure now gone she tries to let herself relax once again, maybe it’s just exhaustion and stress from work getting to her head finally. It took some time but after a while she finally fell back asleep. But this time is was different.

It’s her dream man. Standing before her in all black clothing with a glare she can’t decipher. He doesn’t speak he doesn’t move and it begins to worry her.

“Wher-“

“Who was that.” He coldly cut her off. “The one who lays beside you, what are they to you, my love.”

Confused she shook her head asking what he meant he couldn’t possibly mean her lover for she’s never dreamt of them nor normally have much memory of them in the dreaming.

“No matter. I have some business to attend too but until then, love, wait for me. I will come for you soon.” Unable to help himself wanting to taste her lips on his again he brings her in close in a hard suggestive kiss. The longing for one another overwhelmed their every being as they once again basked in each other’s embrace after so long too long. “Shall I return and they’re still with you, I will show no mercy to the one laying beside you. For you are mine and I tend to collect what belongs to me.”

The look in his eyes leaves her speechless sending chill down her spine. He couldn’t possibly mean it right?This isn’t real. He’s not real. Not waiting for a response he leaves her in a pleasant dream her body no longer aching as she had her fill of her dream man.

How she hoped to see him again.

[chaotic-orphan]

I have a request if thats okay: hero is very scared of villain, but was assigned on a mission to fight them anyway. hero accidentally falls into one of villain’s traps and villain finds hero completely powerless. villain also has mind reading powers and likes to use people’s fears against them.

Intoxicating Fear (I)

The Old Fairground

“Well, well, well,” the voice bounced off the walls and echoed back to Kit who turned in place, eyes scanning the emptiness of the old fairground. There were so many old kiosks dotted around that it created plenty of shadows for Omen to hide in, to watch Kit from.

As if Kit needed more of a reason to be afraid of Omen.

A rush of wind to his left and Kit stepped backwards and to the right, whirling. There was no one there. Omen had to be close, close enough for Kit to hear him over the lapping of the waves beneath the old, creaking boardwalk.

“I didn’t expect Superhero to send his prodigy. Will wonders never cease?” The voice sounded so close to Kit; Omen’s voice was normal as if he were chatting over a coffee in a cafe somewhere. He wasn’t shouting to be heard over the wind and the waves. It made a shudder run down Kit’s spine.

“I must have scared them off and he sent you as mere entertainment for me, hmm? For sport? Are you truly that expendable, little Hero?”

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Kit called out into the darkness. Attempting to be brave. Surprising even himself when his voice sounded strong, sure, confident. “I don’t usually talk a lot during my assignments.”

“Pity,” said Omen and it sounded like he was right behind Kit. Kit rounded on his heel, leg up and deadly as it whipped through empty air and found nobody. Kit could see his breath reflect on the chilly Autumn night air and pretended it wasn’t a hitch in his breathing, but more a controlled labour. As if he were in control. “I love a good chat before a fight. Really gets the blood pumping. Perhaps we can shake it up for you, hmm? Good to be out of your comfort zone.”

“Or we can do this the good ol’ fashioned way and you can face me. Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward.”

The fairground went quiet after that. A whistle of wind blowing the creaky floorboards under Kit’s boots the only sounds wrapping around Kit.

“I’ll tell you what, Hero,” said Omen, and Kit could hear the smile in his voice. “Since you want to jump the gun so much and get down to brass tax, I’ll give you a little hint as to where I am.”

Kit’s heart thundered against his chest at Omen’s suggestion. He didn’t want to face Omen at all. Maybe he was a little too convincing. Maybe he sounded a little too brave.

Carnival music started up, followed by lights. Kit followed them with his eyes and found he led to the old arcade. Of course he did. Omen couldn’t have found a less creepy spot, no? That would simply be asking too much.

Kit rolled his shoulders. Then started walking towards the arcade.

Okay, it’s fine. He could do this. He could do this. Superhero trusted him enough to get the job done. He would be fine. He would be okay.

When he got to the entrance of the arcade, fingers wrapped around the handle, Omen spoke again: “let’s play hide and seek, hmm? I’ll hide, you seek.”

Kit grit his teeth, setting his jaw and swung the door open, stepping into the dark arcade. A cord of orange and blue light permeated the walls and ceiling, while the rest of it was different panels of black. There were enough shadows for Omen to hide in, but this place was more open than the pier. At least here Kit had a chance.

Omen and his stupid mind games.

Kit wanted to slap his forehead at not realising sooner how clear he could hear Omen. This whole time he was taunting Kit from his own mind. Poking about and taking up residence like walking into people’s minds and meddling was something completely normal and acceptable. Mentor’s face crossed Kit’s mind and he frowned and pushed it out of his mind.

Telepaths always creeped Kit out anyways.

A scream rang through the arcade and Kit was running before the screaming stopped. He needed to find the civilian Omen had caught… Kit slowed to a walk as the screaming faded.

What if Omen was making this in his head?

What if there was actually no one?

What if this was a trap?

What if, what if, what if— what if wasn’t good enough. Not good enough to warrant Kit to not try and help. If there was a possibility Omen was hurting someone Kit had to save them. He took an oath to protect people. To protect the innocents in the city.

Even if the thought of facing Omen made him want to get sick. Kit clenched his fists and pulled the electricity from the machines around them. The lights flickered briefly and then settled, although a bit dimmer. Crackles of blue lightning cloaked Kit’s fist and made him feel a little better about his inevitable, encroaching encounter with Omen.

Another scream and Kit turned to the left and took off, running through the employee’s only door. A series of offices were on the right side of the hallway and Kit looked in everyone as he ran past.

“Hello?! Where are you?!”

“Malyn?! Malyn? Is that you? Malyn, Run! Get help! Don’t—” Kit could feel the blood drain from his face at the voice. That was Other Hero’s voice. What were they doing here?! They were supposed to be with Superhero… unless Superhero could handle the disturbance in fifth and sent Other Hero for backup. Fuck.

Fuck!

Kit didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home and hide under the covers and cry, and not deal with Omen. OtherHero was stronger than Kit anyway. How was Kit supposed to win against Omen?

Kit got to the end of the hallway and saw the double doors open to the pier again. He swallowed hard, pushing against the handles of the glass door, and walked out onto the boardwalk.

Opposite Kit, close to the fence above the ocean, Omen stood, a gun held to Other Hero’s head that was kneeling a little in front and to the right of Omen. Omen’s appearance alone would strike fear into the hearts of lions.

His face was pale, and that contrasted the darkness to the rest of his features. He had shoulder length raven hair slicked back, a few strands framing his face. Eyes so dark they looked almost black, and his lips a pale red, more naturally pigmented than anyone Kit knew.

Omen smiled when he set those horrible dark eyes on Kit. “Hello Malyn. You found me.”

God, his voice was so much worse up close.

Before it was normal, neutral, but in reality, his voice had depth to it. A mocking lilt and a knowingness that made Kit feel exposed.

Too exposed.

“Yeah,” said Kit, swallowing hard, the blue sparks cackling up his arms. “I found you. So, I win hide and seek, right? How about you let Other Hero go as a prize?”

Omen tilted his head to the side, a smile growing on his lips. “No,” Omen admonished with his silvery voice. “How about a trade, hmm? You for them.”

“Malyn don’t—” Other Hero let out a shrill scream without Omen even lifting a finger. Kit started forward, but Omen pressed the gun to Other Hero’s head and raised his eyebrows in warning at Kit.

As if saying: do you really wanna do that?

Kit held his hands up in surrender and said: “Okay fine. Fine! Let them go!”

Omen didn’t move for a moment, Other Hero still screaming and crying, and Kit fought the urge to step in to help. If he moved quick enough, he could get Omen with a bolt and he’d drop the gun at least… but then he’d have to deal with Omen’s rage and his power.

And Kit knew he weren’t brave enough to do that.

Omen straightened his head and drew the hammer of the gun back with a click. Other Hero stopped screaming and fell to the boardwalk. Kit moved towards them, but Omen stopped them with a light: “ah-ah, Malyn. Trade, remember? You for them.”

“At least let me—”

“No,” Omen’s tone was so final it caused Kit to pause. His heart was pounding against his chest, blood rushing in his ears as he turned his head to face Omen, eyes pleading. He might as well have been trying to talk to a brick wall. “Come along, Malyn.”

“I’m alright here,” said Kit voice shaky, standing protectively between Other Hero and Omen. Omen turned, dark eyes finding Kit’s and the humour draining from his face.

Omen let out a dark, humourless chuckle. “Cute that you think I can’t touch Other Hero with you like that. You want to test it?”

Kit didn’t move. He swallowed hard, planting his feet on the boardwalk. Omen’s eyes narrowed as familiar cackling swelled around Kit’s fists, up his arms to his shoulders and engulfed his body. His hair standing up on his head.

Omen grinned a hollow smile. His lips turning up but his eyes still that intense, black emptiness… Kit’s hands grew clammy as Omen turned to face them. He stood casual, one hand in his black overcoat while the other held the gun at his side.

“Alright little Hero. Give it your best shot.”

Kit didn’t need to be told twice. He threw both his hands forward, palms facing Omen as blue electricity gathered in his palms and shot towards Omen. The arc travelling at the speed of light before—

Kit screamed, his body spasming as he dropped to his knees, drenched in sea water. Kit put his hands out to catch them before he fell forward, coughing out a gasp of air.

His mind moving like sludge.

How… how did…?

The answer was the boot of Other Hero stepping in front of Kit. Fuck. Other Hero could control water. Fuck fuck fuck. If he were under Omen’s control…

“Other Hero…” Kit tried and immediately another blast of water hit Kit harder than a canon. He was thrown back a few feet onto his back and gasped as the wind was ripped from his lungs. This time Kit saw the tunnel of water swirling above him before it was blasted down at him.

Kit rolled to the side, springing to his feet, glaring at Omen who was grinning behind Other Hero. Using them as a fucking puppet. Kit couldn’t use his powers, not unless he wanted to fall unconscious within a few seconds. Fuck. How did Omen even know?! Apart from almost hitting the villain with a bolt two seconds ago, but that was two seconds of reaction. Kit had barely debuted to society.

“Alright there, Sparky? Or do you want to try and hit me again?”

“You fucking—” a rope of water coiled around Kit’s throat and yanked him towards Other Hero. Kit was on his knees as another tonne of water hit Kit from above and drowned him in it. Omen walked up next to Other Hero smiling down at Kit.

“What was that, Sparkles? I couldn’t hear you.”

Omen didn’t even wait for answer. He turned to touch Other Hero’s temple and Other Hero crumbled to the ground. A puppet with his strings cut. Kit reached out, a hand on Other Hero’s pulse and he sighed, sitting back on his heels.

Alive.

Just unconscious.

The relief was short lived, replaced by a vivid fear gripping him in it’s cold vice as a thin, lithe finger came under Kit’s chin and tilted his head up to look into those void-like eyes. Kit felt the hairs on his body stand up as a chill tan through him like ice spreading through his veins, seizing his limbs, rendering them motionless. Useless.

Not his limbs.

Not his limbs, his mind cried as he pushed to a standing position.

His legs pushed against gravity without Kit’s say so. His heart cracking against his ribs was threatening to break them it was pounding so hard. Kit licked his dry lips, the taste of sea salt coating his tongue.

His body was moving by another’s command. Kit tried to battle Omen’s easy control, but he didn’t know what to look for to fight him off. Panic was the only thing Kit had control over in his brain and it wasn’t exactly helping.

Omen’s lips spread slow, creeping across his face into a horrific, charming smile. His black eyes betraying his inhumanity.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, Sparks. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of those who go against me, yes?”

Kit swallowed and didn’t answer. He didn’t even want to look at Omen, but he couldn’t turn his head away. He couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot because that’s exactly where Omen wanted him. Mentor’s face flashed again through Kit’s mind, turning his stomach.

“Oh yes,” said Omen, tone reminiscent. “Old Mentor went mad trying to stop me, poor dear.”

“You drove him crazy! You weaponised his own mind against him,” Kit said, hatred colouring his tone. Omen smirked.

“I was going to do the same to you,” said Omen, his voice flowing through Kit’s ears like liquid silver. “It’s a favourite of my many gifts. Not at all fit for combat like lightning or water, but I can break you without breaking a sweat. Even before I took your body you couldn’t lift a finger against me.”

Kit scoffed, his lips curling back into a snarl. “Think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m not an idiot,” said Omen. “But you think even higher of me, Malyn. Mentor’s fear was easy. Powerlessness. Inhibit his control of his power in his brain like a little switch and let his fear do the rest. But you?”

Omen stepped closer and Kit wanted so much to step back but Omen didn’t allow it, and Kit’s limbs didn’t move despite his brain screaming: danger, danger! DANGER!

“Your biggest fear is me,” said Omen, his voice taking on a revered quality to it. Omen moved his hand down from Kit’s chin to his throat and Kit flinched, his throat bobbing under Omen’s grip. Omen let out a soft laugh of surprise, his black eyes going back to Kit’s as he tightened the grip on Kit’s neck. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Superhero will send reinforcements,” Kit tried, his voice cracking, betraying his own disbelief. “He know—”

“Let Superhero come,” said Omen. “We’ll leave Other Hero here for them to find.”

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. “W- we will?”

Omen laughed again, dark eyes drinking in Kit’s fear. “Oh yes, sweet Hero. I could grow used to getting drunk off your fear, there’s no way I’m letting that go. You’ll have to come with me.”

Kit felt tears building behind his eyes as Omen spoke. Omen grinned as he noticed them. He raised a crooked index finger up to catch a tear as it fell onto Omen’s knuckle.

His dark eyes drew Kit’s in as Kit tried to fight off Omen’s command of his body. “No... no, please no,” he begged, his body shaking even under Omen’s compulsion.

“Yes, Malyn. Oh yes, absolutely yes. Don’t worry. It will be absolutely terrifying. You’re going to forget the road trip there however, you understand I can’t have you telling tales.”

“Omen please—” Kit cried, and it was the last thing he remembered before Omen shut his memory down and blackness descended on his mind.

*~*~*~*~*

This was such a fun request! Thank you anon! I hope you enjoy ^~^

Continued here

[purgemarchlockdown]

Mikoto being so heavily associated with the female characters while Kotoko isn't is really intriguing with how he's so heavily sexualized in MeMe and plays into a lot of horror tropes.

The bathtub and the shower scene are common locations in horror, especially for Women. With one of the most iconic horror scenes Ever being the shower scene from Psycho, in which a woman is murdered in the shower.

Not to mention the lyrical pattern of calling back the title of the first MV that all the girls, except for Kotoko, follow. With Mikoto actually calling back to the title of his T1 MV in Double and having it be such an important part of it that they call back to it in the Trial 2 Album. Something originally pointed out by oboetmasuka here and candckirby who also mentions Mikoto's role as the "Final girl" and his consistent pregnancy metaphor with how John is called a newborn.

I think the way Kotoko connects to Masculinity is subtler but just as important, her interrogation question shows she's not attached to it, but she doesn't seem against it or anything.

(Kotoko Interrogations)

T1Q10: What do you think about the word 'feminimity'? A: It's one of the means you can take. It's something you can freely choose depending on the scene, so it's not something to cling onto.

Kotoko doesn't wear anything traditionally feminine but she doesn't lean super masculine either...except.

Okay so, 1moremilgram-enjoyer made this really interesting post about Kotoko's cap you can read here. Basically her cap has the name Jacques Roulet on it's front. Jacques Roulet is the name of a Male Serial Killer who killed two children and claimed to be a werewolf.

This cap appears in her outfit in Harrow:

But also appears in her T2 Design:

Establishing some sort of connection between him and Kotoko.

If we're reading into this Further. John and Kotoko are actually very similar in their want to become someone's "savior" as that's what gives them a sense of purpose.

John's an interesting character in this dynamic. Because if Mikoto is the helpless princess, John is the faithful prince. Coming to save his pitiful damsel whose too weak to protect himself.

(Mikoto T2 VD)

John: It’s true that I was the one who wanted to destroy everything… and the weakness of Boku, who couldn’t stand up for himself all alone, might have been the origin of that. But… that’s all there is to it. Is that a sin?

Mikoto has little to no agency and he Knows This. He doesn't know what's happening, is confused and terrified all the time, and feels like he's on a train with an unknown destination. He feels powerless and like he has no control. While John tries his best to help him, but ultimately harms him, cause John will do what He thinks Mikoto needs without knowing what Mikoto wants. Something he seems regretful for.

Hey, I just wanted to save you So why did it come to this?

However, Kotoko does have some sense of Power and Agency and actively Holds this over others.

From the begin I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!

There's nothing inherently wrong with wanting to present more masculine or feminine. However, there is a problem with enforcing strict and rigid roles onto people, especially if those roles enforce systems of power that allow for the exploitation of groups of people by elevating one group and putting down the other.

Even if the gender roles the two fit in are flipped, it is still playing into unhealthy ideals of gender and society that perpetuate abusive systems of power.

(Utena Scripts)

Voice:  Was the ring from the prince meant as an engagement ring? Voice:  That part was good, Voice:  but because of the strength of her admiration for the prince, Voice:  the princess made up her mind to become a prince herself! Voice:  But is that really good for her?

(I got it in!)

I think I might have to wait for Deep Cover's MV to release to fully discuss this, but this is really curious to me.

[soleilnomoon]

Hello! 👻 I am not sure if this request would match your taste, so if not - just delete it without answering 😅 I was wondering if you could write some nsfw/suggestive headcanons for Law, Zoro and Ace (the heartthrob trio in my humble opinion *-*) reacting on their bigbreasted partner taking off her bra for the first time in their presence, during intimate situation maybe? You know, tits suddenly freed go woosh, much to reader's embarrassement and irritation. Thank you for considering! Have a wonderful day 💞

the heartthrob trio is right, your mind is so powerful. this is right up my alley, i support the ❤️‍🔥 big titty ❤️‍🔥 committee all day. also, embarrassing them is my specialty.

1.1k words, afab reader (no pronouns), nsfw (nipple play, public sex, etc. etc. the good stuff, yk); ace is a brat, law is shy, and zoro continues to be the number one menace.

check out the other version of this request feat. sanji, sabo, & shanks right here ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

it shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, but it does. yes, his eyes work perfectly fine—yes, he’s seen the way your clothes stretch across your chest; he already bears witness to their plushness every time you brush up against him. and yet, here he is, shocked into silence. you toss your bra onto the floor somewhere, undeterred and too aroused to care. you’re just happy you don’t have to wear it right now; he’s suddenly very happy to be alive. you smile at him, delicate brows raising slightly. he can’t take that either.

“you can touch them, y’know,” you suggest softly, almost sensually, hoping that’ll spur law back to life. he, however, needs just a little more time. 

“okay, i know, just wait.” for what, he has no idea. when he’s managed to calm down enough, he finally is able to look at you. you decide to take pity on him, climbing onto his lap with little issue. you press a small, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth; before you can pull back, his hand finds its way onto the back of your neck, holding you still as he kisses you properly. and when he rolls so you’re on your back, his mattress soft enough to make you think you’re laying on a cloud, you let out a soft whimper that only encourages him to continue. your breast mostly fits in his hand, so he takes his time exploring, lithe fingers tracing circles around your nipples, goosebumps prickling your skin as your back arches. 

his mouth takes over, leaving kiss after kiss along the curve of your breasts before his tongue flicks against your hardened nipple, giving you the sort of high you’ve been chasing, your moans the only song he ever wants to listen to for the rest of his life. he’ll keep at it until you’re begging for him to fuck you—with his fingers, mouth, cock, you don’t care at this point really—and he will, in due time. for now, however, he’ll settle for memorizing the taste of your skin and your nails clawing at him in obvious frustration.

you hate being edged like that, but law revels in how powerless you are against him in this respect; it’s murderous and you vow to return the favor next time, tenfold.

he’s an idiot, but he’s not oblivious. so when your bra does come off, he curses whichever nameless demon invented those things. he thinks your breasts should never be confined like that—you’re inclined to agree, but keep the comment to yourself—and whenever you’re around him, don’t expect to keep it on for long, either. it’s fine with you, really, which only makes zoro that much more ravenous for you.

he catches you in a back hallway, has you pressed up against the wall, his leg in between your thighs, hands tugging your shirt up and revealing your breasts—your nipples hardening almost immediately, much to his pleasure. you hate how easily he can pull these sorts of reactions out of you, but you know that it’s futile; you’re as attracted to him as he is to you, it just goes with the territory. besides, the way he’s pinching and tugging on your nipples, almost makes you forget that you’re still very much in public and that anyone from your crew can spot you if they decide to come that way.

still, zoro doesn’t let up, his mouth wickedly playful, leaving bruising kisses all over your chest—he likes the way you can’t seem to keep quiet, and the way you keep rubbing against his erection is evidence enough. he should really take you somewhere else, but he knows you like the thrill, even if you don’t want to admit it; and he does too. you’re so annoyed at yourself and at him, but mostly at how skillful his hands and mouth are. if you had more self-preservation, you might be able to make it out unscathed, but you know better.

zoro isn’t the type to let you go that easy. and just when you think he can’t torture you any more—touching you and then not touching you—he slides his hand inside of your shorts and your panties, fingers parting your folds expertly, your pussy wet and ready for him. against your lips, he whispers filthy promises that light your skin on fire and you know better than to get sucked into his shenanigans again, but here you are, letting him finger you without a care in the world. the delusion almost makes it feel romantic.

he’s not sure how to handle you like this; you already drive him wild, your curves are lethal, your body even more so. your breasts are just the icing on the cake—a cake he’ll willingly devour at any time of the day, every single day of the year if you let him. so when you surprise him in the kitchen late one night—ace constantly searches for late night snacks throughout the week—he opts to feast on you instead. you’re panting lightly, chest heaving as he dives between your legs. you sit on top of the kitchen counter, guilt barely crossing your mind, as you spread your legs open wider, giving him access.

your shirt is somewhere behind him; he wants to see all of you properly, so you give him a little show, cupping your heavy breasts, kneading them as his mouth french kisses your pussy with purpose, your hips bucking, his tongue gliding along your slick folds, lapping up your wetness, savoring your taste for later when he thinks about you again. you find it difficult to hold it all in, hands trembling as you play with your nipples, lips clamped together tightly, muffling your moans as best as you can.

he looks up at you, his cock reminding him pitifully to stop neglecting it, but all in good time, right? for now, he just wants to taste you, to satisfy his insatiable hunger that only intensifies whenever you’re around him. maybe it’s really just you; he doubts he can ever have enough of you, even if he tried—and he’ll never try. 

“a-ace,” you whimper, teeth sinking into your bottom lip hard, eyelids closing once his tongue antagonizes your clit in the only way he knows how. 

“i’m here, don’t worry,” he says casually, as if he isn’t ruining your life right now. it’s always one big mess with you too; he slurps and sucks, treating your pussy like the best-tasting summer fruit in the world; it’s maddening, the way he’s addicted. and when you cum, you can hardly contain your moans, the orgasm strong enough to make you forget yourself and the time. ace doesn’t bother stopping you, he’s way too far gone, if anything he makes it worse. and even though you’re sure the entire ship heard the way you screamed his name, you wouldn’t change a thing.

that’s what he does to you whenever you’re together; he makes you feel impossible bouts of extreme confidence without even trying.

[copwef]

A couple pet peave I have about rottmnt Future fanfics.

Everyone always depicts the resistance as desperate and more "rag-tag" than it really was.

We saw how effortlessly the krang defeated the U.S. government and destroyed all their missiles and nukes. We also see a soldiers first perspective view of getting killed by the krang.

However we see briefly todd and another soldier doing the same thing and actually holding their own. In both the movie and the unused intro scene.

Another thing is that everyone says that Donnie was the only thing keeping krang at bay.

look at this screenshot.

In this screenshot we see several huge ships of Donnie's design. While designed by Donnie there is no way he could have single handedly built all those ships. Meaning there where MANY other people in the resistance who had to have helped.

Meaning there where others who understood and was able to replicate Donnie's technology.(Purple dragons and maybe even Draxum on a small scale)

And I'm pretty sure it wasn't confirmed when Donnie died. For all we know he died first and this is all happening years after his death.

This combined evidence means that the resistance was not completely powerless against the krang after Donnie died, thought it probably did weaken them. And it certainly proves the resistance was not some pitiful effort. It had to have had hundreds if not THOUSANDS of people.

It it were it would have gotten wiped out just as fast as the government did in the rottmnt movie.

(No offensive to any of the great rottmnt fanfic maker's or anyone's AUs they are all great, this is just something I found to be a common misconception)

[definitelynotshouting]

The salmon swam in a slow, lazy circle.

It would drift up, close to the shoreline, then turn, and batter once more against the world border. Sand and seagrass would stir in its wake, before settling, and the cycle would begin anew.

Grian could do nothing but watch it.

Wasn’t much else to do.

Up, shoreline, down, border.

It seemed cruel, to let this happen. To watch this salmon swim in its tiny pool of water- trapped in a loop it can’t escape.

It had been just upstream, a few days ago. It had hovered just outside the world border, before slipping inside- seemingly without even realising what it was getting itself into.

Without even realising it had doomed itself, with that one, fatal mistake.

The salmon suddenly switched, changed its path, and started looping in the opposite direction.

Down, border, up, shoreline.

Maybe it’s lonely. It’s been stuck in that section of the pool for a while, after all. Alone.

Maybe it’s hungry. Grian can’t imagine there’s much in the way of food down there. Yesterday, he gave it some bread crumbs. He only has two loaves left, now- acacia biomes never had the best land for farming.

Maybe it’s scared of Grian. He had been watching it for a good few hours today. He would be scared, too, in its place. Confused. Bewildered. Overwhelmed. Panicked.

Because it was so free, just a couple days ago. It could swim as far as it wanted up and down the riverbank, with all of its fishy friends. Now it was trapped. Alone.

Naïve little fish.

Has it even realised that its freedom is gone? That now it’s stuck here- forever powerless, under the scrutiny of a creature that won’t give it pity?

Has it even realised that despite all of its suffering, it will never gain anything?

…

Grian does not bother naming the salmon. In a few days, he will run out of bread, and the wheat will not have grown.

The salmon will be cooked crudely in a furnace, with sticks used as fuel- and Grian will ration its remains until the next crop harvest.

Then he’ll ration those crops until the next poor victim wanders in.

And then the cycle will begin anew.

///

uhh same anon as the one that sent in that other snippet (minecraft soundtrack headcanon). assuming i actually remembered to send in the other one.

i dont know?? what i ate?? to write this?? like am i cooking or is it just almost 1am and i need to Go To Bed.

in my mind the parrallels and forshadowing and implications are all on a corkboard being tied together with red string. the dots, ive connected them. its been salmon all along

THIS HITS ANON I TRULY LOVE THESE SNIPPETS.... insanely flattered to be receiving them for hunger au 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it really is all about those repeating cycles, huh. Smth smth the cycle of not only violence but also loneliness and isolation. And theres something so haunting about the idea that his hunger started even before he became a Watcher

[rk-tmblr]

"What the fuck is goin' on your mind!?" Atsumu screams.

Anger's fuelling him like a wildfire, but there's tiredness clinging on his shoulders as a glass meant to team it. And it goes even worse when Kiyoomi refuses to answer him. He keeps giving him the back, hides his face into the locker while he pretends to collect his things or something. Anything but taking the bait.

"Seriously!?" the blonde laughs humorlessly and then stomps right at his side. Shoving his shoulder back, he obliges the spiker against the cold locker and corners him. "Are ya really givin' me the silent treatment?" he snarls as his eyes run everywhere in his face, desperately trying to find the all answers he kept from him.

Kiyoomi gulps under his lingering gaze, it feels like daring to touch that fire and he can't breathe anymore.

"What did ya say?" Atsumu still presses him and he lets go.

"Go away from me. Now." he grits out.

He doesn't care if it hurt the blonde somehow. He can't watch over his feelings when he's clearly stepping over his. And so the setter moves a feet behind, his contorted face softens a little when he catches Kiyoomi letting out a whimper.

"I'm just trying to-", he cuts his talk short.

"I don't know, Miya. I just- can't, okay?" he sighs and one of his hands goes to tug at his dark curls, "I'm trying but I..." his fingers tremble and his confession comes out as a whisper "I'm fucked up and you're not helping me right now."

Atsumu nods slowly but his look is far away, until he sags completely and lets himself sat down on the bench. It seems that the fire had consumed all of the oxygen inside the glass, and now there's nothing left but a swirl of gray smoke.

"Don't say shit like that, Omi-kun..." he murmurs and his voice too soft that makes Kiyoomi wince.

"Don't you fucking dare pity me-" the spiker starts to build up his walls again.

It doesn't matter how high or thick he would build them, Miya Atsumu's a wrecking ball and would always find the bare truth he's hiding for his own sake.

"I won't ever look at ya like that..." his blonde hair shakes from side to side, catching the white light of the locker room, "I didn't mean to upset ya, I-" he bites his devious tongue as if revealing it actually weights heavy -and maybe tastes bitter too- "It's hard for me to be gentle when I see someone I care for spiraling... it makes me feel powerless when I just want to help."

Kiyoomi feels his heart drop. How can he always fuck things up? He struggles to keep his composure, counts his breathes to collect at least what's left of it and does what he never dares to do. The spiker comes closer and sits on the ground -denying all the disgusted thoughts about the sanitary of it, and also his own mind at this point. Hesitantly moves his fingers to grasp Atsumu's hands and runs his thumbs over their back. He can feel the other's gaze burns his cheeks, he knows he's surprised by his lips agape.

"Give me some time," he pleases softly, "I'm not used to feelings, I need to rationalize them first and only then act on them, Atsumu... I'm not like you," he admits and still avoids his gaze when the blonde slips from the bench to sit on the ground like him, "...I can't even understand why would you see someone like me."

[romanoffsbish]

Our Last Dance

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Natasha x Fem! x Yelena (Adopted Siblings)

High School Sweethearts AU

Fluffy, but definitely Angst with no happy ending

Warnings: Sick!!! Reader, Drugs, Saying Goodbye, Grief, Cancer diagnosis, Car accident…

Smut: Fingering (W), Marking (R/W)

————————————————————

| Puny | Powerless | Weak |

The same set of words you’d repeatedly heard in your youth; every single time you were looked over by prospective parents, or picked upon by the other kids in The Red Room—the orphanage, it was just affirmed in your mind.

A tragic start doesn’t necessarily equate to a bad life though, because after five years of being alone in there you’d found your saving graces in the delinquent labeled pair of Russian’s that had been ruthlessly dropped off by another set of useless parents.

—————

Natalia Romanov—the buff redhead with piercing green eyes, she was twice your age, nearly double your size, and the older of the two girls; Yelena Belova—the quiet blonde, eyes of varying shades, she’d appeared lean under her monotone attire, but much to everyone’s shock she packed quite the punch.

They were blank faced when they’d arrived, their eyes full of mystery, and a deep rooted pain that’s expertly masked to the average onlooker. Silently they’d observed you, a shocking sense of pity consuming them when saw you being mistreated by all parties.

Though they felt bad they kept their distance, never engaging in such bullying tactics, but also regretfully turning a blind eye to it. It wasn’t until one of the boys—Brad, had attempted to pick on Yelena while Natasha was nowhere to be found that they took you in. Sure she could handle herself, but you weren’t aware of this, so when the irritating boy had approached her you’d immediately intercepted. He’d pulled on her braid, and in an act of childhood bravery you’d shoved the boy.

“Oh, if it isn’t little old Y/N, the unwanted one. Beat it would ya!”

Stuttering as you do, you responded to the boy,“Leave her alone Brad!,” puffing your tiny chest out to appear tough, but falling short as you really just looked beyond adorable.

Yelena had never heard your voice before, it was an equal match to your stature, you were soft spoken, there was also this innocence that carried your words, and in that moment the blonde felt it was her job to protect you from anything that could ever do you harm again. Natasha’s response was much the same as she saw what happened from the corner, and as the boy went to approach you she followed suit.

Yelena was quick to yank you behind her body, but before she could lay the smack down on him Natasha already had him up against the faded walls by the collar of his shirt.

“Do not touch them, big mistake if you do.” Her raspy accented voice filled the space around all of you, the threat glaringly obvious, and the fear it elicited even more so as the boy’s eyes widened and his body scurried away once his feet were back on the ground.

Natasha turned to face her sister, glancing over her shoulder at you with a spine chilling smirk. With relative ease she lifted you up by your armpits, and settled you on her hip, “Welcome to the pack malen'kiy volk.,” and from that day forward the words had reigned true. (Little wolf)

When a burly man, and his petite counterpart entered the orphanage one day it was clear to you that your found sisters were likely leaving. The mans’s loud, booming Russian accent a dead giveaway to you, plus the accompanying ‘Do you have any Russian girls for us?’ sealed it in. His wife had quickly slapped his arm, which immediately shut him up, then in her clearest way she’d said much to the same effect, but in a way less creepy way.

Natasha and Yelena had been playing a riveting game of ‘Arm Wrestling for chocolate,’ which was really just their way of taking candy from the cocky little boys while also knocking them down a few pegs. Neither of them had even noticed the couple at the front desk, but Yelena did however notice your saddened expression, and the sudden flow of tears soaking your pillow while your frail body lay atop the cot.

“Natasha.”

The redhead looked up to her sister while she effortlessly slammed the brunette boys hand against the table before popping his rations of chocolate into her mouth, and smirking once his sobs were audible. Then she realized it wasn’t him crying, but you, and the game was brought to an end.

“These two here come as a package deal, Natalia and Yelena, as Russian as they get.” The clerk mutters, annoyance at having to do her job clear as day, and the girls blink up at the couple in their way on their journey to you.

“They’re perfect! We take.” The man boasts, and both girls cringe when crumbs from his beard fall atop their shirts.

“Hi girls, I am Melina, and this is my pig of a husband Alexei.” She greets, hand reaching out to wipe them clean, but they collectively wince away from her touch.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you girls uncomfortable.”

“We will go with you, but only if Y/N comes.” Natasha commands, Yelena at her side firmly nodding while grabbing her sisters hand.

“Y/N? No, you two will go with whomever is willing to take you, they wanted strong Russian girls, and that’s what you are. There’s no negotiating in adoption, go collect your things.” The clerk dismisses them in a furious state, but neither girl even flinches, instead they continue to look passed her and at you who’d apparently fallen asleep.

Melina winces as the woman beside her speaks so poorly to them, clearly disregards you as not worthy, and this had intrigued the woman who’d once been in your same shoes.

“No, we wish to see this Y/N at once.” Melina announces, elbowing her husband before he could rebut the notion as they’d really only come here for one kid.

Yelena took her interest as a basis for trust, dropping her sisters hand she slips hers into her prospective mother’s, then without a word she guides her towards your sleeping form.

“This is Y/N, nash malen'kiy volk, we protect her, and she loves us.” Yelena announces, hand tenderly landing on your face, thumbs wiping the remnants of your tears away, and your eyes flutter open at the contact. (Our little wolf)

“Y/N, this Melina,—.”

Tears brim your eyes once more as you manage to whisper, “Your new mama… I know..,” over a lip that betrays you as it trembles.

“Our.” Natasha corrects you as she sits down on your cot, and protectively pulls you into her.

“Would you like that malen'kiy?” Melina coos, hands hesitantly reaching out for you, and Natasha allows her to pick you up, but her protective stance never falters. (Little one)

“You want to be my mama?” You whimper, and the older Russian guides your crying face into her neck, and sways you around soothingly.

“Da malen’kiy...” … ”We take all three.”

Everything went up for you after that day, Melina took you under her wing, and the both of you geeked out over her work at the lab, while your sisters much preferred engaging in the world of sports with Alexei. Melina worked closely with you over the years to improve your physical form, helpfully tailoring your diet without any type of restrictions, while also finding the perfect fitness regimen to aide you in defining your body as you wished.

Those same words now repeat in your mind though as you stare down at the paper in your hands, the one confirming the fear that’s been plaguing your mind for the last year, and after your interaction with Natasha last month you’d had no choice but to get said confirmation.

•~~~~~~~~~~~•—•~~~~~~~~~~~•

Tommy and Lily had been begging your wife and you to sign them up for soccer for months, but with the demands of your jobs you’d been unable to fulfill their requests until today. Work had slowed, and you finally had the energy to train with them, or so you thought you did, but now you’re not so sure.

The twins were running circles around you, and the amount of water breaks you needed had thrown you off. Sure, you hadn’t been to the gym in a couple months, but there’s no way in hell you were this bent out of shape. After only thirty minutes you were tapping out, taking a seat on the bleacher while the two continued to play some one on one.

Natasha had agreed to help you, something you’d forgotten about, but when she arrived she decided to lurk in the shadows for a bit. She’d wanted to give you some fun mommy bonding time before she wiped the field with you, but then she noticed you struggling, and all she felt was concerned at the sight of you. It was clear to her that you’d lost weight, an unnatural amount for only two months apart, and the light jog across the field shouldn’t have made you so winded, nor lightheaded as she clearly inferred from when you shakily sat down on the bleachers

‘Russian spy in another life’ is what your father always used to grumble when she’d catch him with cookie crumbs in his beard after he lied about finishing off the pack.

You were in your own world, laying flat on the bench with an arm draped over your eyes in the hopes that it would help to calm your beating heart. So you failed to notice your sister approaching, and there’s no way you’d hear her quiet footsteps, she’s of course classically trained to have a light step.

“Y/N/N…”

You jumped up, nearly falling off the bench with your hand clutching your chest, and Natasha rolled her eyes at your display.

“Natasha, when did you get here?”

“Four o’clock, as we agreed upon.”

“It’s five…” You said while skeptically eyeing her over your watch.

“I know, I’ve been observing.”

Something about her tone makes you uneasy, it’s not the playful one that accompanies a day with her niece and nephew.

“Y/N, we need to talk.”

There it is…

“Well the kids need us to train them, can it wait?”

Natasha’s firm hold on your shoulders keeps you sat, then she kneels in front of you as to not look so intimidating as she speaks.

“Something is wrong with you.”

You scoff, “Natasha, get over yourself, I’m fine.,” but still her hold is too tight, and as her words reign true you have no fight in you.

“We both know that’s not true… How long?”

A few tears slip down your cheek, then you take a shaky breath in before whispering your secret, “a little over a year…,” groaning as her nails dig into your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you—.”

“Keep it down Natalia, the kids don’t need to be unnecessarily spooked.”

“Why didn’t you say something?

“We all have things we don’t talk about…”

“Why not go to the doctors then?”

“I’m scared…”

“Don’t you get it? You should be scared! Look at all that you have to lose, how could you be so fucking selfish?”

“I’m sorry…”

Natasha chances a look back at the giggling kids, heart effectively breaking as the reality of it all dawns on her, then her anger settles as she takes in how broken you are up close.

“I know you are malen'kiy volk.” Natasha resigns, pulling your trembling form into her lap, and running a soothing hand down your back while being grateful your innocent children were so preoccupied.

“I’ll seek help..” You whisper against her chest, and she places a kiss to your forehead while maintaining her soothing.

•~~~~~~~~~~~•—•~~~~~~~~~~~•

Tears smudge the ink, but the words remain clear as day: Stage 4 Metastatic cancer of the Lungs, with tumors that have spread to the brain/heart.

Prognosis: Less than 6 months.

Treatment: Chemotherapy an option to prolong life expectancy, Immunotherapy, but the progression is too far along to be curative.

“Fuck…”

——

“Honey, I’m home!! Are the twins with you?”

Panic fills your weakened body at your wife’s call, your head currently hanging over the toilet bowl as you continue to vomit up stomach acid. What had started as a blinding headache rolled directly into waves of nausea, and now you were left to fight it off for the sake of your wife’s naivety to your month old diagnosis.

“They’re with Lena, she took them to that new soccer field for some much needed practice.” You manage to shout down the stairs, then swiftly shut the door to remain in your secret awhile longer, using the running shower to cover up the sounds of your retching and leaving Wanda none the wiser.

Wanda Maximoff—the woman who’d always loved you as you were, and the same one you promised you’d never leave behind…

She’s had it just as rough as you, if not more so, having lost both her parents in her early youth, to then losing her twin brother right before Junior year of high school. You had went from having nothing to something to everything, and she’d oppositely paralleled you.

Wanda’s obviously no stranger to loss, but having to tell her she’d soon be a widowed mother of two in her early thirties felt overtly cruel, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in this life it’s that nothing is ever fair.

After your nausea subsided enough for you to get off the floor you shakily moved around, brushing your teeth before throwing yourself into bed, thoughts of finally telling everyone what’s going on tomorrow, absolutely dreading having to break the hearts of your family, but knowing it was absolutely the right thing to do.

——

Wanda was off to work before you’d even had a chance to enjoy your mug of tea, she’d kissed your cheek then lips as she told you she’d run the kids to school, hurrying them out the door the next instant, and leaving you behind a bit confused. She’d seemed rather jumpy, and if not for the debilitating headache encroaching your mind you’d have stopped her to check in.

Truth be told she’d known something was wrong with you for awhile now, but just the same as you she just didn’t want to believe it could be true, but after last week’s love making it’d been all but confirmed.

•~~~~~~~~~~~•—•~~~~~~~~~~~•

After an exhausting day in the office, where you no longer worked, but just stared at photos of your family while putting together a handful of painful goodbyes, and handling your final affairs all you’d wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for a hundred years.

Upon entering your house though you realized your wife had other plans in mind, and you were too afraid to turn her away, because up until this point your sex life had been healthy. The house was cloaked in a layer of darkness, the playlist you’d curated together lightly playing, and your wife was cooking in nothing but her red silk robe as the kids were at a friends house.

Wanda and you usually took every free moment to make love, or occasionally engage in a quickie, because truth be told your wife was beyond beautiful and it was hard for either of you to keep your hands to yourself. So when she runs over to you, robe exposing to you her perfect physique you can’t fight the arousal pooling in your exhausted body.

“Welcome home my love.” She whispers against your lips, wasting no time she wraps her arms around your neck and slams her own to yours.

Your arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against your own body, and relishing in the feeling of having her close, but also being mindful of the way that your lungs ached beyond normalcy so you pulled back, allowing her lips to travel elsewhere while you tried to steady your breathing.

Wanda eventually pulled back, unknowingly appreciating the way your chest heaved over the simplest of her touches, and with quick hands the women shut the stove off then dragged your aching form up the stairs. Nimble hands were all over the place, ripping the buttons of your low cut flannel shirt clean off before pushing it all the way off your shoulders, and exposing your chest to her.

The want to be touched just wasn’t there for you anymore, but the need to please your wife would forever be, so before she could try to take you you flipped the script. Taking the initiative you swiftly spun her around, then threw her onto the bed, willfully ignoring the way your head pounded in the process as you removed the final pieces of her clothing.

You were into it, of course you were, but that didn’t make your movements less sluggish. Pumping your fingers into her at the only pace you could keep up with, shoving your face into her neck as you panted unusually hard, and successfully avoided the usual kiss that would leave you dangerously breathless.

Wanda was so consumed by the pleasure rolling through her body in the moment that she’d overlooked the way your lips had evaded hers, and how your normally healthy skin had lost its luster as her nails painfully dug into it, or the way that your bones were starting to protrude against the skin in ways they’d never done before.

With a few final expert curves, and with a delicious pressure applied to both her clit and pulse point she came crashing into her orgasm fairly hard. Walls clinging to your fingers for dear life as her entire body trembled beneath you, and as hot as it all was you couldn’t wait for it to be over. The alarm bells only began to ring for her when you’d rolled off of her in a overtly breathless manner.

Normally you’d be giddily anticipating another round, better yet you’d be begging for her to take you next, but your eyes were closed tight, and your breaths had all but evened out. Wanda finally noticed just how different you looked in this moment, it was truly clarifying for her, and in a way earth shattering.

“I love you Y/N… My beautiful, healthy wife..” She quietly whispers her falsehoods against your skin, lips gently landing on your own before she cuddles up to you in a desperate attempt to keep you close.

•~~~~~~~~~~~•—•~~~~~~~~~~~•

Truth is Wanda didn’t go to work, she actually hadn’t been going to work all week, she’d been dropping the kids at school, then driving herself to the library for researching purposes. Mistakenly hopeful that the diagnosis she’d stumbled upon when you were sleeping one afternoon last weekend could be reversed.

Since you couldn’t tell your wife and kids before they took off you decided to start with your found family instead, collecting all your paperwork you jumped into the car and drove the hour out to your parents farm, your sisters texts confirming their arrival popping up as you drove, and you took the extra long route for a few extra moments of peace.

Parking your car behind Natasha’s you gazed upon the quaint little home you’d experienced countless years of joy in, an uneasiness soon plaguing your already sick body as you slowly made your way to the door. It swung open before you could even reach for the knob and Yelena pulled you into her tight embrace, causing your manila envelope to hit the floor.

“Sorry Y/N/N, I’ll pick it up.”

Melina’s next to pull you into her embrace, arms encircling the entirety of you, and her heart immediately stills, a gut instinct telling her this isn’t natural, and so she pulls back to inspect you closely. Hands cup your cheeks, feeling how the natural chub had melted away, but before she could scold you for not eating enough Yelena’s voice cut through, “what is all of this?”

You sighed, falling forward into your dad before ushering everyone to sit on the couch. Natasha the last one to take a seat as she herself wanted to make sure you made it into your own, and the tension only thickened at the obvious concern.

“Natasha, you’re being awfully quiet.” Melina, ever the perceptive one points out, and you cut in to save your sister the unfair scolding.

“Mama, don’t start… I’m here because…”

“You have cancer.” She cuts you off, needing to say it aloud herself before you were to confirm it.

“Ha! That’s ludicrous, cancer doesn’t even run in the family! Y/N is fine, just a joke right?” Alexei humorously deflects in a panic, no one having the energy to remind the big oaf that genetically there’s no tie here, and you just smile sadly his way.

“Look, I have been—.”

“Fine, you’ve been fine. It simply isn’t true.” Yelena cuts you off next, somehow thinking that if you don’t say it, then it just can’t be true.

Natasha watches you sink into the couch you’re on, anger prominently coursing through her at the way your collective family is behaving. Not that she’d been any better two months ago when she yelled at you in the park, but even then she pulled herself together fast and was able to comfort you as you needed.

“It’s true.” Natasha proclaims, everyone’s eyes shifting to her and she grimaces at the varying shades of betrayal that befall upon her, Yelena’s the most painful of them all.

Yelena jumps up off the couch, finger jabbing into Natasha’s chest as she shrieks, “You knew! You fucking knew and didn’t tell me!” Alexei jumping in right behind her as he grumbled in Russian, and Melina just sat there in silence. You on the other hand felt as if you were about to vomit, with every rehearsal of this moment you’re not sure why you didn’t account for this.

While they continued to bicker back and forth your eyes were tightly shut, junked up lungs straining to pull the necessary oxygen into your body to keep it upright, and so you fell forward, crashing into the coffee table, glass overlay shattering under your weight.

Melina was first to jump into action, pushing you back into your seat, and watching fearfully as you coughed without an end in sight. Your weak hands pitifully clawed at your shirt, desperately trying to ground yourself, and everyone in the room was in a fit of tears as they helplessly watched you struggling.

Yelena was next to try and help, hand harshly slamming into your back, cringing at the far too detailed feeling of your spine under her. Natasha was the only one who managed to speak, whispering a lullaby she’d once used to sing to you in the hopes that psychology could break you from this fit of coughs.

After what felt like an hour, but was only five minutes you’d fallen out of the fit, and instead into a far less scary fit of wheezing. Everyone took their place back on the couch, each one overlooking a piece of paper you brought while you worked to just breathe again. Eyes slowly trailed up, one by one, to look for answers in your own lackluster set, you offered them a tight lipped smile as to avoid the grizzly sight that was your bloody teeth.

You took a necessary sip of water, the metallic taste continuing to linger, but you digressed.

“Mama, you first.”

“When did the symptoms start? Why—.”

“One at a time please; a little over a year ago, I noticed it was abnormally hard for me to breathe when Lena and I shared a joint on the roof at her 34th birthday party.”

Melina fixed a glare onto your blonde sister, then continued with her questions, most of them scientific in nature, and you’d answered them all while your family just nodded along as if they understood you two.

“Papa…”

“You going to be okay right? That was scary, but there’s medicine to fix you right?”

“No papa, I found out too late..”

Yelena cuts in,“How long?,” her reminiscent mask back up, but just as before you see right through to the hurt, and it’s like she’s that broken seven year old little girl in desperate need of love again, and you absolutely hate that you’ve put her in this predicament.

“Five months, give or take…”

After your daunting confession the room fell silent, everyone taking a moment to process exactly what you’d said. Yelena stood from her place on the couch and you were certain she was going to leave, but when she settles into your lap instead you sigh in relief.

“I’m so sorry Lena…”

“I’m sorry too…” She sobs against your chest, and you just hold her as tightly as you can, mumbling your ‘I love you’s’ over and over in the hopes that it’ll fix her broken heart, but knowing the phrase was nothing more than a place holder for what she really needed—time.

Natasha walked you out to the car, hand steadying you as you walked, and upon reaching the car she pulled you in for a bear hug, and you did your best to return it.

“Do you need me there for when you tell Wanda and the kids?”

“Thank you Natty, but no, I think it’s only fair I give them the same treatment…”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right… Call me if you need anything Y/N/N, even if it’s two am.”

You gasp, “Natasha Romanoff, did you just willingly allow me to call you at two am?”

“I never said I’d answer.” She teases right back, and when she relinquishes her hold on you she notices your glossy eyes and she leans forward to settle her forehead against yours.

“I love you Y/N…”

“I love you too Tasha.” You lightly sob, then move away to enter your car, handing over a box full of important documents to your unsuspecting sister, then quickly shoving the keys into the ignition.

“Drive safe…”

—

While driving back towards your house you were going over what it is you’d say to your dearly beloved, and your two greatest accomplishments, and no matter what you came up with it consistently fell flat.

How does one look their happy go lucky twelve year olds in the eye and tell them their mama isn’t going to be around for much longer?

Better yet, how do you tell the love of your life that she’s about to lose her life partner, and be left behind to finish raising your kids?

As you went to turn right onto your street a truck came barreling down the road, uncaring of the residential speed limits, and even more so of the stop sign they just ran right through. You’d tried to stop yourself from going further, but they still managed to clip the front of your car, sending you spinning until the drivers side of your car smashed into a telephone pole, and your thoughts were put on hold as darkness filled your already fleeting mind.

—

Wanda ran into the hospital like a chicken with its head cut off, your name shouted at the front desk lady who just stared at her for a moment. Wanda had already called your family, and your sisters were on the way, while your parents remained back promising instead to pick up the twins from school.

After a long bit of back and forth Wanda is ushered off to room 304 in the ICU, being told that in your state your body was too weak for any extraordinary measures, and she was gone before they could tell her to prepare to say her goodbyes.

Upon entering the room she feels as the wind is knocked out of her, faint beeping all that fills the space, and your once strong body lies there so unbelievably broken before her. The sobs wrack her body within an instant as she steps even closer, your eye’s straining to open, but eventually managing to do so as you will them to for the sake of your wife.

“Wanda…” Your frail hand reaches up to brush her tears away, eyes roaming the expanse of her distraught face, then your chapped lips smack together as you work to ask her for one final thing, “One last dance my love?”

•~~~~~~~~~~~•—•~~~~~~~~~~~•

Wanda was sat in the quad as she waited for the school day to start, pencil to the paper as she pretended to be interested in sketching, but really she was just waiting for you to get the nerve to finally approach her over staring. You’d been dancing around one another since a month into meeting one another sophomore year, and it was painful for your sisters to observe from afar, which is why Yelena was in the process of coaching you, and Natasha was sat in the car rubbing away a migraine.

“Don’t ask, tell her she’s going to prom with you, girls like it when you take control.”

“No, Y/N, for god’s sake don’t do that! Yelena get in the car… Y/N/N, just be yourself, and ask her—she’s literally not going to say no.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me—the one who’s actually in a relationship, not doofus over here who’s still pining herself over the Bishop girl.”

“I’m playing hard to get..” Yelena grumbles, but pipes down at the glare Natasha sends.

Natasha winks at you as she tosses over your lunchbox, “Go get ‘em tiger,” is the last thing you hear before she tears off in her corvette. You take a steadying breath, your fingers reflexively tightening around your backpack straps before you make quick work of approaching the Sokovian of your dreams.

Wanda smiles behind her book, then drops into a rather neutral expression when you sit beside her, eyes trailing up at a leisurely pace as to not give way to her giddy anticipation.

“Hey Y/N/N…”

“Wands…” You cooly greet back, shyly smiling at her as your feet sway into the brick your sat atop of.

“So, I was actually wondering if you’d like to go to prom with me, as my date, but if you don’t want to that’s chill, we could even go as just friends, unless you already were going with someone but I think I’d know that…”

“No.”

Your heart skips a bit at her quick dismissal, “Oh, that’s fine too, I’m going to head to class.” Quickly jumping up you attempt to move away but Wanda’s hand spins you back around to face her, slowly she rises until your nose to nose.

“That’s not how you ask a girl to prom Y/N/N, try again…”

“Should I have just commanded you to go?” You whisper into the thin space between you.

She snorts, “absolutely not, come on, I know you can figure it out,” then she walks away leaving you to ponder what’s to be done.

—

After a tireless weekend spent using Yahoo and Google interchangeably for your research you fell back onto your bed in a huff having come up with nothing to asking a girl to prom. Your sisters were equally as stumped when you told them, but seeing as how neither had gone to their own prom it was a hopeless case to ask them for help anyways.

Then you had a sudden epiphany, grabbing your gel pens, and an unused board for one of your school projects you quickly got to work. Sending off a cryptic text to Wanda on your flip phone once you finished, just hoping that you weren’t making a fool of yourself. You then convinced Alexei to let you borrow the truck, and he only relinquished the keys after you painfully listened to his ill informed attempt at the ‘birds and the bees.’

Wanda had been sat by her phone all weekend waiting for you to try again, part of her now regretting ever saying no in fear that you’d just asked someone else out because it would be easier. She was sat on her aunt’s couch sketching a photo of you from memory when her phone buzzed, and the pencil dropped from her hand, then the sketchbook from her lap when she jumped up in a fit of squeals.

Wanda had changed into her signature outfit, a pastel pink colored skater skirt, with a dingy punk band t-shirt that was half tucked in, with the other half loosely hanging out. Her nails were painted jet black, fingers were covered in various rings, and her face was done up nice. A corresponding pink adorning her lips, cheeks, and eyelids, while the remainder of her eye makeup was black. Then after spritzing herself with the perfume she knew drove you wild she took off on her scooter.

You had decorated your fathers truck bed, settling a blanket down to make it less bleak, you then layered it with all of Wanda’s favorite snacks, in the center was a boombox playing off a mixed cd you’d burnt for her of ‘06, and this years greatest pop-punk hits.

Pacing the field of Westview’s finest park you can’t help but to hear your internal monologue screaming at you to drive away, but the not so distant crunching of dead grass beneath familiar combat boots tells you it’s too late. Your sweaty hands grab the board, and without much consideration for rehearsal you awkwardly lift the sign above your head, and wait for Wanda to hopefully appreciate the effort.

“We're going down, down in an earlier round

And sugar, we're going out dancing.

I'll be your number one with a corset.

A loaded god complex, fuck it and say yes..”

Wanda’s truly stunned at the spectacle before her, she’d hoped for you to just bring her flowers or candy, and to ask less nervously. Instead she got you pulling all the stops for her, and using her interests as a means for creativity, and it makes her want to burst into tears, while also pulling you in for a kiss.

Her silence terrified you, because if this wasn’t it, then you’d had no idea what else to do, so you took a deep breath in before trying again, “Wanda Maximoff, would you be interested in accompanying me to prom as my date?”

Wanda smiles at you, the cheeky one that usually is followed up by a ridiculous quip,“Well Y/N/N, I’m thinking I’ll have to go with yes, because going without you I know I’d be Miserable at Best…”

You giggle at her playing into your little musical play on words game, then you set the board down in the truck before you’re taking a confident step towards her, and continuing, “Yeah? We both know you’re not much into the business of misery…”

Wanda launches into your waiting arms, heart absolutely soaring at your adorable nature, and you just hold her close while your beaming smile never fades.

—

The night of the dance was magical, Wanda had stunned you when she showed up to your house in a modest red dress that fell to her knees, but still managed to accentuate her perfect physique in a deliciously tasteful way. You’d dressed up to match her in one of Natasha’s many suits, then Melina bombarded you both for a never ending flash of photos.

Once you’d entered the stuffy arena full of underage idiots you’d paved a way for your date and you to reach the punch table. Wanda watched in amusement as you spit the liquid back into the cup, because no matter how many times you’d accidentally sipped on your Russian father’s vodka you’d never get used to the bitter taste or the unwelcome burn.

“Jeezus, that was disgusting.” You whine, and Wanda notices how you’ve picked up on and adopted your blonde sisters accent for the most random of phrases.

“Yeah, totally.” She teases you, slamming the glass back in one fluid motion before dragging you off to a corner for the preferred privacy.

The music in the place is decent, definitely a nice blend between the mainstream and the classics, but you could tell Wanda was a bit underwhelmed, so you happily resorted to Plan B, pulling your iPod nano from your pocket, and watching as her eyes light up once you settle a earbud into her ear, and settle the device in your suit pocket after selecting the playlist of your choice: “Wanda <3”

The night is a blur of jumping around, and being absolutely bat shit crazy up until the moment your device dies, but the fun doesn’t end as Wanda drags you outside, and shares with you a special sort of greenery meant to ‘enlighten’ your mind, and within minutes you’ve dissolved into a giggling mess.

“Near, far, wherever you are…”

“Oh my gosh! Wanda, if you love me you’ll slow dance with me to this song, it’s one of my favorites!”

Wanda pays no mind to the words you said, true as they may be she’d never admit it while under the influence—it’s be too cheap, but she does extend her hand out for you to take, giggling wildly as you pull her back inside to dance amongst the sweaty student body. Fortunately, most of them found no interest in a song they couldn’t grind against each other to, so it was just the two of you and a handful of couple out there.

“Love can touch us one time

And last for a lifetime

And never let go 'til we're gone

Love was when I loved you

One true time I'd hold to

In my life, we'll always go on”

Your stare is intense as the lyrics loudly play, definitely fueled by the drugs, but more so by your unwavering affinity for the beautiful girl stood before you, the same one who’s grateful for the darkened room and her concealer for hiding her blushing face.

“You're here, there's nothing I fear

And I know that my heart will go on

We'll stay forever this way

You are safe in my heart and

My heart will go on and on”

When Wanda can no longer take the tension she lunges forward, lips passionately colliding with your own inexperienced pair, but in the weed fueled haze neither of you seem to care. Her lips are soft and taste faintly of vodka and strawberries, and you feel this pull to never let her go, hands falling to her hips to ensure it as the case, if not forever then for at least another minute.

Wanda is the one who breaks the kiss, realizing you’d forgotten that breathing is necessary, and she giggles wildly once you seem to have regained your cognition, but somehow managed to only mutter out a simple, “Wow…” before burying your face into the crook of her neck embarrassingly.

“I think I’ll keep you krasivaya… maybe we’ll make the greatest escape, leave this small town, and thank it for all the memories.”

Wanda smiles widely as you laugh uncontrollably against her, residing in that moment to never stop making you laugh for as long as you both shall live.

•~~~~~~~~~~~•—•~~~~~~~~~~~•

Wanda presses a kiss to your palm, then another to your fingertips as your hand falls from her face. Nodding almost violently she shakily begins to remove the hospital’s life sustaining IV’s and cords from your broken down body, absolutely hellbent on giving you what you want, and really, what she needs in your fleeting moments…

She cradled your slackening form to her chest, swaying you around in the dimly lit hospital room to the tune of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ as her tears fell without reserve, eyes tracing over every feature of yours in fear that she might one day forget the beauty that is your face, knowing though that it’s not likely to happen.

Wanda recounted her fondest memories of your life well spent together aloud for you to hear in your final moments, while staring down at your peaceful face, and wishing for time to undo its greatest mistake in taking you away. Time had always been so cruel to her, and she’d mistakenly thought she finally had succeeded in beating it at this twisted game. Apparently it was all a well planned out blanket of security bestowed upon her, fifteen years worth of love could never be enough for her, or for the children you brought into the world.

Wanda moves her face closer to your own when she sees you speaking in a hushed tone, “I love you guys so much, kiss the twins for me…” leaving your lips, and a whimper leaves her own when she realizes this is it, it’s all over…

Wanda whispers, "Until we meet again my love..." against your lips before gently kissing you through your last breath.

Natasha stood outside the hospital room with Yelena’s trembling form held close as she repeatedly whispered, “we still had five months,” as if that would change anything. Tears of her own fall down her cheeks when she sees the exact moment your chest no longer rises, and she realizes she now has to live in a world without your perfect laughter.

“Natasha, my fiercest protector, please take care of them, and while you’re at it yourself…” reads the final sentence of the crumpled up note in her hand, and the moment your wife fell to her knees she vowed to do as you wished.

“You can rest now malen’kiy volk…”

—————————————————————

6,914 Words

This is August Angst 😳

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥺

[theredhairedmonkey]

I for one at glad they’re finally bringing Leola into the show!

Who’s Leola? Glad you asked. She’s the unicorn who had provided humans with primal stones and instructed them on performing primal magic. Essentially the opposite of Aaravos, who had gifted humans with dark magic as a means to control them. Here’s an excerpt from Tales of Xadia:

Elarion was the first great settlement of humans, powerless creatures with no magic in their blood. It arose long, long ago in Xadia somewhere near what later became the Border. The humans of Elarion struggled together against famine, plague, and the indifference of Xadia’s magical denizens, at the mercy of the world around them.

One heart took pity on the plight of humanity. A unicorn, unique among her own rare kind, saw the strength and ingenuity of the human spirit where others saw weakness and beastly ignorance. Her name was Leola. While elves warned that if humans were meant to wield magic they would have been born with it, she gifted the wisest humans with secrets: the language of the dragons and the runes that shaped spells.

With the unicorn’s gift, the most determined minds among the humans could finally harness primal magic. It was difficult and dangerous work, and few could bear the grueling path of a rune mage. With just a small taste of magic, humanity thrived. Elarion grew from the seedling of a settlement into a beautiful white city, nestled in the shadow of a great mountain.

So, not only is Leola the person who initially introduced primal magic to humans, but since she had also provided humanity with primal stones (including the one Callum took and thus launched his journey to becoming a mage).

While Leola Last Wish is certainly a mystery right now, Leola’s first influences are still making an impact in the show’s present.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Love the way the anime adapted this bit of the exchange between the trio in chapter 27 and chapter 28 where Ray reveals he hasn’t experienced infantile amnesia.

You can feel the profound weight of a lifetime of suffering and loss on his face as he grapples with trying to keep his emotions out of what he’ll say next, because he never brings up how what happened in all the years prior made him feel, not even when Emma provides him with an opportunity where she prompts him with speculation about what it must have been like seeing dozens of their siblings off and being powerless to do anything about it in episode 5

(Chapter 181.1)

when she remembers how shaken up Ray was when they were younger (even going so far as to say "but…Ray is never happy" in the "NER in Bird Cages" short story in the first light novel, though in perplexity as opposed to being passive-aggressive about it) and now finally has a devastating answer as to why.

But Ray never explicitly colors his recollections with emotions when discussing them with Emma and Norman, how what was happening around him and what he and Isabella did made him feel, and only displays the full anguish of what that did to him when he's speaking with Emma on the night of January 14th. While the two knew Ray intended to kill himself to serve as a distraction for them to escape, Emma never knew how deeply he internalized his self-loathing and the belief that he deserved to die for his actions and inaction until that eventful night, otherwise she would have asked one of the other kids to go talk to him, if not just have said “fuck it” and did it herself, Isabella's watchful eye be damned. She would not have let him suffer to that degree so long on his own; it goes against every fiber of her being.

Ray keeps all of that inside though, because he doesn't want their pity. He doesn't believe he deserves any when he actively chose to become Isabella's informant and which children would be shipped out early due to his experimentation with the trackers, least of all from the two people who are firmly categorized as genuinely good and worth saving in his mind. He loves them enough to squash down his humanity and die for them.

Yet there’s also that desperate (and what he considers selfish) desire to not be alone in this anymore.

I imagine among the vast array of emotions he was experiencing on the day of Conny's shipment was a guilty sort of excitement at being able to talk with them about the truth of the house, though he would never admit to it during this time because he deems his wants as irrelevant and unworthy.

But even after so much is out in the open between them now—how he tried to poison them against Don and Gilda and the other children by implying one of them was a traitor, how he experimented on at least one other child to ascertain how the trackers functioned, how he’s been Isabella’s dog for half his life—they still care about him and believe in him, and are earnestly reaching out to connect with him.

In a raw and selfish moment—because he's been steeling away his heart for years so that his resolve doesn't crumble—Ray gives in to those wants and reaches out to meet them. (There’s the argument that he’s desperate and willing to concede almost anything to strengthen his credibility with them so he can get his plans back on track and secure his end goal, but I like to think it’s mixed with this too.)

There's more focus on Norman than Emma during this part, likely as a callback to the tense confrontation they had during episode 5 where Norman was very cool and trying to quell how hurt he was by Ray’s betrayal and deceit. Now he’s taken what Emma said to heart, and it led him to the realization that Ray was willing to suffer in silence and die for them, willing to poison his relationship with them so they would distance themselves from him and so his death would cause them less grief.

(Chapter 29)

This is also after Norman’s fully committed himself to dying for Emma and Ray (and the other Grace Field children) and lied about what he plans to do the following day, so there’s this need for as much honesty between them as they can give because he hates leaving off on such terms. Unlike the time where he instigated a confrontation between them and went in combative in the event Emma was wrong, here he’s approaching Ray with a genuine desire to understand him. He wants to give him a chance to vent, know more about the him that he kept under such rigid constraints for so long, and to try and internalize what Ray’s saying to draw strength from the next day as he walks to the gate. This also why he verbalizes Ray’s struggle of six years of collecting parts for the deactivator and the focus switches to it as a physical manifestation of Ray’s hardships and love he holds in his hands (with the anime altering the manga's order of events so Ray gives him the tracker before discussing his memories of Grace Field Headquarters to facilitate this).

The lighting leaves such an acute awareness in Norman’s eyes and such a haunted look in Ray’s while the former is more illuminated and the latter is in shadows. I love that Norman holds Ray’s gaze during this entire exchange and doesn’t look away even during the brief bit of silence, letting Ray know that no matter what he says, he won’t shy away from sharing the weight of his reality. He wants to understand him after he spent a lifetime of not being able to be honest about the things that hurt him the most. There’s layers of tragedy to that, one being that they’re both still holding back at this point, but there is some progress on the front.

Likewise, how Ray’s eyes are obscured when he reveals he’s always known, and the way Norman doesn’t suppress his reaction as the light shimmers in his and the skin around them and his brow crinkles in muted grief. He vowed to himself not to look away at Ray’s suffering, but just like he quickly realizes the implication of Isabella being at the gate and how that’s reflected on his face in episode 1

the gravity that’s implicitly woven into those three words is heartbreaking, and it strengthens his resolve that he's making the correct choice. Ray has carried this burden for so, so very long; now it's his turn to bear it (though the perceived cost is unfathomably cruel to expect of anyone, least of all an eleven-year-old).

And on Ray’s end, we have the perspective flip of this reflection:

Because he remembers the years of Norman’s love and kindness when all Norman understood about the situation was that one of his two best friends was sad.

While he won't give up all his secrets to him and Emma, in this moment where they're on the precipice of potentially losing Norman if anything should go awry, he exposes another painful layer of his past.

It's a double-edged sword though, because while it does bring them all closer together emotionally, Ray assumes that by additionally appealing to Norman's logical side with the information he can provide him about headquarters, it'll convince him that hiding out in the forest for a few months is a viable option. In actuality, Norman's already made his final decision.

[multicolour-ink]

Want to know what happened to the Bro's parents in the Deity AU? 👀 Well....

- - -

Pio Mario is getting by as a carpenter, when he meets the beautiful Mia. After a few dates, the two realise they have fallen in love, and their relationship soon becomes more intimate...

But Mia has to reveal a secret to Pio: she is actually a goodness from the celestial universe, and she has only taken a mortal form in order to hang out and experience the mortal world. Something about it entices her, but she has never fallen for a mortal man until now...

The rest of the gods get word of their relationship, and are not happy with her shenanigans, for gods are not supposed to flip their time between the mortal and god world. They are also upset to learn that Mia has fallen pregnant.

She is given a choice:

- She can come back to the stars forever and raise her children there, but Pio would not be able to come with her as he is mortal.

- Or she can take an elixir to become a mortal for good, and live bound to the mortal world forever.

Against the god's wishes, Mia chooses to stay with Pio and raise their children together. But they see how much she is willing to give up for him, and present her with a gift: a small bottle of elixir that can turn her immortal again so should she wish. The only catch is there is only enough dosage for one, and if the elixir is taken, there is no way to change back. Also the ingredients necessary to create the elixir are very rare and hard to obtain by mortal or God means.

Some time goes by and Mia gives birth to twin boys. Finally happy and living content in their own home, the couple are more than ready to spend their lives together...

But one day, Kamek, a servant of the dark god Bowser, forsees that Mia and Pio's twins will be the cause of his master's downfall many years later, amd vows to destroy them before it happens.

When Pio goes out to get wood, and Mia stays with the children, Kamek sees his chance and attacks the house when Mia is alone.

Terrified, Mia is powerless as Kamek proves to have magic that overpowers her mortal body. Kamek promises to spare her if she doesn't resist, but Mia is not willing to let her children be taken.

Suddenly spotting the elixir where they stored it for safekeeping, Mia realises what she must do. Before Kamek can react, and in an act of noble sacrifice, she downs the elixir and becomes a full goddess once again, before ending Kamek's life...

Pio returns home, sees the trashed house, the deceased Kamek, and Mia missing, and quickly puts together what happened.

He is grateful that the boys are safe, but is so overcome with grief for Mia that he begs the gods to let her go so they can be together. Surely her good heart and the sacrifice she made is not worth this?

The gods take pity, and while Mia is still forbidden from stepping onto the mortal world again, she is given sanctuary on the moon, so she can be closer to Pio and the boys.

While he misses his wife, Pio puts everything into raising the boys, but is soon made aware by another deity that his sons cannot stay in the mortal world forever. Since they were conceived when Mia was still a goddess, this makes them demi gods, and they must ascend to the celestial universe when they come of age...

Centuries pass. Her children have ascended as gods, and Mia remains on the moon; vowing to never abandon the place and the person that was her true home...

- - -

This AU is inspired partly by the myth of Hou Yi and Chang'E - I recommend checking out this video on it by Overly Scarcastic Productions, who not only dives into different versions of the myth, but accompanies every one of her videos with cute animations ^^

[esther-dot]

According to D stans, Dany was a underdog unlike Starks who are born in castles and have privileges. But Dany had to grow in poverty and with no proper home. While Dany and Viserys did struggle growing up it can't be ignored that they still have Targ names and titles which help them. Otherwise Dany wouldn't have dragons and Drogo won't choose her as his bride. Also Starks are going through same difficulties since they lost everything at young age.

It’s true the Starks have suffered, but Dany had a special kind of hell in that her only surviving family was an abusive brother. The Starks had security that Dany didn’t, a good family that she didn’t, people who truly loved them and wanted to protect them. We could compare the Starks relationship with, and hero-worship of, Robb to Dany's romanticization of Rhaegar. She doesn't have any connection or knowledge of her brother, while the Starks had warm memories of theirs.

I feel a great deal of pity for book Dany. I'm not sure that marrying Drogo and getting dragons is at all a positive thing, being a nobody seems like it might be worth it in ASOIAF. Murdered families, exile from their homes, fleeing for their lives, forced marriages...the family names become something like a curse to all our young POVs, for the Starks and Dany. A privileged life in some regards, a horrible fate in others. Poor Elia and her kids, for example. Being highborn is a privilege, but there’s a reason why even at it’s happiest, the life before her was intolerable for Arya, and of course, everything Sansa has to endure because she’s key to the North…yes, the Starks certainly suffer as well. I am particularly interested in the connection/overlap of Bran and Dany’s stories, since Bran is the endgame king, I think there must be a lot that Martin is saying in the juxtaposition although I haven’t reread their chapters to look for it 🫣.

Dany is informed of what her family suffered, but Bran was older when he lost his and therefore will always remember them and their loss, his castle being taken, fleeing for his life with a brother. I’m sure they share similar passages, if we were to look for them, I believe there was a similarity in the description of Summer and the horse Drogo gave Dany and I’m guessing they pile up from there. It's interesting that they both have the flying idea in their chapters, although Bran's begins with his great trauma of falling, while for Dany flying is equated with freedom from the outset, and considering the passages that indicate how essential it is to be near to death so that you bear the burden of taking it, it seems flying so far above those you're killing isn't a good thing. That's tied into the feeling of being a god/superior to others Dany has, and I'd assume Bran will have to resist that temptation, hold tightly to his humanity.

Back on track! I don't think we can weigh how they've suffered against each other, all of our POVs have in different ways, the important thing is to understand what they have done with that experience. Will the perpetuate more harm, or will they rise above their pain/desire for revenge and find a path forward that gives peace to the powerless? Bran chose to give up his home to spare his people, Dany will bring great suffering to Westeros to reclaim hers. Perhaps that is the contrast that tells us why it is Bran who ends up king.

[starwrittenfates]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐄𝐫𝐚 --

The Werewolf Incident - Sirius told Severus that Lily was in danger and went to the shack, hence why Severus risked himself to go in and save her, not knowing it was a set-up.

Tobias Snape broke Eileens’ wand out of rage and disgust for ‘her kind’, hence why she was later powerless against him and the abuse grew more severe.

Despite the fact Eileen could be neglectful at times due to Tobias abuse that was not only directed at Severus, but at her too, Severus had the strongest bond with his mother. He loved her and looked up to her. He couldn't give a shit about his father though.

The Sorting Hat told Severus that he’d be good in Gryffindor for his courage and bravery, but after his interaction with James and Sirius on the train ride there, it was an immediate "NOPE" to that. Slytherin was always his goal. However, he did hesitate, knowing Lily was part of that house too.

Severus was bullied by his own House in hopes of "toughening him up", hence why we don’t see any Slytherin jump to his defense when bullied by the Marauders. Slytherin had this rule of: "Only the strongest survive."

Over the years, the Slytherin's in his house would get on Severus for being friends with Lily ("Why are you friends with that Mudblood? You can make better friends with us instead.") At first, Severus was good at ignoring it, staying true to his word about blood status not mattering. However, over the years, some in his house (Mulciber and Avery in particular) had voiced threatening to go after Lily if Severus didn't join them, especially once they graduated and became Death Eaters. Besides the constant bullying he received from the Marauder's, this was just another thing to keep him on edge and guarded at Hogwarts. And something that caused Severus to start distancing himself from Lily, and in turn, their friendship start to crumbling.

Having come from a poverty stricken neighborhood and a broken home with an abusive father, Severus never liked it when someone took pity on him. Pride is his downfall and it is because of these reasons that when Lily ends up standing up for him during one of the Marauder's attacks that Severus snaps at her with embarrassment despite not meaning to call her a Mudblood. And of course this leads to becoming his Worst Memory, not only because he lost his friendship with Lily, but mostly because of the fact he hurt her.

From that moment on, Severus learns to never let his emotions get the best of him like that again. He tries to learn how to control them, or at least choose his words carefully, so he can never have a repeat of that moment ever again.

He takes on the title "The Half-Blood Prince" sometime in his Sixth Year. It's something to bring him comfort as he is still dealing with the loss of Lily's friendship and enduring bullying from the Maruaders. It is also him trying to give himself some power, purpose and shedding anything that makes him feel the opposite. Calling himself "The Half-Blood Prince" is Severus' way of saying: "No matter how many times you may try to kick me down, I'm still worthy as a person, even as a Half-Blood." It's a declaration during what he thinks to be the darkest time of his life.

His father died of Alcoholism after his 16th birthday. There was a small moment of bliss in the Snape Household because of it. Severus enjoyed these small moments with his mother. However, Eileen ended up passing away on his 17th birthday, but not before leaving Severus his childhood home to him in a will.

Despite not sharing any of their beliefs about Muggle-Borns, Severus ends up joining the group of future Death Eaters, becoming one after graduation because he feels he has no other purpose in life. He had already lost everything (and because Voldemort can actually be a very persuasive, manipulative person, he promises Severus that his greatness and talents will shine in his ranks and he will never be treated terribly ever again.)-- "You can have everything you want, just shake my hand and sign your life away."

At first, it all seemed promising. He could start to see himself having a future again and everything the Dark Lord had promised. However, after overhearing a prophecy about "the Dark Lord and the one to defeat him" being read and reporting it back to his master, the reality of the situation and just how much he had lost himself in the darkness came back to bite Severus when Voldemort set his targets on Lily (and her family.)

Severus used Felix Felicis to ask Voldemort to spare Lily (not because he needed the courage to do so. It was strictly for the luck of Voldemort agreeing to do so.)

[swallowerofdharma]

What Guts is for Griffith

a dispassionate analysis written for a better understanding of both characters and of Berserk

Part 5: If you have something to protect, take up that sword

A while ago, after rereading volume 22 and the two chapters about Serpico and Farnese’s backstory, I had to go back to look at the chapters in the Golden Age arc dedicated to Casca. There are many similarities in how those stories are told. And I had to reassess my understanding of the general role of Casca in the story. She is fundamentally a secondary character, regardless of her being on focus in very significant - and unforgettable - moments of Berserk. When she tells her story to Guts - in the cave where they found refuge during the battle against the Blue Whale Knights - she is mostly explaining how she joined the band of the Hawk and how her relationship with Griffith developed from hero worship to genuine care. In the same way, Serpico remembers his story in connection with Farnese. Both Casca and Serpico come to understand some fundamental characteristics, hidden for most other people, about their counterparts, and by telling Guts / the readers they are attracting our attention to Griffith and Farnese’s very complex and contradictory personalities, rather than themselves. Even if Serpico is a good character and has his moments where he takes action, he mostly supports Farnese’s character. In the same way, Casca has almost always been a support in Griffith’s story and she will continue to be so in Guts’s one. Her secondary role is more a choice of effective storytelling than something related to gender, but I understand that the scarcity of female characters, especially in the first part of Berserk, makes her a focal point regardless.

While discussing Charlotte, I was saying how there is a habit of criticizing female characters more harshly. We separate them especially, to look and analyze how they are treated, but in doing so there is the risk of losing sight of the story itself, of its economy. Even as a form of criticism, paying attention to how characters are presented solely or especially based on gender can be deceiving and can weigh more on female or non-binary characters. Casca is very interesting for a lot of reasons. I don’t see her only as an example of the various - often flat - representations of the strong woman, the warrior whose competence, strength and ability are equal or better of those of men. Casca was a twelve year old girl that found herself joining a mercenary band in a situation quite extreme: she says she can’t go back to her village because she killed the nobleman who took her. Her words alone won’t be heard in the face of the death of a higher member of society. And she doesn’t want to be a burden on her family, or go back after her father agreed to sell her to a stranger. Casca’s choice is also tied to the first mesmerizing impression she has of Griffith: “So strange… it was as if the image of some saint adorning the wall of my village church had just come to life. (…) I thought god had taken pity on this miserable, powerless girl and sent an angel”. At the start of Casca Chapter 2, before being woken up by Guts, she is dreaming about that first encounter - the dream is in the chapter title page. In it Griffith is on his horse saying: “Whether you come along or not is your decision. You know how to fight already, don’t you?” And in Casca’s mind the word “But…” is repeated three times. The objection comes from a place inside Casca where she is acknowledging that it wasn’t much of a choice, rather than circumstances. Casca isn’t a soldier because that was her aspiration all along, she takes on the sword and all that comes with it, the threats of violence and certain attitudes of the enemy, the patronizing and the hostility. What should be an empowering choice also exposes her more likely to dangers and humiliation. In Casca’s character too there are complexities and depth, duplicity and contradictions. Meeting Griffith was an opportunity to change not only her circumstances but also the way she looked at the world: “The land was barren, and we couldn’t really grow much besides oats. Even so, we were bled dry by taxes for the war effort. (…) Because the village was near the border, it was often involved in skirmishes. When that happened, all we could do was hide in the mountains and watch silently as our houses and fields were ravaged. It was just like with any other village… We were used to being robbed and walked over. I too thought that such a way of life was just natural”. When she is assaulted by the nobleman, she tries to run, but after being caught and being overpowered, she stops fighting, giving up: “I can’t help it. It’s natural… Those two ideas were always in my heart to help me stay connected to reality”. A reality that she can’t change until being confronted with an alternative to the passive acceptance of a natural way of things: “If you have something to protect take up that sword”.

Fighting to try and oppose this natural order because it is unjust, because there are things worth protecting and fighting for: Griffith is the embodiment of this idea in the Golden Age, before being confronted with the death of a child soldier. There isn’t something intrinsically evil in the decision to fight, but it is a choice that comes with hard consequences: “Everything changed that day. How I thought, how I lived. Everything… From a life I continually endured to a life of fighting to succeed. The paltry dining table by the fire, with my family around became a glorious battlefield adjoined by death and blood. Since that day… the day I met Griffith, I… even now, I feel it’s been one long dream”. There are multiple other instances in Berserk of people referring to the events that surround Griffith as being inside a dream but any dream can shift to become a nightmare. Casca finds herself living the violent life of a man at war while being a woman - “I somehow carved out a life as a soldier” - and she can’t really reconcile that inner-outer duality or the life she lives and the nature of her feelings. That “But…” that repeated in her mind when Griffith asked: “You know how to fight already, don’t you?” - “But… you were the one… who gave me the sword and the blanket”. Casca’s entry to a world of fighting is tied to her feelings for Griffith. Even after she abandons the idolized version of the beginning, she finds even more reasons to tie herself to him: “It’s not that he is strong. Griffith… has to make himself strong. I want to be by his side. If he is going to sacrifice everything for his dream… if his dream is to fight and cut away his own path then I want to be his sword”.

Casca finds some fulfillment not in the opportunity to behave like a man and fight and carve out her own life, but in her feelings and in supporting and caring for another: “Having Griffith trust me deeply made me realize my own worth. I want to be something he can’t do without in achieving his dream”. And that can be seen as a way to live a life less authentic, or dependent on another, but as the story of Berserk evolved, deeper value is given to the love and care for others, to compassion and supporting other people. It doesn’t really matter who takes the role of caring for others, men, women, all people are called to answer for those shared human needs. And, in this particular moment of the story, Casca is acknowledging something that Guts doesn’t fully understand: “Griffith relies on you, you know? And yet you are selfish, you just run off, not thinking of consequences…” The emotional outburst, the other things that Casca is saying and not saying, the mixed accusations and her jealousy and resentment are meddling with the urgency of those words. They impact on Guts like on a wall, what was important to take away gets lost: from now on Guts will rather try to get Casca closer to Griffith, to make Griffith notice her instead of understanding the importance of his own place beside Griffith. Guts’s mind is already occupied by what he took away from overhearing Griffith’s speech to Charlotte about friends and equals. His perception of being unworthy, or having to achieve a dream of his own are already taking him further away from the role of being the person who Griffith can rely on. On one hand, Guts is thinking in those traditional terms of being men, of accomplishing something to be seen as valuable rather than offering emotional support and affection, but, on the other hand, he is affected by a sense of inadequacy and inferiority, having understood that Casca too has found her own dream and bigger purpose: “Compared to what you’re doing… me fighting with a hundred men doesn’t really matter”.

Even when Casca shares with Guts details about Griffith’s personal struggles and his most private and vulnerable side, he chooses to believe that after all Casca is the one more suited to stay at Griffith’s side and starts to care for her, reinforcing her motivations for surviving the fight against the Blue Whale Knights that tracked them down. He will defend her, covering for her and convincing her to flee: “…This right by you? Dying in a place like this? Here, this worthless place. Is this where it ends for you? Is what you want that cheap? A sword returns to the sheath, right? Go back. Go to your sword master… Go to Griffith”.

More about Guts, Casca and Griffith on a later date. There is so much to say, these posts are going to be long and I am trying to be brief…

[josefavomjaaga]

Joseph and Napoleon, again.

Still reading the correspondence between Napoleon and Joseph during the Peninsular War, and I can’t decide whom of the two correspondents I dislike more. Napoleon still boasting »I will in Spain find the Pillars of Hercules, but not the limit of my power«, while Joseph - who has warned him over and over that things are going really, really badly here - after the capitulation of Baylén is already on the road from Madrid back to the French frontier, running from an army of infuriated Spanish insurgents … that’s really hard to stomach and makes me pity Joseph, who sees much better how things really stand, but whose opinion, it seems, Napoleon never takes serious.

And yet I think I’m also starting to understand why, despite Joseph’s and Murat’s problems being so similar in nature, I have far more sympathy for Murat than for Monsieur Joseph.

This is from a letter Joseph wrote to Napoleon in 1808, when he had been driven from Madrid the first time, after Dupont’s capitulation at Baylén and literally only a couple days after he had first entered Madrid:

Joseph to Napoleon, Burgos, 9 August 1808

[…] I found here other people of my household who left Naples after it. I have been here since this morning; I have been thinking a great deal about the situation of Spanish affairs, about those of Naples, and about Your Majesty's letter of 3 August, in which she tells me of my fondness for the Spaniards. I disregard all intermediate ideas, and here is the result of my reflections:

1° Since much blood and money is needed to conquer Spain, France is entitled to find an indemnity for it, and to ensure that these peoples, who will long hold a feeling of animosity against her, cannot essentially harm her. For this, Spain must be reduced to the point of being powerless to give in to this resentment: joining the provinces beyond the Ebro to France, joining Galicia to Portugal, dividing up the Spanish possessions, would make what would remain of Spain descend to the rank of a third power; [...]

It would be possible, by returning the increased Portugal to the house of Braganza, and disposing of Spain and the Spanish possessions, to make them objects of compensation, the price of the war and the token of a general peace [...].

2° When I consider myself in this matter, it is impossible for me not to become at once a stranger to Spain. Honour, conscience, or finally that hidden instinct which is the motive of all my actions, […]

… Money? Or women? It has to be one of those two!

[…] would never allow me to remain on the throne of Spain, if that monarchy were to be reduced in the least part.

Of course. Ruling over a third degree power would be beneath one Joseph Bonaparte.

In the supposition that France would want to gratuitously lavish her blood and gold to place and maintain me on the throne of Spain, I cannot conceal from Your Majesty that I could not bear the idea that another than Your Majesty should command the French armies in Spain. Having become the conqueror of this country through the horrors of the war in which all Spanish individuals will take part, I will long be an object of terror and execration. I am too old to have the time to repair so many evils; and I would have sown too much hatred during the war for me to be able to reap in my last years the fruit of the good that I would have been able to do during peace, in the midst of preventions and calamities of all kinds.

To sum up: Joseph is not necessarily against using violence against the Spaniards – to the contrary, he is fully aware that a ruthless oppression will be necessary in order to get a hold of the country, and he even suggests that the country be split up, rendered powerless forever, and certain regions be used as barter goods with the Brits for a general peace.

He just does not want to be the one to do it.

In exchange for the priviledge to see his brother sit the throne of Spain, Napoleon please do all that ugly fighting and butchering and maiming. M’kay? Getting his hands dirty, that’s nothing for a person as delicate as Joseph. He wants to be seen as the good guy by his new subordinates, so he cannot be involved in any of the ugly stuff. But, hey, Naps, that’s precisely what you went to Brienne for, right? So just invest some fifty millions in money and some fifty thousand soldiers (Joseph keeps asking for this over and over, before he even has reached his capital), kill whoever you need to kill in order to make sure that the Spanish will not rebel again, and I’m all yours to wear that crown.

And in case Napoleon should adopt neither of Joseph’s suggestions (either split up Spain and make it powerless, or beat it into submission and then place Joseph on the throne), Joseph will do what any person in his right mind would do, call it a day and go back to his much more comfortable throne of Naples. Sorry, Naps, surely you will understand.

I can’t help but feel a lot of Schadenfreude at the thought that, when Joseph was writing this, Naples had already been given to Murat.