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galaxythreads · 1 year

Note

Idk if you're still doing the lore thing, but if you are: The Blood Of My Enemy Stains My Hands Now?

I am ALWAYS still doing lore for fics. Sorry this took like two weeks to answer, anon.

LORE FOR THE BLOOD OF MY ENEMY STAINS MY HANDS NOW <-- link to story

this was written as a request for Tamuril2, who asked for something with Loki and Fury after I wrote My Kids Will Call Me Fury , where Fury collected the Avengers as his kids. They wanted something with Loki and Fury specifically, so when I added the additional scene at the end of MKWCMF, I also decided to just...write this.

I didn't have a plan. I didn't even really have an end goal in mind.

I remember starting to write it and just being like "yknow what, fine" and just letting it go wherever. I wrote the entire thing in like seven hours. I am a meticulous planner for multi-chapters. For one-shots I kinda just let the story take itself.

Fair warning, I haven't read this story in probably 2 years. No, I think i listened to it at work recently? honestly i have no idea.

lol. Fury is such an a-hole.

---

it was not ear blood. It was the fact that Loki was crying. The ear blood just sort of sealed the deal.

---

PTSD from being tortured by Thanos ^^^

---

"Flesh around a long, ragged gorge (a stab, not clean) is blackened and the veins around it are turning a purplish-blue."

.....

galaxy.

that's kind of too funny to go and edit out honestly. Sometimes I find grammar errors that I can't stand but this is just. This is comedy gold.

reason 1134325235 I should have a beta, but don't. (I edit vigorously but that only catches 92% of everything)

---

"Fury can see evidence of previous scars there, white and not as faint as he's expecting for someone over a millennia old."

^^^

from torture with thanos

---

yeah, i think the injury has changed like at least two times that I've noticed. If you can't tell, I literally had no idea what I was going with, lol.

---

ha. Everyone kept making jokes about how Thanos would be defeated by Cap Marvel alone without any effort on her part whatsoever before Endgame came out and I found it really annoying. This is 1000% a "look, carol can't solve everything" point.

---

"He jolts a little and his face twitches with something that looks close to a grimace. Fury leans against the side of the car a little, and stares at him."

^^ hypervigilance, a common symptom of ptsd

---

""Believe me, Director, the things that are after me would horrify you."

Fury blinks. "That is not reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be."

Of course not. Brat."

I love them, your honor.

---

"And, well, he attempted to smuggle me out the next day. We didn't make it far. Odin commissioned Thor banned from Asgard for the next two years and I to the snake pits beneath the palace."

THEY JUST HAVE SNAKE PITS BENEATH THE PALACE AND NO ONE BRINGS THAT UP AGAIN? WHAT IS THIS????????? AMERICA EXPLAIN!

----

"There is no way that Fury is sending him back. None on this planet, none on any other. If capital punishment must be met, it should be clean. Fury has never been big on torture as recompense for a crime."

I know there are a lot of mcu fics out there where Fury 100% engages in torture and believes it's an effective means of retrieving information or enacting punishment, but I personally don't see Fury doing that. To be clear, I think those fics are fun and very enjoyable, but I don't think that Natasha, Clint, or Tony would trust Tony to the extent they do if Fury was willing to do a ton of physical/mental harm to someone.

---

"Stop scowling, S.H.I.E.L.D. can always use the assets. You work for us and we'll give you a roof over your head and keep you from Asgard, and whatever else it is that's hunting you.""

WAIT I TOTALLY FORGOT THAT THIS IS THE FIC I WROTE WHERE LOKI BECOMES FURY'S C.I./AGENT

I LOVE THIS FIC

---

Between yet another villain attack and Tony breaking into S.H.I.E.L.D. again, Fury nearly forgets all about it.

TONY

I need the context behind this and yet I have none XD

---

Despite the fact that his leathers were destroyed and Fury banned him from using magic save truly dire circumstances, he still manages to seem well dressed. Fury's not even certain where the long suit coat came from. He doesn't wear ties from what Fury's seen unless the circumstance permits it.

more ptsd from torture. ties are a little too close to strangulation for him.

---

If Fury hadn't been looking for it he would have missed the slight widening of Loki's eyes and the relief slip into his stance.

I always got the impression that Odin spent a great deal of time yelling at Thor and Loki for doing things wrong. I don't imagine Loki's delivered reports to his father that went over smoothly.

---

"So, you're keeping him?" Coulson questions and Fury nearly jumps in surprise at the voice, turning to look back at the agent currently seated in a chair in his office, the folder that he's compiled on Loki in hand.

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH! WHY IS COULSON HERE? I DON"T KNOW, BUT IT'S GREAT HE BROKE INTO FURY'S OFFICE AND FURY ISN'T EVEN ANNOYED, JUST RESIGNED. like it happens all the time. (Oh, hill asked him to look into it. okay. makes sense. still glorious)

Also loving that Coulson is literally chill with the guy who stabbed him working with them. Like. Bro. You're a SAINT.

---

He hasn't mentioned it to his higher-ups and plans to keep it that way.

The more they can make it seem like Loki vanished off the face of the Earth the better.

Less things to shove off his tail.

Fury's desperate self explanations for everything are fantastic. Literally he's doing this so the "big bad thing" after Loki doesn't pick up the fact that he didn't die on the street corner.

---

"Fury's rising desire to punch Odin and any other Asgardian (save Thor) in the face kicks up a notch."

yeah if this is not clear from earlier, Fury and Thor are good terms. They've talked a bit about Loki, which is how Fury knew that Loki would make a good agent to begin with.

---

It both strings and numbs him to realize that Loki trusts him enough not to sneak something into the food. Loki stays the rest of the night on the couch, his face twitching with discomfort, but the trust that he presents Fury with is humbling.

This is. Bro. Loki is so untrusting. like deeply at his core. the fact that he did this with fury just really makes me realize how much Loki trusts him. He showed up at Fury's house when he was having an anxiety attack to ask for help. He didn't think Fury would turn him away. He didn't even bother to pick through the food because he trusts fury. Like. whoa.

---

He comes to with an aching back, a sore throat unequal to any other, and the sound of quiet voices talking around him. His mind refuses to really process any of the words their speaking beyond frazzled bits of mumbles, but he recognizes the voices enough that he doesn't panic.

AND FURY TRUSTS THE AVENGERS + LOKI

---

"Thank you." Fury interrupts.

Loki's jaw hangs a little and he stares at him, "What?"

"Thank you." Fury repeats.

Loki's eyebrows look in danger of disappearing into his hairline. "I…?"

Curse you, Odin, and all you other Asgardian idiots.

^^^

Loki saved everyone's lives on Jotunheim and not one (1) person thanked him for keeping them alive. I don't get the impression he gets thanked that often.

---

"Sure, he was shot, but it isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to him before.

He's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. S.H.I.E.L.D. director.

He has other things to do."

THIS MAN I SWEAR

"Loki belongs to Asgard—!"

"And I've elected to ignore that."

probably a better summary of this fic, lol.

---

LINK TO STORY

#ask #answered #anon #the blood of my enemy stains my hands now #my fics #fic lore #my fic lore

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ickle-ronniekins · 3 years

Text

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

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#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #george weasley imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

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antarestyl · 3 years

Text

Got not tagged but saw this meme and wanted to do it :D

I tag @namekian-maoh and whoever else wanna try!

How many works do you have on AO3?

56 so far.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

600021 at this moment... damnit, I like nice and round numbers more XD

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

29 XD well, some are crossover and some are almost-the-same (especially with Video games where I often take multiple entires in a series into account and tag them accordingly)

As for my fandoms:

Video games: Amnesia: The Dark Descent, Among Us, Bowser's Fury, Deltarune, Don't Starve, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Final Fantasy XV, Luigi's Mansion, Mario & Luigi RPG, Monkey Island, Pikmin, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon, Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Super Mario Bros, Super Mario Odyssey, Super Paper Mario, Undertale, (+ AU of Undertale)

Comic/Cartoon/Manga/Anime: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters, Yu-Gi-Oh! (All Media Types), Homestuck, Gravity Falls, DCU (Comics), Booster Gold (Comics), Blue Beetle (Comics)

Books/Movies/Divers: Harry Potter, Mystery Skulls Animated, Olsen-banden | The Olsen Gang (Movies), Ties of Lapis (Skyrim-AU),

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. PTA Sans and other glorious things

73016 words, 3192 Kudos, so far my most successful work XD It’s still ongoing. Undertale Fanfic, Monster-on-the-Surface, True Pacifist Ending, PTA AU, SansxToriel in the Background, everybody is here, mostly happy, silly and only a small dose of angst from time to time. Later chapters with more story.

2. TrioBlasterSets AU - Six puppys and 3 flames

270813 word, 758 Kudos. I write this AU together with @namekian-maoh . Still ongoing. Undertale Baby-Blaster AU with some Underfell and Underswap thrown into it. Dadby, Badster, mostly family fluff and dealing with the experiment!gaster-blaster Background of 3 skeleton children. Also 3 flames who take care of them that have way more drama going on themselves than nessessary. Chapters are not in chronological order. Has a few Spin-offs too (including some NSFW oneshorts about the flames and their relationship ;) )

3. So I won't regret another day

19214 words, 320 Kudos. Undertale Underfell AU, Underfell Sansby with some healthy relationships, the planning of a revolt against an insane king, monster still being monster and not really made for violence in an violent setting. If officially finished but I write new chapters when the fancy strikes me.

4. Grillby's

9894 words, 265 Kudos. Deltarune/Undertale fanfic with a Spin, named Plushyrune (aka Deltarune where eveything is the same, just with Sansby and Sans makes plushies). Started as just pure silly fluff, kinda got a plot now about the kids of Deltarune. Still ongoing, new chapter is 80% done ;)

5. Something old, something new...

6579 words, 208 Kudos. Pure Post-Pacifist Surface Sansby fluff. Mostly from Grillby’s POV how they fall in love and be silly and in love. Still ongoing, haven’t really had to mojo to write more for it lately, but I WILL return at some point.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! I used to not comment on comments because I had this irrational feeling of “cheating the numbers” if I reply to comments but... screw that, I want to interact with people! So I try to answer any and all comments now :)

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Ufff, for me it’s a tie between The last chip and Laughter in the Darkness. The Last Chip is a Yu-gi-Oh! Fanfic in a series of Kaiba spiraling downwards after the Manga/Anime ended and sets up the events of Dark Site of Dimensions. It ends pretty much with Kaiba ending up getting borderline suicidal in his Obsession with the Pharaoh.

Laughter in the Darkness is the Epilog I wrote for my Gravity Falls x Amnesia Crossover where Ford is pretty much an Amnesia-Protagonist and archives the very worst ending for himself. Mind the tags if you read this. It ends with Ford at the lowest possible point for himself and its open ended if he is going fully insane or if Bill Chiper really is still around. (and it’s not clear what outcome is the better one)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nah, not really. I am a chill writer in my own little corners of the fandom and most people leave me alone. I did get one “But Queer is a SLUR” comment way back in the day where it was still all “????” to say that out loud. But otherwise? Nah. I am not important enough for hate, lol.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have XD Not much thou. I wrote so far an mastubation scene with the one going down on himself heavily NOT BEING ALRIGHT while doing so XD Other than that I have 2 NSFW Undertale fics with some hot flame-on-flame action. I do like writing not-standard-sex (as in Sex that doesn’t requite human genitila) Otherwise I like to hint or describe feelings more than the act itself. More lime than lemon ;)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. As I said, I am not important enough for that.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I had some ppl asking for permission to translate (which of course) but as far as I know there are no translations out there as of yet.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah, I am writing the TrioBlasterSet AU with @namekian-maoh I did Co-write some fics way back during my fanfiction.de time too but that’s a long time ago.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I ship a lot and am a dirty multishipper XD I have to many ships to really call one out as my favorite.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

TrioBlasterSets AU because there is always MORE to tell with this AU XD

What are your writing strengths?

I am the Queen of Worldbuilding and Crossovers baby!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Only do it if you have a REALLY good reason for it AND if you have a good gasp on the language. Like, nothing takes me out of a fic faster than reading stuff in horrible German written by people who were to lazy to just copy/paste the word from google translate (my time in the Apollo Justice fandom has seriously scared me. It’s Fräulein, not Fraulein or Fraülein! Also you can’t just swap ei and ie around THOSE ARE DIFFERENT SOUNDS! als we have the letter ß it’s a shap s sound you can’t just use/not use it as you please!)

Also in 90% of all cases it’s just not nessessary. Write what you wanna write, TELL us it was said in a different language OR let the POV character just tell us their hear something said in an other language they couldn’t understand.

What I want to say is: Have some respect of the language you want to use!

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

I THINK it was Harry Potter? IDK I wrote a cringy Star Trek Parodie when I was like 14 or so and those OCs went through a lot from that time on forward but Idk if that even counts XD

What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

The Game of Our Life It’s a series of Mario x Homestuck Fics I wrote before Undertale came along and swept me away XD I love all my fics of course but this one was the first really big one I finished on english and it was the one I am most proud of of the world-building. It has angst, it has lore, my writing style was just really developing there and I am just proud of it. (Also it’s very self-indulging so yeah XD love it a LOT)

#meme #ao3

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nocluewhatsupg · 3 years

Note

Also, bitch i will make you an Asa only blog, don't try me >:] Can i get a nice slasher on slasher action with Asa and his male slasher s/o? Not smut, but like... killer friends? Idk

📻 and ✨ believe in Asa supremacy. 🙅, the more sane mod of this blog, does not agree.

Here’s Y/N dying of dehydration that we wrote at 3 am then forgot about for a week.

Asa x Male!Slasher!Reader

God fought in your stomach, twisting and pulling delicate flesh. Bile rose in your throat, coating a dry mouth and stinging. At 5:54, you arose from the dirty mattress you slept on, pushing the ratty blanket off of your frozen body. Raising a scarred right hand, you grasp a cheap wooden table with the strength you still had, and pulled. Drilled into the floor, the table was a good counterweight as you fully rose from a would-be grave.

6:00 came and went. Your meal was nowhere to be seen. What did move, rustling from stagnant stillness and shaking dust, was a doll hung high on the ceiling. In one, beady black eye, the glint of a camera. As you stare on, you did not feel the horror surrounding you. Panic, however, drowned the god in your stomach with a mighty wave.

This was a test. You were being tested.

You ran a dirt-covered, blood-soaked hand through your disheveled hair in pure exhaustion. Your eyes flicked around the cell you were kept in, a much better fate than nailed to the wall or stuffed in a trunk. It was barren, with only your mattress and a table. Thick iron bars separated the room in half, half where you were trapped, and half for visitors to stare and marvel at the collection. There was nothing to hold, nothing to tear or burrow or slash. Control was slipping through your fingers, and you could feel it.

"Come on, man. We were friends, remember?" You call futilely to the void of a human watching you. "I-I scratched your back, you scratched mine?"

Using charm that dodged you death row, you spread your arms wide, opening yourself up like a bear trap and inviting him to pass the glimmering steel jaws. He did not fall for your friendly tricks. He could have you open and disarmed whenever he pleased.

The city was glorious. Under your booming voice and his silent sadism, the city trembled at your feet. It was only natural to join forces, to grow above a population so doltish it left its doors wide open to you. It was only natural to see you and him were a different breed to the simpletons you tormented, and you belonged together.

He didn't see as similar as you expected, or he simply didn't see it at all. The longer you spent clawing at your own skull inside a fabric laced box, earth shattering rage screaming in your head, you realized he was a different breed entirely to you. It wasn't about control to him. It was about collection. He never saw a partner, an opportunity like you'd spent your life chasing. He saw a curious specimen, and to your fury, something below him. The longer you thought about it, pacing around your cage, the more delusional he seemed.

Instead of the devil incarnate, he believed himself to be a god higher than the one that fought in your stomach. The ultimate higher being, while a dog of order, it was all for a higher cause.

You didn't have a job, and you couldn't keep the madness out of your eyes long enough to land one. It was always someone else that provoked you, and in your reason, if they left you alone it would've all been fine. He had a stable job, and the ability to leave and flit among the herd peacefully.

You, however, put your face in the blood, left caricatures pointing out your best features on the walls. You left mangled, torn survivors to scream of your terror in hospital beds as they died. You made yourself in the headlines, carving desperately your cursed name into the stone of history and praising yourself in human sacrifice.

He didn't even leave survivors. The press couldn't even come up with a funny name to dull the horror he created. Quick and impulsive, dealing little damage that built up as the week went on, versus his calm and planned, where his bi-monthly attacks were awful enough to trump all the work you've done in a year.

With a warm smile, you tasted sweet opportunity on your tongue, and charmed your way into his life. It used to be a monthly agreement, a collaboration to bring more pain to the city for no other reason than your entertainment. Then, the schedule and him along with it, changed to satisfy your voracious need for blood. Monthly became weekly, and you'd meet him in the cobweb covered basement of a local bar. On the knife-scratched oak table, he would display his week's work, blueprints and careful planning. He carried detail in every operation, and took twisted pride in discerning to you each step of the plan. It warmed your small, black heart how he showed you just how the night's activities would play out, just for your itchy trigger finger to ruin it all and force him to improvise.

While he wore his mask around the clock, you thought it looked nice in the dim lighting shady bar basements provided. You knew it looked better when it was covered in blood, multicolored LEDs bathing the dance floor in deep purples and blues, screaming mingling with pounding and high beat music. Impulse ran your very existence, somewhere around your first or second kill you realized it didn't matter what happened. We all die in the end, you either kill yourself or get killed. Not a second thought passed your mind after the first, solidified idea came, and you pressed in. The blood you'd smeared on your face as a makeshift mask smudged on his. Halfheartedly, he shoved an arm between the two of you, his slim knife catching on your shoulder. A survivor huddled in on herself as she pushed against the shadow darkened wall desperately, whimpering as she watched with eyes blown wide you pushing him back into the pool of blood on the floor. Someone important once said 'Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer', and you couldn't get closer than that.

You lick your lips, and no moisture transferred between. Time was running out. Pent up anger vibrated in your bones, and you begin to snap your fingers impatiently.

"Come on, I'm not asking for much. I'm sure there's a hell of a lot more people you've got who ask for more. All I want is some water. Simple thing." Most importantly, you did not plead. You bargained. "Just a little aqua, compadre."

He never was a fan of your quirky sort of humor, and even in the face of dehydration, you smiled the charming smile of a dysfunctional bear trap.

Every piece of furniture in the hotel, from pure hell to castle-like, was carefully chosen to not only appear luxurious. It struck fear, the sheer normality and absurdity both. He drummed his fingers on the table, entertainment in both glowing eyes as he watched you flail wildly, desperate to catch the camera’s eye. The dim room he sat in was illuminated by only the screens before him, buzzing with knowledge and control. Beside him, sitting on the uninteresting wooden table, a tall glass of water. Cold to the point sweat had begun rolling off the clear glass, fresh from a tap, and what you were dying for kept just out of reach.

An alarm cried, beckoning for his attention. He tilts his head to the sound, a warm expression on his face as he thinks.

You'll survive just a few more minutes.

#slasher #slashers #slasher community #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012

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kaylorrehabcenter · 3 years

Text

Gold Rush and Happiness are Sisters

Gather round everyone and witness the clown try to prove that Taylor Swift wrote songs about a married (now pregnant) woman in the year of our lord 2020.

Also this is a seven page doc in my google docs so like. Get a cup of tea and some popcorn.

Ok full disclosure this is…..mostly me clowning. Like seriously. Don’t take my words as the word of God, this is just my interpretation and how I listen to the songs. And as a (former? Idk man) Kaylor I’m going to want to make these songs about my ship. Acknowledge your biases kids.

Also like. I change my mind a lot, but for a while this theory that Gold Rush and Happiness are connected has been stuck in my head and I wanted to write it down and post it in case anyone else got something out of this.

If you read my last post on Gold Rush (here!) you’ll know I don’t think of it as a happy song. To elaborate further- I think it’s Taylor catching herself looking back on Karlie/that time in her life (Because I think Karlie is emblematic of the 1989 era for Taylor and is thus tied to the pain that came out of that, along with her ties to the masters heist) and reminding herself it wasn’t good and ended for a reason.

“Gleaming, twinkling/eyes like sinking ships on waters/so inviting, I almost jump in”

“But I don’t like a gold rush”

The sinking ship line makes me laugh. I like to think it’s Taylor saying she’s literally sunk our (dead) ship, but that’s mostly regressing to 2015 tumblr humur.

To the actual analysis, she almost jumps into these waters, maybe it’s literal (don’t text your ex kids, write a bop like closure instead) or maybe it’s more metaphorical. She almost allows herself to think the good times were the only times. Maybe there’s a desire to move back to nyc, capture the magic that she may have felt during the era.

“I don’t like that flying feels like falling till the bone crush”

But that’s the thing. It feels like flying at the time, but it isn’t a feeling that can last. These relationships built on temporary promises (we’re assuming here Taylor was a side thing for Karlie, not that serious and built not to last, even if there were genuine romantic feelings on both sides, which I think there were to some level) won’t last, and will hurt when they do end. At least, this one did.

“Everyone wonders what it would be like to love you”

Everybody wants who she’s singing about and is imagining what it would be like to be with them, they think it would be a fairytale. Hell, Taylor probably thought their relationship would be a fairytale against her better judgement. Karlie is a celebrity and a model no less, yes she has other things going for her (Koding and investments), her brand and her success in the fashion world depends to some degree people desiring and fantasizing about her.

“I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch”

The funny thing about that, Taylor’s the only one who knows the pain of that relationship, of being a side thing and never committed to. It’s draining. It's difficult. She isn’t allowing herself to jump into those waters.

“I see me padding across your wooden floor/with my Eagles t shirt hanging on the door”

I point out this line mostly because it feels like a Delicate call back (Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs). Am I reaching though? Probably. Also as someone with parents about the same age as Taylor’s (give or take ten years), I like the Eagles reference. Stream Hotel California for clear skin <3

“At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit”

Taylor was the first person to call Karlie out on her “I’ve tried!!” bullshit, how cute. <3

Besides this line being very iconic, it also shows to me that Taylor’s been frustrated with Kar even when she was busy giving her heart eyes. She’s a frustrating person to be around even when you are “turning her life into folklore”.

“What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?/With your hair falling into place like dominoes”

Damn that’s a gay couples lines you got there Tay. Wonder if you’re wondering what it must’ve been like for Kar to grow up in the model industry, and all of the pressure and exhilaration that entails. From a male’s perspective ofc.

I also take the dominoes line to be Taylor saying what must’ve it been like to have this easy idyllic childhood. Maybe Taylor is the first time Karlie’s been with a girl outside of a hookup and didn’t have to go through the pain of realizing she was into women until later in life. (Not that that’s not painful, it’s just different, and allows you to have a perfectly straight childhood/teenagerhood)

“And the coastal town we wandered 'round had nеver seen a love as pure as it/And thеn it fades into the gray of my day-old tea/'Cause it could never be”

Maybe this relationship never existed in the way she thought at all. You know Carrie Fischer’s character in When Harry Met Sally and how until she meets the right guy, she spends the whole movie insisting that whatever married guy she’s seeing really loves her!! And he’s gonna leave his wife for her!! That’s what these two songs make me think about, waking up and realizing they were never going to leave their wife, you were projecting this whole story onto someone else, but that doesn’t mean there was no value in what happened.

“And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it/'Cause it fades into the gray of my day-old tea/'Cause it will never be”

The coastal town seems an obvious Rhode Island reference, to get more specific it reminds me of when Josh and Karlie visited Taylor at her Rhode Island home in 2014 and Josh looks peeved as hell. 1, 2 Also if I remember correctly, enty has a blind where he says there was a huge fight between Josh and Taylor which ended in Taylor not wanting to be around him again. Just interesting to note. (And if anyone has the receipt, please send it my way!)

Taylor may have been projecting this fairytale narrative at the time of being able to make it work, of being friends with Josh even but it didn’t work and the fairytale is left to be folklore, never made real.

The outro is the same as the intro to the song, implying to me that while she’s telling herself it was bad, you weren’t happy, she’s still catching herself missing it and what she had with Karlie. She left a part of her back in New York see, and she can’t stop her mind from retracing old footsteps.

Now, onto how I think Happiness and how I think it connects. I’m about to audition for the national team in the reaching Olympics. Wish me luck. :)

A bit of a preamble though, I don’t take this song ~super~ literally. Depending on what day of the week it is I think it’s probably her divorcee rpg simulator or her closing the book on her ex situationship gf on her own terms ~in a straight way~. So not to discredit this whole ass post but. Take with a grain of salt.

“Honey, when I'm above the trees/I see this for what it is”

See that bold bit? That’s the main connective tissue between these songs. She’s finally woken up and now that she’s this far removed from the relationship she sees what it was. To add to the pain of it all, this is especially potent if you wonder if Karlie gaslit Tay into thinking this wasn’t a big deal, they were just fucking around when Karlie has literal Softest Love Song You Are In Love dedicated to her.

“But now I'm right down in it, all the years I've given/Is just shit we're dividin' up”

This seems to me to be a masters heist reference. Karlie since Lover, is musically tied to this event in Taylor’s life, it’s what I think is keeping Tay from making a clean break from her so to speak.

“Showed you all of my hiding spots/I was dancing when the music stopped”

This seems to be a Rep era/dwoht reference. Yes, Taylor constantly references dancing, but the hiding spots (loved you in secret! you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis!) combined with the dancing when the music stopped (I'd kiss you as the lights went out! Swaying as the room burned down!) brings out the full kaylor clown in me.

“There'll be happiness after you/But there was happiness because of you/Both of these things can be true”

This is probably some of the most gut wrenching lyrics Taylor’s ever written. Damn, imagine having that written about you. Anyway, the point here is the thesis of this whole damn post. Gold Rush is Taylor catching herself daydreaming about the happy parts, and reminding herself about the bad to make her snap out of it. Happiness is her coming to terms that both parts of that relationship were true. Things aren’t that simple.

“Haunted by the look in my eyes/That would've loved you for a lifetime/Leave it all behind”

This feels very Cruel Summer doesn’t it? “I love you ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” These lines make this relationship read as two things to me. One, it was very one sided, and Taylor/the narrator, was obviously left behind at the end of it when she was heavily invested into making this work. And 2, it was doomed from the beginning. Again. Big cruel summer energy here.

Or it’s a divorcee rpg simulator 3000. Now with extra glamour and opportunities to dramatically drink wine in dressing gowns.

I don’t have a lot to say about the second verse of the song that. Karlie has a nice smile, Gatsby reference, dig at whoever the next person to take Taylor’s place as a side fling (or a dig at Josh, or a baby reference since that’s what the Gatsby line refers to). The only other thing worthy of note for this post is the line following the Gatsby reference.

“No, I didn't mean that/Sorry, I can't see facts through all of my fury”

is the next line, where she regrets what she just said and admits to saying overly harsh things and overlooking the truth of the matter when she’s angry, which to me feels like a big Afterglow/Me! reference.

“There'll be happiness after me/But there was happiness because of me/Both of these things, I believe”

I think a lot of what Taylor’s doing emotionally in the chorus is legitimizing this relationship for herself. Yeah, Josh and Karlie will have a happy life in Florida with Ivanka and them, but Taylor also made Karlie happy too and she doesn’t want Karlie to forget it.

It reminds me of the way she talks about August, that she genuinely loves James/Karlie, and thinks they have something. But she’s just the pit stop on the commitment highway, and the depth of her feelings for the other person will never be acknowledged. It’s exhausting you know?

“In our history, across our great divide”

“Guilty, guilty reaching out across the sea/That you put between you and me”

Nothing to see here, just a nifty parallel. Karlie doesn’t want wrinkles in her new life see.

“There is a glorious sunrise/Dappled with the flickers of light/From the dress I wore at midnight, leave it all behind/And there is happiness”

This bit (which has some of my favorite imagery in this whole dang album!!!) reminds me of the end of the Wildest Dreams mv where she runs out to the car with the lover following her after the big charade of pretending not to care as much as she does, while knowing you aren’t the one that got picked.

Interestingly, if you look at the shot of the four characters together near the end, the outfits parallel the ones worn by Kar, Tay, and Josh at the 2014 Met Gala. This was of course the one where Tay and Kar got ready together and Karlie proceeded to spend the night with Josh and where Tay just looks. Miserable. (see here!)

The line also parallels Wildest Dreams lyrically.

“Say you'll remember me standing in a nice dress/Staring at the sunset, babe”

Which you know. Worth noting.

The last line (And there is happiness) seems to point to there being happiness in leaving the bad situation just as much as there was happiness in the situation. It’s Time to Go anyone?

“I can't make it go away by making you a villain/I guess it's the price I paid for seven years in Heaven”

A series of thoughts. One, I love the first line where Taylor acknowledges anger isn’t going to make it better. There’s only so much being angry in this situation will do, and it’s not like Taylor’s record is clean here either. (I mean I assume. We know she went psycho on the phone anyway)

Two. Seven years in heaven is both a play on a famous game/turn of phrase (Seven minutes in heaven) but one of the more bold references to Karlie in her whole damn discography. Do I think they’ve been together for seven years straight? Not really. But do I think Taylor saw an opportunity and jumped on it? Yep.

“And I pulled your body into mine/Every goddamn night, now I get fake niceties”

No thoughts head empty this line is a sucker punch and I love it. If anyone needs me I’ll be watching her perform ikywt on the vsfs and crying to yail.

“All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness”

Oh look! Another Gatsby reference. Or Taylor calling Karlie out on profiting off of her association with Tay after they clearly did not end on good terms. (Folklore themed maternity shoot anyone?) I mean, whatever floats your boat.

A bit on the green light metaphor from Gatsby, because it’s worth noting even if I don’t have much more to say on it here.

“Situated at the end of Daisy’s East Egg dock and barely visible from Gatsby’s West Egg lawn, the green light represents Gatsby’s hopes and dreams for the future. Gatsby associates it with Daisy, and in Chapter 1 he reaches toward it in the darkness as a guiding light to lead him to his goal.”

Yes I copied that from Spark Notes. No I am not sorry. I have an exam tomorrow and I’m writing about a dead ship on a dead social media website. Sometimes we do what we must do.

I love the ending of this song, I really really do, it feels like taking in a breath of air and finally feeling free of the weight you’re carrying. It feels like a final goodbye, like Tay’s getting closure on her own terms and I truly love that for her. Bb’s stepping out into the daylight. <3

There is happiness

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

From the dress I wore at midnight, leave it all behind

Oh, leave it all behind

Leave it all behind

And there is happiness

So, what was this whole seven page post for then?

Gold Rush and Happiness being connected has been a theory rattling around in my brain for forever and I’ve wanted to write it down for just as long. The tldr of it all is pretty simple, Gold Rush is about her reminiscing about the good parts of Kaylor, and pulling herself out of it, reminding herself it was bad and bad for her. Happiness is her legitimizing the relationship, and moving on while acknowledging there was bad and good in their story. It just took me seven goddamn pages to articulate that.

If you’ve reached the end of this. Damn. Thanks. Go get a snack or something, you deserve it after reading this.

#<3 #hope this entertains y'all like i said been wanting to write it down for a while #hope i explained my points well!!!#kaylor lyrics #kaylor analysis #gold rush analysis #happiness analysis #oh and let me know if the links work!

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ikesenhell · 4 years

Text

Heatwave

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: Thank you so much to the wonderful folks who came out and hung out with me as I wrote my first Ikesen piece since ‘American Dream’ in ages. I’d been batting around this idea at the lovely @a-shout-to-the-void and finally buckled down and did it. TW: torture, abuse mentions and descriptions, blood, painful injuries. A lot of descriptions and references to Ieyasu’s childhood with the Imagawa Don’t worry, no one dies. It also somehow has a good ending? Idk man. Also, hello to my first piece with Yoshimoto in it whatupppppp

----

It was three months after the second disappearance of the Takeda, and the main hall was deathly quiet. All were assembled--Nobunaga lording on his dias, his allies gathered close--and no one spoke.

Ieyasu wished someone would.

“He wasn’t difficult to bring in at all,” Mitsuhide commented, as if it were the weather. Clouds from the shoreline--perhaps it will rain.

(Funny, they could use some of that. The summer was stifling and showed no signs of abating, even as the seasons turned. The crops weren’t going as well as expected, and Azuchi was a cooker. They’d slitted the screens open, but even then, Ieyasu could see sweat beading on Hideyoshi’s forehead. Even Mitsuhide, usually pristine and inhuman, sported small pools of darkened silk in the underlayers that peeked through.)

Masamune almost smiled. “Do you really think he was stupid enough to come here on purpose? He’s got guts.”

Nobunaga’s perceptive red eyes flickered in Ieyasu’s direction.

“Perhaps.” Mitsuhide allowed a smile.

“Probably to try his hand at Nobunaga.” But even Hideyoshi seemed unconvinced. “Maybe the last ditch effort of the Takeda before we destroy them.”

Ieyasu hated that he glanced at Mitsunari, looking for something in the way of understanding, anything he hadn’t guessed at already. Even if that stupid puzzled expression was there, it was something. No luck. Mitsunari had the hard, calculating stare of a man who already knew the score.

Damn it all to hell.

“He no doubt knows where Shingen and his ilk have scattered to. Until we have found them, they remain a threat.” With a subtle nod of an imperious head (the fine sheen of sweat glittered on his neck), he motioned to Mitsuhide. “Do what you must.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” the other man noted, “I believe there is someone else here who might be better suited to… gathering the information you require from our latest guest.”

His hands were cold. His hands were cold and they were all looking at him. Ieyasu balled his fingers into fists and willed them to stop trembling.

(Was he angry? Furious. Incensed. They needed rain in Mikawa and the crops were a concern and in the vacuum that the Takeda left there were a thousand bureaucratic things to consider and he was never not angry, only three steps away from it where he could look at it from what he liked to think was a cool remove when it was really like a fiery tornado. They’d taken so much from him and here he was again, to take more with a smile, and he couldn’t do a damn thing without destroying it anyway.)

Nobunaga just stared at him. “Well?”

And he was the best man for the job.

Ieyasu nodded, his face as porcelain-still as he could force. “Of course.”

---

The first time he met Imagawa Yoshimoto, he only said one word.

Ieyasu was only a child, still in the hands of his enemies. He had bruised banding around his legs from switches and cut knees, hair that went every which way and eyes that still welled traitorously with tears when struck. Illusions of fair treatment were gone. All he had was will and a directive: this is what you can do for Mikawa. If being beaten saved Mikawa, that was his responsibility.

Wasn’t it?

There was a banquet and the Imagawa wanted to show him off like a prize pet. Ieyasu was quiet, not stupid.He smiled politely and remembered all of the tiny details of court manners, the little things that would help him (Mikawa) survive. They’d put him into a finer haori than the one they usually allowed and seated him where all the other nobles could spy on the little waif from a nothing place.

Yoshimoto, he later learned, was the beanpole teen sitting perfectly only a few spaces away from him. Dark hair, a charming smile, pretty eyes. Ieyasu hated them all on reflex. Whoever he was--that didn't matter. Ieyasu smiled with thanks to one of his benefactors and imagined stabbing him between the eyes.

How would he do it first? Who would go? It made sense to start with the Imagawa head--of course, that was only the correct order of things--but he could also trap them all in the hall and set it ablaze, let them scrabble over each other like rats. He could pick off their families one by one. He could--

Someone set a sake cup heavily in front of him, only half-poured. Ieyasu blinked rapid-fire up at the teen smiling down at him.

“Smile,” he instructed, fluttering a fan entirely-too-close to both of them. And then he rushed away.

Ieyasu glanced down at the cup on his table and realized two things: one, he’d allowed his polite facade to slip. He could feel the stormcloud in the grit of his teeth. Two, the Imagawa teenager had blocked him from view with the fan--and probably spared him a beating.

Only later did he learn his name.

---

The dungeon stairs were slick. Every once in a while, someone came and cleaned the mold and mildew from the flagstones, but that was a lost cause. It seemed like the only moisture in Azuchi had escaped to its basements. Wet-blanket heat settled foul in the belly of Mitsuhide’s workspace, the little light lancing from narrow windows illuminating hazy curls of breath-sucking humidity. Ieyasu disguised his disgust at the foul smells the way he knew best--frowning.

Their prisoner was moved to the very last cell, the ‘interrogation room’. Mitsuhide’s gentle words didn't disguise its purpose. It was an execution chamber and torture cell. Ieyasu never went in to discover its secrets. What he did was in the open, precisely where everyone could see it.

(Because if you were going to hurt someone, you did it openly, he’d decided. Cowards hid abuse. If you raised the sword, you showed the sunlight its deadly glint and let heaven know your intent. Violence couldn’t be wrapped in a silken kimono and paraded before leering eyes--)

The door was shut. Ieyasu didn't waste the time to reflect on it. No interior monologue did him good here. Shunting thoughts and the heavy latch to the side, he stepped in.

Their prisoner was kneeling. Mitsuhide prepped well. His knees were tied to those uneven slats the other man so preferred, jagged, uneven boards guaranteed to end with shattered shin bones if left long enough. He’d been stripped of his fine armor and things, reduced to a (still beautiful, dark grey and blue silk) final layer of kimono. Unkempt, shiny dark hair spilled loose on his shoulders. As Ieyasu stepped inside, those gold eyes met his.

Yoshimoto had the audacity to smile.

“Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he said, light as a feather, his voice already hoarse. Like commenting on the weather. Awfully hot, isn’t it? It should have rained by now. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

All the anger he kept so tightly coiled unfurled, the head of it raring like a threatened snake, and Ieyasu bared his fangs, too. “You should have. Why did you come?”

It was a stupid question. They both knew that. Yoshimoto just smiled that serene, sad, painter’s smile. Maybe, Ieyasu thought, if he had half of Yoshimoto’s artistic eye (the way he’d never had Mitsunari’s reflex genius or Masamune’s slick tongue or Nobunaga’s command or--), he could take the scene before him and transform it into a painting. The light cast over his prisoner’s back in sharp relief, all of the folds of silk and linen and hair akin to one of those Portuguese paintings they tried so hard to pawn off on them.

“Are you going to answer?” Ieyasu demanded. Cold, cold, cold. His hands were cold.

Yoshimoto dipped his head silently. “You know why I came, and you know why I won’t leave.”

Ieyasu sucked in his breath--like that would crush the flames of anger twisting, tornadoing in him. It burned in his throat. First, he’d get Yoshimoto off those planks. Those would come later.

---

When he emerged several hours later--without anything to show for his efforts, just blazing fury and frustration renewed and a respect that clawed at his spine--Ieyasu blinked in surprise at the Chatelaine standing just outside the stairwell. He almost missed her. The sun was gone by now, the moon rising in its inconstant arc over Azuchi’s peaks, long lines of moonlight as gentle as the flickering torch light below was ominous.

Of course she was there. Of course.

“How is he?” She asked, and Ieyasu wanted to scream.

“How do you think?” He snapped. “Go inside.”

She didn't move. Instead, she produced a cold cup for him, shoving it into his hands.

“What’s this for?”

“It was hot today. You must be thirsty.”

He stared at the cup in his hands, the silvery liquid inside glowing like moonbeams. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.”

What did that mean? How long had she waited here in the fading dusk, listening to the muffled sounds below, with a cup for him? Was it even for him? How could she give him this when only moments before, he’d washed away the blood of her--her--

Gods, he still couldn’t say it to himself.

“Who told you?” He finally asked, his voice sharp.

She folded her hands over her skirts instead of answering. “Is he alive?”

Of course this was about Yoshimoto. Of course this was. Even the cup was in the interest of getting information. Icy, crawling hatred slithered down the small of his back like sweat. Unceremoniously, Ieyasu dumped the contents of the cup on the ground.

“Ieyasu--!”

He contemplated breaking it. But that wasn’t fair to her. None of this was. None of this was fair to her, just like none of it was fair to him. So instead he shoved the little mug back into her hands and stalked inside, as if moving fast enough would leave all of that behind.

---

For the rest of his captivity, Yoshimoto was less a person and more a concept. Ieyasu saw him sometimes, fleeting glimpses of a young man blooming handsome. What kind of a life did he lead, Ieyasu wondered? It must be the opposite of his plight. No doubt he had enough to eat. No doubt he had clothes that fit, people that cared whether he lived or died, someone to spare a smile at him. No doubt he could sleep at night without a burning hate clawing up his throat and threatening to choke him.

It was hot that summer--sweltering, relentless. Ieyasu’s room had no screens to the courtyard and so he tossed and turned fitfully at night, too uncomfortable to sleep. Sometimes he dreamed of Mikawa and home, home with the people who relied on him to be strong, people who allowed him to step down from his endless responsibility of strength for a day and be a young man again.

They exchanged words only briefly once more, before Ieyasu went home and returned again and razed them, burned their houses the way he’d always dreamed, released all the untamed hatred raring in his heart and finally did for Mikawa what his endless abuse at the Imagawa had never done. They passed in the hallways and Yoshimoto stopped him, a small retinue at his side.

“Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he said lightly. Yoshimoto said his name like a name, not a curse, not a burden on a household already determined to hate him. “How are you today?”

What could he say? A thousand callous things spiraled through his mind, each one more vile than the other, until he couldn’t think of a single nice word. He simply shut his mouth and nodded slowly, safely, feeling thick and stupid. “It has been quite hot lately.”

Those gold eyes stared right through him. And at long last, Yoshimoto nodded. “It certainly has. I hope it rains soon. May you have an excellent day.”

When he returned to his room that night, there was a small, beautiful fan sitting in a neat package before his door. Ieyasu let the slow, languid sound of its fluttering lull him to sleep, its cool breeze the first reprieve in months.

---

He didn't think about Imagawa Yoshimoto for a long while after, not even when he served as Imagawa's puppet ruler. That chapter of his life was behind him. Ieyasu had exacted his revenge on Imagawa. That was over.

It was, at least, until the Chatelaine.

---

“Why are you here?” He demanded.

She was waiting for him again in front of the dungeon steps, a small package wrapped in her hands. Her kimono was a soft blue with little white details, modest and cute and practical and perfect. She worked so hard. Everyone knew that. He knew that.

“You didn't have anything to eat this morning,” she answered. The sun wasn’t yet at its peak, but already he could see the waves of heat rolling across the fields behind her, the bronzed backs of villagers in its orange glow. “You almost never miss breakfast.”

“Almost,” he pushed, as if that word made all the difference. Damnit. Damn it all to hell. This was why he had to hate people like her and Mitsunari (and Yoshimoto). The second you saw anything different in them, they pried you open like oystermen searching for pearls and only recoiled in disappointment when they discovered nothing but sand and salt. “You know that this won’t bribe me, right?”

Her cheeks flared white-hot. Good. Hate me. Hate me like I have to hate everyone else who wronged me.

“You do know I like you, right?” She snapped. “I’m your friend. I’m not doing anything to bribe you.”

“Yeah?” Ieyasu sneered, too angry and confused and bitter to stop himself, “Just like you like Imagawa Yoshimoto? Should I expect a love letter--”

She flung the package into his hands (he caught it, barely) and marched away, her shoulders knit tight together.

It still smelled of bean paste when he arrived in the last room of the dungeon, Yoshimoto already prepared and silent for the day. He looked well, for a man who now sported a bruised eye, crusted lip, and a slightly jagged shoulder.

“Good morning, Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he announced, hoarse but polite.

Ieyasu unwrapped the breakfast and examined its contents. There was a little more than usual.

“Your woman,” he announced, (and why was it so hard to sound angry and impassive, why did he want to sound sad?) “Apparently gave me extra food under the impression I might give you some.”

No doubt the prisoner was starving. He’d barely had enough to eat to sustain himself, let alone under the pressure of the torture. But Yoshimoto straightened.

“Is she well?”

No mention of the food. No weakness. Just that endless reservoir of hope that Ieyasu resented, resented because he couldn’t find it anywhere inside himself. Didn't he deserve that kind of serenity?

Silence. Ieyasu considered his words. Yoshimoto, no doubt, was wondering what had become of her, if Nobunaga had exacted on her the same fate that awaited him. The uncertainty was doubtless crushing. A thousand lies presented themselves.

“Yes,” he finally allowed. “She’s fine.”

Yoshimoto smiled. Even through the bloodstained teeth and greasy hair and bruising and marks running roughshod over his arms where everyone could see, he still glowed. “Good.”

---

Ieyasu still dreamed about being with the Imagawa.

Usually it was just the shape of things. The oppressive hot of his bedroom, the rolling waves of contracting pain in his muscles, the crushing emptiness of a room with no sunlight.

Sometimes Ieyasu considered them a mercy. It wasn’t the same as the real thing. He didn't have dreams about how the men decided to test how far his stone expression went, applying hotter and hotter blades to his skin to see if he’d cry. They finally applied a white-hot wakizashi to the tender flesh of his thigh and he screamed so loud he couldn’t talk clearly for a week.

Where was Yoshimoto during all this, he wondered now? There was no way he couldn’t have known. He had a reputation as a lush, but Ieyasu also knew from first-hand battle experience that more lay beneath that pretty exterior. He was like his Takeda cousin: he knew how to play a good game. Had he known just the hint of Ieyasu’s abuse, or had he understood the full spectrum of it? Surely the men of court talked. No doubt they made it a game.

Yoshimoto had to know.

She was surprised when he confronted her in the courtyard. She was hanging up some silks she’d washed, their bright colors like cavalry banners. Her stone-face was good, too, but not as good as his. He could see the thin lines of worry and sleepless nights stretched in the fine skin under her eyes.

“Why him?” Ieyasu demanded.

The chatelaine blinked at him, registering his question. No immediate answer. That was wise. “Why do you want to know?”

“Do you know what the Imagawa are like?” He hissed. “Do you know what they did? Do you have any idea?”

(It was hot out, so hot that he could see the wet silks drying already. No breeze lifted them. They hung like corpses strung out as an example. The remains of the burns on his thighs and arms, even now, stung superheated. The prickle of sweat against them was agonizing and he’d learned to live with it.)

Slowly, she dipped a hand into the cold water of her wash bucket and took his fingers in hers. Sweet relief! Ieyasu tried not to unbend under her gentle touch, the kindness, tried to convince himself that this was for someone else’s benefit and not his. History said otherwise. Long before she’d met Yoshimoto, she’d been like this.

“No,” she said at last. “I don’t know much about who they were to you, just the vague details you’ve shared.”

“Then why him?” Ieyasu groped for his real question. It was that simple, wasn’t it? Yoshimoto wasn’t just on the wrong side. He was on the worst side. Even Uesugi Kenshin was better than an Imagawa.

“Well…” She dipped her hand back in the bucket, splashed more water on his arms. It clung to the silk of his sleeves and cooled the worst of his burns. “There’s a lot to like about him.”

Of course there was. Yoshimoto was intelligent and clever. He had excellent taste and was handsome and diplomatic, even if he had a reputation as a useless leader and a lush. He’d never been anything but kind, and Ieyasu hated that.

---

Yoshimoto hit the floor with a thud and a yelp, but an unsatisfying one. Ieyasu prowled around him.

“You know what Nobunaga wants.” The sun shot unrelenting into their chamber, superheating everything. Ieyasu was sweating like a madman and refused to cede even a single article of clothing. He would not reveal the testament of his failures hidden underneath. “Just give me where Shingen went.”

The other man laughed miserably and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Ieyasu kicked him back over.

“He would have told you,” Ieyasu snarled. “That was your plan. Your plan was to come here, get her, go back into hiding with her and the rest of the Takeda. Wasn’t it?”

For once, Yoshimoto sighed and shut his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Giving us his whereabouts--”

“Ieyasu,” Yoshimoto interrupted wearily (and he still said his name like a name, goddamnit, not a curse or a burden or an evil thing, even after all of this), “She hates war. Why would I bring her straight into one?”

Outside, heat thunder rolled. No break in the heat yet. Its siren song drove the farmers and townspeople mad with hope. Hideyoshi had looked out sagely that morning and declared that it wouldn’t rain--not today--but it might later that week. They usually trusted him with that kind of thing. Right now, Ieyasu wished that it would come pouring down and drown them both.

“That has no relevance to where Takeda Shingen is,” Ieyasu finally responded.

“I don’t know where Shingen is.” Yoshimoto laid his head on the cool flagstones, eyes still shut, blood flecked over his hair and the filthy silk of the kimono he’d worn the first day. “He wouldn’t have told me.”

Cold, cold, cold hands. “So you’ve said. You’ve said that at least a dozen times.”

A pause. Yoshimoto’s chest heaved a slow, jagged tempo. “He wouldn’t tell me because of her. Because of us.”

Ieyasu wanted to scream again. He could feel it bubbling in his throat, like the ghost of that white-hot blade pressed to his skin.

They were too nice too nice too nice, they both knew what he was doing to him and still she washed his hand and still he said his name like a friend and still there was no damn rain and still she didn't hate him he didn't hate him why couldn’t they just hate him

“Why?” He finally managed, his voice a twisted blade that tore at him the whole way out. “Don’t you hate me?”

Yoshimoto opened his eyes, still gold and pale against the gray walls, still handsome and bright and sharp.

“You’re doing what you have to do,” he managed at last. “And I’m certain you hate me. I probably deserve it.”

Burning burning burning cold hands. The sweat seared him. “Did you know? Did you know the whole time I was there, and did you ignore it?”

At last, they were down to the crux of the whole thing. Yoshimoto wriggled like he meant to sit up (as if they were peers in this moment, just sitting and listening to a friend share their worries) and when his body failed him, he slumped over as best he could, eyes locked and gaze unwavering.

“Tokugawa Ieyasu,” he said, “You do know I was thirteen?”

That wasn’t an answer.

“I knew there was something wrong,” he answered at last. All the words sounded labored. “The details, I never knew. Just the hot room and that you looked ready to kill half of us if given the chance from time to time. I never would’ve known anything specific unless it came from you.”

(He was angry. So, so, so angry. A free-wheeling, blistering summer, crop-killing, volcanic kind of anger that threatened to overflow and kill everything in its wake.)

Ieyasu curled his fingers so tight that his knuckles creaked. Yoshimoto slumped his head back to the floor, shut his eyes and took another labored breath. All of his bruises were out in the open, where everyone could see them. There were no hidden marks, nothing easily covered in the painted facade of a silk--like desecrating a pretty vase, Ieyasu thought.

“Did you know that your uncle--I think it was your uncle--burned me?” He announced. “My arms, my legs. He held a knife over a fire and waited until it glowed, then tried to see if I would scream. He only stopped when I finally did. I’ve still got the scars.”

Yoshimoto’s eyes were open again. There was no stone face--just a well of confusion and relentless sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Ieyasu instantly wanted him to take it back. “That should never have happened.”

Outside, the thunder rumbled again. They’d both been kids, once. Kids who barely knew each other, who lived in the same place and entirely different worlds and never once knew what lay beyond their circle. There was a faint scar just above Yoshimoto’s collarbone. Ieyasu wondered what it was from.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ieyasu said. “You couldn’t have stopped it anyway.”

---

No one was completely sure when she and Yoshimoto met, though Ieyasu suspected that the Takeda had spies in Azuchi for a long time before the battle. It was likely in their own marketplace. They had fine fabrics and he knew that Yoshimoto, otherwise an unremarkable daimyo, wouldn’t have stood out. He’d noticed her disappearing off to the stalls for supplies more frequently, but her business was also thriving. Everyone wanted her wares.

Mitsuhide found the letters first.

The only thing that saved her from Nobunaga was that she’d revealed nothing treasonous. It was love, plain and simple. His fine calligraphy lay neatly on thin mulberry paper (an artistic touch and beautiful in its own right), every character reserved entirely to her wellbeing and their budding affections. No mention of armies or war. No hatred, no grandstanding. Just love--love, plain and simple and innocent and complicated and all-encompassing and blinding.

But all that meant was she was safe.

And the match made sense, as much as Ieyasu couldn’t stand to admit it. They were both art lovers, convinced of its importance as much as warfare, certain that without it, what kind of a world existed to fight for at all? They used entire leaves of paper discussing dyeing techniques and exchanging book recommendations and talking about their homelands.

(And honestly, Ieyasu hadn’t needed the letters to cement what he already knew. She’d spied Yoshimoto on the battlefield and he saw her whole body light up, eyes blazing with the kind of need he’d never seen in her before. He already knew then. He’d just hoped he was wrong.)

Nobunaga wouldn’t let some traitor daimyo run off with his lucky charm. Not in a thousand years.

Ieyasu rapped on her door late that night, and she opened the screen, bleary eyed from fatigue. She’d barely slept in a week. The red rim of her eyes betrayed every tear she couldn’t shed in front of them.

“Come on.” He took her hand and pulled.

“Where are we going?”

“Shut up.”

The silly woman somehow still trusted him. Ieyasu dragged her quietly down the stairs, past the main hall, through the courtyard and out the front door. She wasn’t dressed to be in public and still didn't question him. Without ceremony, he reached the dungeon door and yanked it open, its hinges silvery in the moonlight and depths impenetrable.

She stared at him. “What are we--”

“I said shut up.”

One step at a time, he lead her into the darkness. The stairs were almost dry, the unnatural heatwave baking it clean. Still he was cautious. They reached the bottom and he fetched a lit torch, motioning at the guard on duty to leave without a word, and fetched the key ring. “Lift your skirts and follow me.”

Yoshimoto was back in his holding cell. He was still holding his left shoulder slightly jagged, his breathing shallow but even, his split lip now clear and the grime of his face washed clean. Apparently he’d used his drinking water to do that. He peered intently around the corner at Ieyasu. “Tokugawa--”

Then he saw her, and he fell completely silent.

“Here.” Ieyasu fumbled with the keys (he’d never had to unlock the cell doors) and finally found the right one. “You don’t have long.”

Yoshimoto struggled to rise and failed to get up. He didn't need to. The second Ieyasu cracked the door, she flung herself inside and her arms around him, their bodies bound so tight together that he wondered if they’d ever been separate at all. Her voice cracked, slurred something in her native tongue, the beginnings of a sob rolling through her back.

“Shh.” He lifted his arms with effort, wound his fingers in her hair, kissed her forehead, her head, her eyes, clutched her to him. “Hush, darling. Hush. It’s okay.”

It isn’t, Ieyasu thought. It really isn’t. But they just sat there in silence together, her tears muffled into his chest and his body emanating love like sunlight. And he wondered (as he’d wondered a million things about Imagawa Yoshimoto lately) how a man who’d barely been able to get up this afternoon could summon the strength to smile and hold her so tight.

---

“He doesn’t know anything.”

Nobunaga and Hideyoshi cocked the opposite brow at the same time, which might’ve been comical were it not so deadly serious.

“Is that so?” Nobunaga remarked. It was the tone of voice that let him know this was not a question.

“Shingen didn't divulge where he was going to Imagawa expressly because he knew about the attachment to the chatelaine.” Ieyasu inhaled. “So when he left, he was effectively spurring Imagawa to leave the fight too.”

Mitsunari frowned. “That is a valuable ally to excise for sentimental reasons.”

Mitsuhide smiled. “Practically cutthroat of you, Mitsunari. Color me surprised. As it so happens, I’ve obtained similar intelligence.”

Hideyoshi’s surprise translated loud and clear. “Really?”

“So it would seem. The thorn in our side still has a few petals remaining.”

Nobunaga’s gaze fell back down on Ieyasu, searching him. He’d grown used to most of those inscrutable expressions: contemplative, frustrated, puzzled. Now it was just the brotherly stare he got after some of his worst days on the battlefield.

“How is our prisoner?” He asked.

“Yes indeed,” Mitsuhide purred. “Is he still alive?”

“He’s alive.” Ieyasu paused. “He’s… relatively okay.”

The Devil King’s eyes never wavered. “And what would you recommend we do with him?”

---

Yoshimoto was allowed medical attention and to rest for one week, the meagre possessions he came with restored to him. Even with the fresh scar on his lip and a slight catch in his shoulder (Ieyasu was relatively certain it would smooth out over time), he was still regal and handsome. The cold grey of dawn greeted them with a blinding lightning bolt and a torrential downpour. It soaked through the cracked earth and ran muddy and wild over the fields.

Ieyasu affixed the last of Yoshimoto’s things to the saddlebag himself. “That’s everything.”

Imagawa Yoshimoto smiled at him, despite everything. “I appreciate that.”

The chatelaine lingered in the stable. She’d snuck out to see him off, despite all of Nobunaga and Hideyoshi’s disapproval. Her eyes were puffy with new, unshed tears. “You’re just going to put him out in the rainstorm?”

He glanced out the stable door. It came down in thick, obscuring sheets. “Yep.”

“Come now.” Yoshimoto gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be just fine, love--”

Ieyasu snorted. “Of course you two will.”

The lovebirds started. He relished the look of surprise.

“What does that mean?” She said.

“You idiot, the rain will keep anyone from seeing that you’re gone for at least twenty minutes.” Ieyasu checked it again. “No one on lookout will be able to tell the difference between one rider and two. If you time it right, you can clear the Azuchi fields by the time it lifts. Yes, you’ll get soaked--”

“--It’s perfect cover.” Yoshimoto finished, breathless.

“Ieyasu.” She dashed to his side, catching his hands in hers. They were so warm that it melted through her fingertips and into his--a comfortable, gentle heat. “Ieyasu.”

“Go.” He pointed at the saddlebags. “I smuggled in some of your things. Your weird bag, sewing stuff, some goods. Mitsunari helped me grab extras. No one questions if he takes things. Now get out of here before anyone realizes you’re gone.”

The chatelaine smiled at him--a blazing, beautiful smile--and leaned in and kissed his cheek hard. “Thank you.”

He was going to miss her.

“Go,” he repeated instead. “Go now.”

Yoshimoto and him helped her into the saddle first. Afterwards, Yoshimoto mounted up behind her, wrapping his cloak and body around her as best he could. “Thank you, Tokugawa.”

“If you don’t do right by her,” Ieyasu warned, “I’ll definitely kill you next time.”

“I take that under advisement. Thank you.”

A jerk of the reins and a kick, and they bolted out of the stables and into the pouring rain. Within seconds their figures swam into a vague blur, melding together in the shifting faraway. Only moments later--gone.

Ieyasu stood there alone in the silence, his hands warm, his thoughts swirling like lazy koi in a fishbowl, aimless and unbothered. Without thinking, he stepped outside and stretched out his arms, letting the cold droplets run down his sleeves and cling to his skin.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen fanfic #heatwave #my writing #angst tw #torture tw #tw: torture #tw: violence #tw: blood

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rj019 · 4 years

Text

The characters don't belong to me. All credits to Marvel or Disney or Stan Lee idk.

So this is my first ever Tumblr Post (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

Hope you guys will like it.. I'm new to this & I might make some mistakes so I hope you guys can understand and help me throughout my journey (◍•ᴗ•◍)

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Title : Genius, YouTuber, Artist, Musician and Spider-Man

Fandom : MCU

Pairing : Starker(tony stark x peter parker)

Rating : Mature (NSFW, Sexual Content)

Prompt : Social Media

Summary :

Tony started crushing on a guy who is 5 years younger than him... And You all know who that is 😉 one and only Peter Parker.

And Peter has a very famous Youtube channel since he was 6. But he always wears mask in his videos to hide his face. He often mentions his crush on Tony Stark since he was 12 in his videos.

" CHAPTER - 0 "

The notes below are for the things that happened till Peter is 20 from when I'll actually start the story. I didn't wanted to get it all mixed up. So I wrote these so you guys can understand the AU better and how everything came to be and not get confused. It explains everything about Pete's social media, everyone's ages and which part of MCU is included and which is not, and the changes in the whole storyline. So these are must read it if you want to read the actual chapters. (☆▽☆)

Notes :

Tony is 25 year old in this and Pete is 20 and they're both certified geniuses. And they are both Bisexual.

Tony's perants are alive. Pete's uncle Ben is also alive.

Howard is a good parent and husband in this fic and he himself is a Bi so congrats!! No homophobia 🤗

Howard made Tony CEO of the company when he was 22 and only took semi retirement and only went to company once in a while to keep an eye on things. Tony graduated from MIT when he was 17 and then he started helping with company 😀

So Avengers and S. H. I. E. L. D. does exist in this AU but sheild isn't publicly known nor does anyone knows Avengers' real identity that includes Tony's😉 but that was just until New York battle.

Howard and Maria obviously knew about Tony being Iron Man. Tony told them after he came from Afghanistan and created the armor. There was no way to keep it hidden from them. Like all the parents they were reluctant to accept it as it will endanger his life but the accepted it at last.

Tony was kidnapped when he was 19 and when he went to Afganistan for his first ever deal without his father. And bla bla happened and he became Ironman and then he told his father about the Arc reactor tech and told him that there are many other things that can get their company to it's peak and asked him to stop the weapon business and Howard aslo thought about it cause after all he almost lost his one and only son (told ya he is good parent it this one) and then you know what happened 🙃

Howard is alive so no Obadiah Stane.. So no IM 1 events after he came from Afghanistan happened. They hid the fact that tony has arc reactor in his chest though. And world only knew that Iron Man is getting help from SI because of the arc reactor technology in the armor but they could never expect that it's Tony Stark himself. ( yeah yeah I know not very convincing but bear with it cause its a fiction right😅)

Papper, Rhodey and Tony are best friends from childhood cause their parents are friends. So he tell them about IM too. Papper works with him at SI as secretary for few years but when Tony turns 24, He suggest his father to make her CEO and he will be working and providing for Techs and important business deals. And Howard knows his son very well and that doing office stuff ain't getting to Tony plus his IM activities. And Papper was already doing more than half of his paper and meeting work so he makes Papper CEO. And yep Papper and Tony did try relationship but it just didn't clicked so they are still friends and no awkward feelings.

From IM 2, he did get palladium poisoning but he hid it from his family and friends. He did parties and drinking (but without the armor ofcourse) and Rhodey got really angry at his behaviour and recklessness and told him that he will beat him up with his own armour. And then Nat and Fury came and all that injection stuff.. after that he told his father about it and they worked together and made the new element and saved him. After that he apologized to everyone and told the truth and even made Rhodey War Machine suit and Rhodey helped him with it at Expo. Race incident doesn't happen. But Vanko still tried to get revenge by helping Hammer. So Stark expo incident still happened with drones only, not the War Machine armour.

I'll say IM 3 doesn't happen cause we don't have that much time you know fitting all IM parts and then 2 avangers part just within 6 years is impossible 😅

So after that NY invasion happened and Avangers got formed. People didn't know who they atually were just their alter egos and that also not everyone. People were really shocked and afraid after the battle so the government decided to make shield publicly known. Not all the information but just lil bit parts here and there to ensure everyone that there were people and organisation who were ready for something big like this. But it was still not enough to make people safe.

So then Avengers decided that they'll reveal their identities so people will know that there is a group of people who are there and capable enough to save them from something like this and it worked. They did got positive response. But it was uproar it the world. And they had to deal with media and fans. When the world got to know about Tony Stark being Iron Man, SI's PR department was in chaos.

All Avengers are around 24 to 30 except for Wanda and Pietro. They are 21. But they got into team after Ultron and yep Pietro survived.

Events of Captain America and CA : Winter Soldier did happen except for Bucky killing Tony's perants part. And they are both 30. Clint doesn't have secret wife and children (sorry Laura and kids) cause he is 25. Nat is 24. Papper and Rhodes are 27. Thor looks like 28 but is 1500 as we all know. Loki looks like he is 26 and yepp he was mind controlled by Chitauri but he was at Asgard during Age Of Ultron. Sam is 23. Scott is 25 and he is divorced and has a daughter. He is in relationship. Hope is 24. Bruce is 29. (These are their ages at the starting of the 1st chapter, from when I'll actually start writing the story.)

In NY invasion only original 6 were included in Avengers Initiative and after that they lived together too, at the Stark tower which was turned into Avengers Tower. Later Shield recruited others and they trained and did mission together but didn't live with the original 6.

Then Age Of Ultron happened and Vision Wanda and Pietro also joined. At that time they decided to move to the compound Tony built for them in upstate so everyone can live there.

And time period between these all events is smaller than in movies cause you now 6 years time period ain't that long to fit 'em all.

No CW or IW or Endgame happened.

Mary & Richard unfortunately had to die in plane crash 😅 when Pete was 5 so his uncle and aunt looked after him from then.

When Peter was struggling to recover from his parents death, May got an idea to help him *tada* a youtube channel to distract him because she knew Pete liked to watch things on YT. Pete was a genius and he was great at art too and he is an obvious cinnamon roll so she knew it will be a success and Pete will be distracted too. But she didn't want her nephew's face all over the internet if he gets popular and then can't have normal life so she helped him make his videos with him wearing a mask. So here's where Pete's YouTube journey started 🤭

Peter being an adorable and telented and a genius he is, he got famous on YT over the years and got millions of subscribers and views. He even made accounts on other social medias like Insta and Twitter stuff releted to his YT when he was 12 and it was success too he posted his art and photography their. ( His art and videos do contain his fanboying stuff and crushing on Tony Stark🤭)

And yes Pete is Spider-Man. He became SM when he was 13. Same radioactive spider at oscorp stuff but without Ben dying.

Ben has his own business which is good enough to have stable and cozy life with his wife and nephew. May is house wife and she likes to do volenteer work oftenly. They have two story house with a garden and a backyard. Nither too big nor too small.

Ben has always taught Pete about responsibility and righteousness. (With great powers comes great responsibilities.) So when Peter got his powers he decided to help people by being Spider-Man and looking out for little guy. After sometime he told Ben and May about it and they were at first hesitant but then they got over it and were proud of him and supported him.

After a year, it was getting too much at the same time... being at school, managing social media and YT channel, being Spider-Man and all.

Ben and May wanted him to have normal life so even if he was a genius and could graduate early, they still wanted him to complete high school and make friends. But let's be genuine nothing in life is gonna be normal so he told them about his plan to graduate early from both school and college. And he loved his YT and social media cause it helped him so he didn't wanted to stop that and to stop being SM is out of the picture. Ben and May understood him so they allowed him.

He took this opportunity to tell his only 2 and closest friends Ned and MJ about him being SM. He trusts them alot and they didn't disappoint him and even helped him with keeping his secret identity.

So he graduated from high school early, got full scholarship to MIT.

He was fifteen when he saw Iron Man first. He and Ned became fans but Tony was still his idol and his crush. He also started making fanarts about Iron Man on his account. He liked Dr.Banner's work too. He was only 20 when he wrote his thesis about gamma radiation and his books are awesome and he has 7 PhDs by the age of 25.

Peter earned a good amount from his YT channel and he still had money his perants left so he made one of the vacant room in the house his lab after he became SM and he makes videos in his lab after that about his inventions and experiments but ofcourse nothing regarding SM. He and Ned even made a cool SM suit with AI which they named Karen. (The one from the Homecoming) He got his AI inspiration from his Idol's AI called JARVIS. (Tony made JARVIS when he was at MIT and then used him for the company and his lab and he gave an interview about it. That's how Pete knows about it. Tony used Friday for his suits and IM releted activities after he became IM but then after AOU he used Friday for everything.)

Pete's YouTube videos are about everything and anything he loves to do since he was young. When he was young it was about his lil childish science experiments with help of Ben (ofcourse till he could it on his own) or his art or baking and cooking stuff with May and all but they all always wore the different different matching masks while making videos. When he became friends with Ned and MJ, he asked them to be there too. As he got older he started showing his genius brain cells in his experiments and invention. Same goes for his art, it started getting more and more detailed and he also got interested in composing music and songs and he eurned more followers. He even made his accounts unhackable so no one try to find out who he is after he became SM. He had so many happy moments with his family and friends while making his videos, that is why he kept his YT and accounts.

Shield doesn't know who the Spider-Man is. Pete found out about them cause he sensed someone (agents) following him during one of his patrols when he was 14. So he and Ned looked into it and his mind was blown when he found the organisation and all government behind it.

He wanted to know why they were after him cause he only helped people. So they hacked into Shield. He found out that they wanted to recruit him for something called Avangers Initiative and there he saw some other people's and superheroes' information too. (He didn't look into it because he knew that if he didn't anyone want to know his identity, they must not too and he had no right. ) But he knew it was not a good idea to join it cause then he will have to work for them do their missions and he didn't wanted to do that. He wanted to look out for little guy and help whoever, he can wherever he can. Plus he would have to reveal his identity and when they'll know he is so young, they'll try to stop him from being SM plus people close to him will get in danger. And they might even want to experiment on him so it was a big fat NO.

After that he took every cautious step to protect his identity and his aunt, uncle and his friends. He made a security system for their house and made a smart bracelet to communicate or send signal to each other if they were in danger. They all had one including himself. It looked simple and no one could tell it was actually for that.

When Newyork invasion happened, he was not there. He was at MIT for his PhD. He was so damn worried about Ben, May, Ned and MJ. The moment he heard the news he left for NY but by the time he got there the fight had been finished. So he directly went to check on May and Ben. He found them safe and was revealed. Then he called Ned and MJ to check on them and their families and found everyone was ok. After that he told May and Ben that he will go out and help people from the aftermath of the battle.

He stayed in NY for 2 weeks. In which he found out about the Avengers. He and Ned were shocked at the name and that it was the same Avengers Initiative stuff they read when they hacked into the sheild and Peter felt a pinch of guilt but it disappeared when he learnt that Avengers revealed their identities. He was in no condition to reveal his identity.

He was shocked when he learnt Avengers' identities especially Iron Man. He was like "how could I not understand that it had to be Tony.. there were all those connection like SI and no one is such a genius to make that kind of Tech except for his idol. He fell in love with Tony even more but he just thought it was some kind of superhero worship and teenage crush.

After that Ned and him being the 'nerds' as MJ calls them they are, they become fanboys and started to find out more thing about Avengers. Pete started to post more fanarts of them and he even made the reaction video of how he feels about Tony Stark being Iron Man and Bruce Banner being Hulk. Both his favourite scientists. He even made a song for Avengers. Which was total hit so he made more songs in the future.

Pete graduated from MIT even earlier than his Idol Tony Stark at the age of 16. He got his PHD in Biochemical Engineering at 17 and he wanted to get more Phds in Robotics, Nenotech Engeneering study and Astrophysics. (Which he did within next 2 years.) (Pete was 16 when NY invasion happened and 19 when Ultron happened)

And then Ultron happened, it was all over the news and all but Avangers once again saved the world. Pete was happy and revealed that there were Avengers to save them from world ending dangers but there gotta be someone down on the street too. Someone to help people from criminal and other dangers which may seem little in their or government's eye like Rhino, Doc Oct, Green Goblin, lizard, electro and many more with whom he fought. And he felt that his decision to not join Avengers Initiative was right. Though Shield was still eager to find out who he is like he will let them.

And then Homecoming happened except the part with Tony. ( But Peter doesn't go to homecoming because he graduated from high school )

As for the Ferry incident he saved everyone. He held the both part of ferry with his web and his strength ( Pete is very very strong in this fic ) till his latest Nenotech bot he invented arrived and held the ferry together and mend it. (Like Iron Man did. Just that it were bots who fixed the last part too. Where Tony flys around it and mend it.)

Peter had figured out the arc reactor technology a year and half ago but he didn't wanted any one to know cause it will attract the attention of many people and he didn't wanted that. That is also the reason he doesn't use his Nenotech suit he made. ( IW one ) But now that he has used his nenobots and his tech which was even better and cheaper, he knew for sure that it's going to fireback but he thought he'll take care of it later when he is not busy trying to capture a curtain alian tech loaded weapon selling Vulture.

Next day he had asked Karen to keep and eye over everything and at night Karen informed him about some movements at some abandoned warehouse. Then the whole warehouse dropping and plane crashing thing happened. He saved the Mr.stark's tech and averages stuff and weapons.

But now he will even have more attention but he then ask Karen to clear CCTV footage around the beach so no one knows about him leaving from the scene. He can only hope now. He'll have to lay low for now and even more careful.

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Hope you guys will like it. I have thought so much for this fic. It's going to be exciting writing this.

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siriuslynewt · 4 years

Text

Nameless Fate

Eyes awoke to utter darkness. There was no source of light or any visual of his surroundings. The taste of metal apparent on his tongue and he was certain a bruise was forming on his cheek. Someone has him magically bound on both his arms and legs. Any attempt of moving will surely have him topple over with no chance of getting back up.

Draco was not at all surprised this would happen. Quite frankly, he was waiting for the day. No matter how much he’s grown, changed, and tried to mend every wrong he’s done, threats still came. Too prideful to admit this was occurring, he kept these threats to himself for a while. Being constantly on edge forced him to have his guard up at all times; expecting that any day, his life would most likely end in peril. Yet he would open his arms to any attack his way, believing this is what he still deserved.

A low eerie noise sounded nearby. Footsteps accompanied the now deafening whistle as the culprit appeared to be heading towards where he’s being kept. This would be his fate. Tortured and then murdered just like his previous family members have subjected innocents and the times he’s witnessed it but stood back.

A door swung open as a tall figure came through with his wand casting lumos. Welcoming the blinding light in the room made his eyes try to readjust from the then pitch black room. It took him a while to meet the eyes of his captor.

The man’s eyes were wide with fury. Dark circles clearly evident on his face. His whole demeanor seemed hostile.

“I bet you have no clue who I am,” the man spat out! Draco flinched with disgust as the man’s saliva shot towards his eye.

And no. Draco has no indication of who this wizard is. The man before him brought his wand up to Draco’s face as he walked around Draco’s bounded kneeled body.

“My sister was killed in the hands of your family. She stood no chance of the wrath of you bloody death eaters,” he yelled as he casted the Cruciatus curse at Draco.

Pain surrounded his senses. He wasn’t a stranger on having this curse used on him, but it never got easier to endure. Draco wanted to scream, but felt there was no use.

“No amount of pain I inflict on you will ever avenge my sister’s death! YOU DESERVE TO DIE!”

Draco shut his eyes. He knew this was his time. That nameless man didn’t truly know who he was besides his family name. And Draco has no clue who this wizard was, but with every torturous act his family caused, Draco closed his eyes and awaited for his death.

“AVADA KED-”

A loud pop sounded from multiple aspects of the room.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Draco opened his eyes and was overwhelmed by the chaos before him. This couldn’t be possible. Three Aurors were binding the nameless man and getting ready to send him off to Azkaban. This couldn’t be possible.

“Looks like you need help taking those binds off you.”

Draco peered up and saw none other than Harry Potter. He should have felt happy to see him, but he began to feel an immense sensation of anger taking over his still bound body.

“You guys should have waited two more minutes to come and find me. You should have let him kill me!” Draco yelled out.

He should have been killed. He was so tired of having his guard up. So tired of looking over his shoulder more than once. He didn’t want to live like this anymore. He thought he could manage living a life with constantly having a protective shield up and having a small fake smile plastered on his face the entire time. But it drained him more than ever to be subjected to constant torment. And that’s when he realized that his fate was to endure a life of constant suffering for all his wrongful actions that he was involved in during the second war.

“You should have let him kill me,” Draco whispered as tears slid down his face. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. He hadn’t even noticed when Harry released the magical binds holding Draco together and went to pick him up from the ground.

“Ron was the one who reported you missing, you know.” Harry revealed as he grabbed Draco from the waist in case Draco’s legs gave out after being held together.

“He went to go do the daily check up to see if you have gotten any new threats and to make sure your home was secure. Thats when he noticed a bag full of groceries on the ground just laying on the path towards your house. It’s a good thing we had a tracking device implemented on your wand the day you reported all these threats.” Harry continued as he held Draco up to be checked by a MediWizard.

The MediWizard checked Draco’s internal and external well being. Draco was in a haze throughout the entire check up. What he revealed out loud, especially to Harry, was something he only ever thought to himself and saying it out loud just made Draco realize how broken he is. The MediWizard deemed it necessary for Draco to be taken into St. Mungo’s, but before Harry let Draco to be sent off, he pulled Draco aside.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain right now,” Harry said, “but I want you to listen to what I’m going to say to you.” He waited for Draco to finally look up at him to lock eyes with the man beside him.

“You don’t deserve any of this Draco. Stop tormenting yourself for the actions you took part in over 7 years ago. You paid your dues and you’ve done more than enough to make things right. Don’t let your fate be decided for you. You deserve to be happy. You are stronger than you believe. I believe that. And know I will be there standing next to you to ensure this all stops. You’re not alone.” Harry whispered as held Draco’s gaze.

They held their stares for what seemed like hours until the MediWizard came to take Draco to St. Mungo’s and for Auror Harry to finish his investigation.

two weeks later

Draco stared into his mirror above the entryway to his house. Life sure hasn’t been easy, but he was trying. Seeing a mind healer has helped him cope and understand everything. No, threats didn’t stop, but they did decrease. It was a slow process, but one he needed to take. He wanted control of his life again. He wanted to feel free and no nameless wizard will take that from him again.

A soft knock took his focus off staring at himself in the mirror. There standing before him was none other than Harry Potter. And this time, he didn’t feel angry seeing him, he felt happy.

It will be an uphill battle from here, but whatever fate had in store for him now, he believed in himself to get through it.

Idk how i feel about this fic. It sat in my drafts for like a year and a half and I finally decided to work on it again. The last time i wrote a fic, I had just turned 19 and now I’m like less than a week and a half away from turning 21 ! So I’m sorry if it’s not the best !

#draco malfoy #harry potter #its kinda drarry #a little bit #mainly about draco #drarry #draco x harry #my work: siriuslynewt #drarry fic #drarry fanfic

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kinghellcat · 4 years

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Tales from the Burial Mounds, Part I

I wrote a little vignette! I think I want to make a short series of these, detailing the time Wei Wuxian and the Dafan-Wen family lived in Yiling. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and much longer since I shared my writing, so... be nice to me :x Thanks!

2k Rated G

Tags: Wei Wuxian & Wen Ning, feelings, a lot of feelings (dude idk how to tag)

The wind made hardly a sound as it rushed through the bare, brittle branches of the trees dotting the sides of the Burial Mounds. Though it was well into the summer, the trees remained gnarled and blackened, as though they’d been burned. Not one of them bore leaves, nor flowers, nor fruits. Indeed the only thing that grew well here were bitter wild herbs. Those and radishes. Wei Wuxian had never liked radishes, and couldn’t imagine why anyone else would. But they grew here, they fed the people here, and thus he would tend them.

Wei Wuxian kneeled in the dirt, pulling weeds and inspecting the spindly leaves. Much of the work had already been done, but he wasn’t ready to rejoin the others yet. “Yiling Patriarch” is hardly the title he would’ve given himself -- how self-important it sounds! -- but he supposed it suited him after all. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’d already begun feeling the pressure of supporting and protecting the people here. He had brought the remnants of the Wen clan, the Dafan-Wen, to this dreary place, and thus he would protect them.

Only, he felt that they deserved better. Better homes, better clothes, better food certainly. A better leader too. Someone who had more, or anything at all, to offer. Eventually, Wei Wuxian’s hands came to a stop and he found himself just sitting in the radish patch alone, feeling sorry for himself. He shook his head vigorously, like he could shake the negative thoughts from his mind. He stood and stretched his arms high to the waning sunlight.

It was probably almost dinner time. If he didn’t return to the main compound -- if you could call it that -- Wen Qing would surely give him another lecture. Heaving a mighty sigh, he brushed off his robes and made his way back to their shabby dining room/main hall/everything else room. It was made from the ruins of a temple to the fallen, all those whose bodies were buried in these hills. The irony was not lost on him; the fearsome Yiling Patriarch, the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation making his home on a literal mound of corpses and sharing meals with criminals in a desecrated temple was probably exactly what the world had expected of him.

In reality, it was just a bunch of poor, scared people who wanted nothing more than to live in peace. The world would never get to see that, they wouldn’t even try. And why should they? Wei Wuxian thought wryly, It’s not like this is a place worth visiting. He shook his head again. Now was not the time for complaints. If the Burial Mounds weren’t worth visiting, he would at least try to make it a place worth living in. And if that meant he had to eat radish soup every night for the rest of his life, well, that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

He arrived with enough time to spare that Wen Qing didn’t go off on him, but she did lightly scold him for getting so dirty. Wei Wuxian just laughed it off; he had realized by now that she scolded people to show that she cared. It was sort of touching to think he was included among the people she cared for, if only she could express it more kindly… With a sharp breath, Wei Wuxian once again cut off his train of thought. If he let his mind wander toward Jiang Yanli, he might actually cry. Instead he forced himself to focus on the present, on the people around him now.

Wen Ning had helped Granny Wen make dinner tonight, and though it was still mostly radishes, it was almost tasty. Wen Ning had apparently been quite skilled in the kitchen since he was very young. “Well, see, my sister was always busy with her studies, and after our parents died, it was only natural that it’d fall to me, right?” He had reasoned when Wei Wuxian remarked on his cooking. Underselling himself, as usual, Wei Wuxian thought. But he knew that trying to force praise on Wen Ning only made him uncomfortable, so he let it be. He settled for giving his hand a warm squeeze.

Wen Ning shuffled his feet shyly, but squeezed Wei Wuxian’s hand in return, ever so lightly. “Thanks…” he mumbled. He withdrew his hand and returned to serving up the others, with a very small smile. Even when he was alive, Wen Ning hadn’t been the most expressive person, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel deeply. On the contrary, it was the strength and breadth of the feelings he left unexpressed that had allowed Wei Wuxian to return him to life, or something close to it. All his leftover resentment and fury at the abuse he and his family suffered before his death, on top of a lifetime of being looked down on and ignored, had turned him into a frighteningly powerful fierce corpse.

But that rage was tempered by an even greater kindness. For all his anger at the injustices of the world, Wen Ning was a gentle young man. Sweet, even. Juxtaposed with his ferocity on the battlefield, one might assume he was two different people. Wei Wuxian laughed, thinking that if only people could see the great and terrible Ghost General serving soup to his aunties and cousins, they couldn’t possibly find him so frightening. They couldn’t possibly hate him. Wei Wuxian had already cursed himself a thousand times for turning such a good, kind person into a weapon, to be feared and reviled by the rest of the cultivation world. But what else could he have done? Let him die? He could never have forgiven himself for doing nothing.

Wei Wuxian sighed. He wasn’t doing a very good job at staying positive tonight. He finished his soup, down to the last wretched radish, and excused himself. Wen Qing side-eyed him as he slunk away, but if she was suspicious or concerned for him, she didn’t say so. She returned her attention to her family, and reached across the table to wipe a dribble of soup from Wen Yuan’s chin. “A-Yuan, slow down or you’ll make a mess.” The little boy nodded, but continued to slurp loudly and messily. Wen Qing shook her head, but she smiled fondly.

Wei Wuxian’s mind threatened to wander to his sister again. How he wished to see her again! But how could he, after his unceremonious departure from the Jiang sect? Jiang Cheng would never allow it, and frankly, he wouldn’t want Yanli to see this sorry place. He wanted nothing more than to taste her cooking again, to rest his head on her shoulder while she comforted him… His fingers curled into fists at his sides and he squeezed his eyes shut. It wouldn’t do to start crying while anyone was still awake.

The inside of the Demon-Subdue Cave was just as shabby as the rest of the settlement, worse maybe, considering that it was literally a dark, creepy cave. But Wei Wuxian had claimed the spot for his own, and the Wens knew better than to bother him here. There was plenty of space to tinker, which meant there was plenty of space to make messes. There were crumpled papers, faulty talismans, and half-finished inventions littered all across the floor and on the flat, raised stones that functioned as tables. Wei Wuxian stepped carefully around them as he made his way to the back of the cave where his bed stood. It was another raised stone platform, just long enough to lay on, with a moth-eaten blanket thrown haphazardly over it. He stretched out lazily, his shoulders popping and spine cracking loudly. Though it seemed almost pointless to try, he got as comfortable as he could and tried to sleep.

Sure enough, sleep evaded him. He tried over and over again to clear his mind and relax, but failed every time. Waves of melancholy lapped at him, shot through with deep regret. Why did I do this? How could I leave Yunmeng? How could I betray Jiang Cheng and shijie? One half of him lamented, desperately wishing for his soft bed in his nice clean room back at Lotus Pier. The other half tried to reason with him: I had to do something. I couldn’t let the Wens die! My dream has always been to stand on the side of justice. Isn’t that what I’m doing? It was a solid argument but still he had trouble convincing himself.

He got up and surveyed his many abandoned projects. Maybe he could distract himself with his inventions. He’d been meaning to work on improving his Compass of Evil. Scooping up his prototypes and sitting at his makeshift desk, he examined the parts and the enchantments he’d placed on them. He took the latest version apart and put it back together, but couldn’t think of what to add, what to do differently. Frustration mounting, he gripped the compass and hurled it across the cave with all his might.

It hit the wall and broke into pieces. A yelp from the darkness startled Wei Wuxian from his seething. Wen Ning took a step into the dim candlelight. “Master Wei… are you well?” He asked. Since his resurrection he had lost his stutter and most of his nervous twitches, but he was still shy, and polite to a fault. His long, dark hair was loose around his shoulders, nearly blending in with the darkness, making his ghostly pale face stand out among the gloom. “You left dinner much earlier than usual… I wanted to check on you sooner, but Wen Qing kept stopping me.”

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian lied. “Thanks for worrying, though.” He tried to smile but must have failed; Wen Ning looked thoroughly unconvinced.

“Forgive me, Master Wei, but I’m not stupid. I can tell something is bothering you… I want to help you if I can.” He took a few steps forward, but stayed out of reach, like he was afraid to approach Wei Wuxian. Was his poor mood so obvious? Wei Wuxian stood and closed the gap between them, ignoring the flash of panic in Wen Ning’s eyes.

“Oh Wen Ning. I know you’re not stupid.” He started, laying a hand on Wen Ning’s arm. Wen Ning’s posture relaxed a little. “But really, it’s fine. You help me with so much already! You don’t have to worry about a bad day.”

“Master Wei--” Wen Ning tried to argue, but Wei Wuxian cut him off.

“Haven’t I told you to stop calling me that?” He laughed. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Wen Ning stared for a moment, eyes wide. “Friends…” he echoed. “Right… Sorry Mas-- er… um.” He fumbled his words, eloquent as always. Suddenly he seemed very interested in the ground.

Wei Wuxian laughed for real this time. Maybe he was teasing him too much, but it really was a lot of fun. And at least he seemed distracted from trying to talk to Wei Wuxian about his feelings. Just to lay it on thick, he reached out for Wen Ning’s chin and tipped it up so they were looking each other in the eyes. “Repeat after me: Wei. Wu. Xian.” He said clearly.

If Wen Ning could still blush, he would surely have gone beet red by now. “Wei…” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Wei Wuxian.”

“Good!” Wei Wuxian smiled, patting Wen Ning’s cheek gently. It had actually felt a little nice for Wen Ning to drop some of his usual reverent formality.

Wen Ning shifted his gaze to the ground again. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, trying to find the right words. After a few moments, he clenched his jaw and made eye contact with Wei Wuxian again. “Wei Wuxian,” he repeated, with more confidence than Wei Wuxian had ever heard from him. “As your friend, I am worried about you. Even if I can’t help… At least let me care.” His expression was subtle, but the knit of his eyebrows and the set of his jaw spoke volumes. He was serious.

Wei Wuxian didn’t have a response to that. He simply blinked a few times before a single tear slipped out. With a gasp, he took a step away and turned his back. Stop it stop it stop it! He yelled at himself. A firm hand grasped his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But you don’t have to be alone with whatever is bothering you.” Wen Ning said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wei Wuxian was still for a long time. At last, he nodded and turned back around. He mustered up a watery smile for his friend. “Thank you. I’m glad to have a friend like you.” They sat together quietly for a while and eventually Wei Wuxian couldn’t hold back his tears. He was just thankful he managed to keep the pitiful wailing to a minimum. When he finally felt as if he had run out of tears, Wei Wuxian was exhausted. He’d been tired for days now, unable to relax enough to get any rest, but now he could barely resist the thrall of sleep. He figured this must be his body finally giving up on him. His eyelids fluttered and he swayed a little. Immediately, Wen Ning reached out to steady him, and looked at him quizzically. He leaned into Wen Ning, resting his head on his shoulder, smiling vaguely before blacking out completely.

#badcat.txt #mdzs #mdzs fic #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #wen yuan #wei wuxian & wen ning #first mdzs fic #be nice to me

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siarven · 4 years

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I'm rather curious about your opinions on how to train a dragon 2 and 3. Could you maybe elaborate why you don't like them? Which character was mistreated? If you like to, of course.

Hiii :D So as a preamble, I don’t hate them, really, and they both still made me cry when I watched it so it’s not that they’re bad, it’s just that I was disappointed by some things? And that I think there were things they could’ve handled better, but then again, that’s just my opinion and I’ve watched a lot of video essays about them and also know that a lot of people really love them, so ... yeah :’) Also I haven’t seen httyd2 since it came out in cinemas so :’D It’s been a while, and my thoughts aren’t very well-sorted on the subject, this is probably going to be kinda vague and rambly, I’m sorry

I think they work very well as a trilogy, I guess I’m just mostly annoyed by the way they wrote the sidekick characters in the second and third one, and also the light fury, specifically how everything always in any movie needs a love interest, even if it’s a dragon, so that’s less something against the film and more against hollywood in general, I guess. Even if in this case it was more to save the species and as a plot device to separate Hiccup from toothless... but when the trailers came out, I was still Very Annoyed xD.

So my first complaint is that whole one-sided flirting between Snotlout and Hiccup’s mom stuff in the second movie... idk, I hate it soo much XD I know it’s all done for gags but I guess it’s just not my kind of humor? At all? The secondhand embarrassment type of humor is very much not something I find funny, ever, so maybe that plays into it x’D I’m probably wrong on this but at least when I watched it, I didn’t think it was very in character for snotlout, either. Hm, idk

And in general, maybe I’m wrong but I thiiink Snotloud, Fishlegs, Tuffnut and Ruffnut had (at least some) more character depth In the first film? Like, they were dumb and funny there, too, but not that criminally-just-for-the-gags dumb (that annoyed me big time in the third one, where Tuffnut is just so dumb that she leads the bad guys back home. even if the part before that was funny, ahhh idk). But maybe I’m imagining that, too, it’s been a while since I rewatched the first one x’D

... and to be honest what Most annoys me about httyd 3 is the light fury design, on principle XD In theory I love shiny and glittery things! I have a lot of shiny and glittery things, I love them, they’re fantastic!! I just don’t like her design at all. Why did it have to be so smooth and rounded and aggressively female and also glittery in every way?? Why doesn’t she get cool scale patterns and these horn thingies that toothless has on his head?? It Annoys Me.

I attended an animation/VFX conference shortly after that film had come out where some of the people behind from dreamworks talked about her design and the animation and such and hhhh

.. the things they said were really cool, like how they wanted her to look wild and untamed etc, and be more wild-cat where toothless is a cat/dog mix (that’s another thing, I feel like toothless was pretty much mostly cat in the first one and after that got dumber and dumber in every subsequent one and ... I don’t like that). Problem with the things they said was, I don’t think her final design looks wild or untamed at all XD It just looks shiny and rounded. And all the designs they had before the final one were so much cooler!! (But then again, that’s just a personal preference thing? hmm)

And as I said, the film still made me cry and it still works. They’re not bad films, really. They just make a lot of creative choices that I didn’t like very much :’)

I have to say, though, that I love the visuals of the third one, it’s sooo prettyyyyy, and that underground world??? AHHHHHHHHH I’m actively thinking of buying it just for that aspect XD (I didn’t get to see it in cinemas because when it came out I was writing my bachelor’s thesis and had too much to do and forgot, so I ended up watching it on an 11-hour flight, which .. well, airplane film screens are very small and very low quality XD)

this got very long and very rambly and I’m sorry, I’m not even sure if it makes sense, I guess it’s a personal preference thing and I understand all the arguments why the three films are great, I’m just also a bit salty about some aspects and love the first one while some stuff about the others makes me Angy XD

thanks for asking, though :) there are a lot of people who are better at putting these thoughts into words, though, and it’s been too long since I last watched the films to pull together a proper argument x’D

#httyd #i had a lot of thoughts about this when httyd3 came out #but it's been a while since I revisited them #so i'm sorry if this doesnt really make much sense #idk i'm usually not extremely critical and like things easily #so I'm still ok with them #i just don't rewatch them #because there are other films #like those on that list!#that i love much more :)#mind0vermind

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softgrungeprophet · 4 years

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more thoughts on flash and agent venom and propaganda, a topic which i am always thinking about but which is particularly relevant now in thinking about how comic fans and writers seem to contradict themselves in every way, how they just don’t GET it

flash thompson went from “tolerating” the army in the 70s, to outright uneasy about his service in the mid aughts, and even downright unproud, wallowing with his medal on the FLOOR, uncomfortable with being congratulated, all that showing he clearly was not proud of being military despite what every writer wants to say about “heroism”...... to being all ra-ra patriotism god and country backtracking his acceptance of a disability in order to peddle the Cool Military Venom shit and that’s what i am talking about when i talk about the propaganda of (particularly early) agent venom-- the advertisement-esque plasterings of ARMY logos, characterization sacrificed specifically for a military agenda, the presentation of the “cool military operations, wow just like a secret spy” plots, etc.

it’s all propaganda, and blatantly so, even BEFORE that happens. that weird terrorist villain (in web of spider-man, i think it was?) is just, conceptually I hated that, and again the story presented this strange gross angle in terms of flash “working out his anger in a healthy way” (unspoken: by fighting an unjustified oil war) as if it were this great, reasonable thing and that is just

no.

also propaganda, even if it is presented by the villain in the piece it is clearly presented as positive in spite of that (weird approach)

flash as a character is fraught with a lot of weird contradictory shit, where he is both uncomfortable with his role as a(n ex-) soldier, and then is turned right around to be uncharacteristically proud of his service and suddenly more religious as well, a character whose father is viciously, violently abusive and fully capable of killing his family, but “was a good cop” who got his “redemption in death” and HOW hollow is that? how can I see both the on-page and implied-via-color violence and cruelty and yet also accept that somehow he is a “good cop” (which does not exist)

even the same writer does this kinds of things, remender wrote these kinds of contradictions, and it is clear how much they simply do not get it.

a different non-flash thompson related comic comes to mind.

captain america corps. that’s a fun miniseries. it came SO close to REALLY getting it. and then at the last minute it turns out the villain is the lady who wanted to start the femizons and is orchestrating everything behind the scenes so ALL the stuff that so closely parallels our current day--the police state, the racism inherent, the protestors and insurgents imprisoned for going against the MAGA-esque hyper-patriotic government (I would say it was heavy handed if it weren’t so startlingly like real life)

allllll of this gets immediately undermined by the revelation that it was NOT whiteness at the core of this but in fact militant feminism--now, we can talk about how those two go hand-in-hand, and the woman in question is 100% white, but this story does not go there. it’s all a personal vendetta against Cap for foiling her femizon plans and her costume has a huge venus symbol on it and it was such a disappointing way to end on, tbh. It came SO close, so very close, it got right into the core of how things really are, down to racial profiling... but it fucked itself over in the end

other people are also talking about the ways superhero comics have failed to accurately grapple with and reflect the things they’re writing about and how they obviously deify government agencies and the police (recommended reading: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/heat-vision/protest-backlash-failings-a-superhero-culture-1297024?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social ) and how militarized the movies are, etc. etc.

It’s true, from older comics onward, increasing to the point of like, SHIELD being corrupt... but it’s because of those outside forces obviously. Nothing to do with the power-serving people already there. It’s just those HYDRA infiltrators. Those “outsiders” (cold war as fuck)

EVEN when it was not that, before the supposed infiltration, even in comics like the She-Hulk graphic novel (which has its own serious issues in terms of misogyny and race) which presents SHIELD as unquestionably the bad guys--well it’s not ALL of them. It’s this leader, this group, Fury’s still good, there’s the good guys, blah blah blah so even that falls short. There are moments, there are always moments--She-Hulk and Wyatt standing up to an antisemitic cop for example--but even from the early, early days (take this from someone who has recently read the first 8 issues of Amazing Spider-Man from 1963-4 ish) there are still these little notions that, well, even though the cops want to arrest Spider-Man, most of them don’t really believe he’s all that bad. They’re mild bystanders at worst until some other person agitates them into attacking Spidey, and they’re still defenders of the people in those comics (as true as that most certainly was NOT in the early 1960s)

This post is a mess, and other people are definitely saying it better than me lmao but there’s a lot of contradictions in superhero comics particularly when the police or military or govt agencies are involved, where even when they’re bad they’re still “good” and blah blahhh blahhh

honestly one of my biggest criticisms of robbie thompson’s Silk run is the SHIELD stuff and mockingbird. that’s a series that gets into some good stuff. in which felicia, the criminal leader, is working for and with the people (homeless youth, etc) but it still is very weak in the tooth and shield is pretty much just there to be the cool government group for the most part despite arresting cindy at one point--i guess because bobbi was heading her team, and they can’t very well have mockingbird be the bad guy but man. didn’t bobbi used to be a CRIMINAL?

anyway

idk what i’m even saying

this got into a few things XD

the problem with straight white men who are unaffected by the same things as a lot of their readers, writing, editing, and drawing the majority of a company’s works becomes pretty clear when you get into just how waffle-y so much of the results are. characters who spent their youth or adolescence hunted by the authorities get older and they get put into those same groups that didn’t trust them, like every time a white punk singer grows up and decides “the machine is good actually”

that sucks huh

#nadia reads comics #what am i even saying. this is essentially my usual criticisms of the comics i read but exacerbated by current events.#it starts out about flash but it expands

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 4 years

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Ive always liked Alex we always seemed to grow up together from NYC to Texas to Oklahoma he always seemed to be around

And he was usually pretty nice.

Even if he got on my nerve he always seemed to get me to like him, he's quite easy to talk to with a nice personality

So, he wanted pets and as long as he's not abusive to them then I told him he could. He, too was privileged to be asked what he wanted.

So in his next room he has fish, bunny, hamster, bathroom and a real bed and fluffy pillows.

He said "just a prison room and all the animals that can fit" and he asked for a pony. I was like dude no that's too much. Maybe a stuffed one.

In Jr high his dad was pretty abusive so he stayed at my goose often. I had bunk beds but he would fall asleep in the floor then climb up into his own bed. Or say "dad I'm cold" and shiver in the floor... And not get up. I learned to get up off the opposite end of the bed and turn on the light and tell him to open his eyes and shake his foot otherwise he would grab mu leg and try to fight me while he was asleep. Then i would pull him a blanket down and cover him he would ask me "who are you?"

Id tell him "im your friend from school"

Sometimes he would tell me he didnt go to school or say "school I miss that place" and/or ask if i kidnapped him

I learned to tell him i did kidnap him otherwise he would sleep walk all over and I would find him in the pagan's yard asleep or some other random place in the morning.

Cause in his mind he thought "if I'm not kidnapped I'm free to leave"

And he was but not while sleeping.

And so if i had to tell him he was kidnapped he would ask if he could eat. I learned to tell him, "in the morning" otherwise I would make food he wouldn't eat or he would sleep cook and I would hear him choking and coughing.

Usually we played 20 questions. Sometimes I pretended to be asleep and he would climb in my bed like a little kid "I said who are you?!?!?"

Eventually i learned to say "Sabrina, you're safe for tonight, all the doors and windows are closed and locked, you're free to sleep in the house right where you are" then he would snore deeply until morning.

Sometimes he just showed up at my door, looking like some kind of wreck. "I just need a place to sleep. I don't eat"

But I would make him food and he would eat like he hadn't in days.

Just one of them ruffian kids that wouldn't make you feel sorry for him, you just did.

Whenever I looked at him in Oklahoma somehow he just made me cry. I didn't even remember him and we rarely talked he lived at this party house I sometimes went to down the street from my grammas.

He went down to Lawton a lot. That's where a lot of us got our weed. They all said that was where he was from.

Lawton was a distribution center for Mexican red hair from what I heard. That was all I smoked. Sometimes we had yellow hair...

One time me and Steph drove him to OKC to catch a bus because the fare was cheaper and he didn't have a car. He went to Lawton to "check on stuff"

He wasn't always rich or a jerk.

He is just who he is

So he has a phone now so his live feed will be turned off

As it was explained they only have live feeds for their loved ones because they don't have a phone with internet. He has a Galaxy 9 Note. So its a lot bigger than the others and what he had before. He had requested a large phone and computer as well. And a desk and its in his other room

So some people like Jesse have the ability to tunnel and make new rooms and he has two concrete rooms and 2 bathroom areas. And the one in the new room has a privacy curtain as requested. So he can shit in the nude and not all the guys be looking.

Jesse's hands do not hurt, too much. And he's convinced they're love bites from his demon wife he found on the beach. So he's happier. Yes he did request such a woman. He's quieter as well.

Which I like.

The winds came and destroyed Nathaniel's outdoor cameras with extreme fury at the house. So that was interesting.

My air conditioner was on 60°F and I turned it up to 69° and it was better but it worked attentively better when I turned it up two degrees to 71° I tried various degrees up to 75° but 71° works best.

I also tried "dry mode" which removes humidity from the air which worked well until it began to rain then,it was miserable again.

So meddle with your air conditioner numbers until you feel the best coolest air flow.

And it's good to try it at night ... To find the absolute best.. If it works well when it's cool it will be working as best as possible when it's 105° real feel and it's less frustrating. You just know its the best you got even if it's not good enough

Right now with the rain and humidity it makes it more complicated so it's better right at dusk

Stay hydrated and peaceful.

I know I'm being kind to prisoners whom don't rightly deserve kindness but their punishments are harsh. And what kind of person am I if I'm just mean to everyone?

Well.. If you ask me... Well..

There's this philosophy that being great to people invokes guilt. The feeling they have wronged. Most especially while being punished. They realize they should have treated better when they had their freedom.

It only works while they're incarcerated. Once they obtain their freedom they're like a flesh eating bacteria and go back to their bullshit

So we are very aware of this. So while they are not mistreated and their accomodations are as they wished and some get better over time as it is earned.

They will stay there. I did make contingency for work release but I am told NHRA has not allowed them to be on The schedule which I do appreciate

Nd it is for the safety

Matt Hagan got 2 ten pound bowling balls.

The reason we have low pounds is because our guards -- heavy weights thrown at guards can be very damaging. So a guard can take a 10 pound bowling ball to the gut but not a 30 or 50.

Amd they're bowling balls at 10 or 15 pounds because they're harder to handle these don't have holes. So if they're practising throwing them then they get taken away.

So then when they have weights and they go outside they have to put them on the bed or opposite side of the door along the wall, be handcuffed through the food slot and then they have to stand in the middle of the room and do a count down breathing and stretching session and then they approach the door then they can be foot shackled and the prisoner connects it themself

So you have wrist handcuffs and feet then a chain from both so they can't swing their arms and hit others.

Once connected it needs a key to unlock but it shows trust and cooperation and it's a good exercise

They keep their exercise equipment if they connect their cuffs correct. Its almost impossible not to. And they get shown how.

The guard can do it but it's an attempt to allow independence and recognition of choices and self authority and to say "you got yourself in this situation, take responsibility"

The guard didn't do bad things to have to be there. The prisioner did. The last straw for them to be properly arrested was what they did.

We allowed them 12 years. And they all made "bets" aka promises and so on and so forth. And they failed at being civilized human beings..

Jesse James wrote with shit on the wall and then ate shit the first night.

That is an obvious failure.

Its what he always does tho. But he has to live in it and clean it because he chose to do that and no one is going in his cell

That's his room. There is times that guards will but normally it's not necessary and it won't happen.

Alex will to have help with his animals but that's a little different it's for the animals welfare. Its once per week.

Like for their trash they have to request trash receptacle. They can pick the size or have a large and small and they have to request trash bags. Then they fill and Tie It and show the guard or cameras and then they have to place it 2 foot from the door and then stand on their bed or at the opposite wall and spread 'em arrested style. Arms and legs spread, hands against the wall back to the door. For guard safety. Then the guard gets it and locks the door and let's them know by saying the equivalent of "okay" in the language of the day. If the prisoner doesn't respond, the guard knocks on the door.

Its their room. Their house. Someone is at the door.

Then they say thank you in the language of the day when they respond and remove from their position.

Otherwise they have to be shackled. So this is simpler and easier and allows trust and cooperation and human decency and also the reminder they're in prison.

But most trash is food and so most just put it all back on their tray when the guard comes to collect.

So there's an old fashioned slot so if they tray falls to the hall. There's a basket there that should catch the tray and trash.

If they throw the tray out to make a mess in the hall, the tray of their food is covered with a light non tight layer of saran wrap then shoved through the slot to make it fly and make a mess.

The loose layer of saran is to protect the food... But at the same time it's loose and the point is made. As Well as a mess.

And then betrer behavior occurs.

So it's obvious who is in control but sometimes they wanna try their hand. But I'm a very angry person so my prison personnel puts up with nothing.

They don't question or wonder. What is done to them, they do in return.

They have their rules of humanity but when prisoners go on the wind, the guards blow back.

So if they get hit, 3 guards hit the prisoner. Always. And then rights get taken away. And all kinds of shit happens.

So we try to prevent violence against each other because if a prison riot occurs, my guards will be out of jobs.

So everyone has their own rooms and their wishes and they can ask and get nearly anything

Matt for example got 10 pound weights because he had a large body mass of muscle. And so that is what he worked for and earned. So he gets a 10 pound. And we go up to 15 but Idk i guess he didn't ask for top weights.

But the point is also he can do weights all day long as opposed to just half a day. And he can max the muscles if done properly.

But someone with smaller muscle mass will get a lighter weight

Like I said to protect the guard but also to protect the user of the weightsm too heavy can cause damage.

Going to a smooth bowling ball is cumbersome as opposed to weights with handles which of course is why he didn't get the 15 lb. He needs 2 weeks or so on the lighter ball in case he dropps it on his head or something like that and there is great over the head exercise. So I'm not being dumb.. It could happen.

So we treat them like we would kids

Like with Alex... Some of them never have been. And so they need that.

I know if i was always abused and treated like shit and had one year to live as they do with COVID, id like to be treated humane. I'd like to be treated like i had a mom and dad out there that love me.

I'm an orphan and i have been abused and I'm a good person. But I have been to jail. Arrested for real as an adult. So.

I been there. Just for a little bit. It was for weed and telling a cop he sucked. Some felonies. I went to rehab with Alex and it's all off my record now.

So it wasn't a super bad thing.

But if it had been....

I care about me, and i put myself in some places i could be in. And I try to make them better.

Me? I don't like being touched so having the last part of the cuff system up to me to put on -- it says like 'you know, i dont really want to touch you either.'

Like its a little bit of space around me just being able to do one little clip. A little bit of extra room in a super scary situation, being a girl, alone. Anything could happen... But.. I clip it right I have some argument space like "you can't rape me. I'm a model prisioner. I always clip my cuffs right! I'll tell they will believe me! You'll lose your job!"

So it's a privilege. As well as the acceptance of responsibility. I'm not the guard. But i got me here and im gonna be kept here but I'm safe.

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vaingloriosa · 5 years

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the ultimate tagged masterpost

so, i have been slacking in returning y’all’s tagged games and i felt really bad because some of them were writing tag games...and i had nothing to show for. HOWEVER! i have made a sort of bounce back with a lot of friends supporting me :)

let’s kick things off, huh?

1) “ six sentence snippet tag” tagged by @thedragonkween (im love u!) and @the-darklings (CHILE love u as well!)

here’s y’all’s king quentin beck!! also, i think this is...six sentences...

Quentin isn’t sure why he continues to twiddle with the gold band around his ring finger while he’s not performing in front of an audience.

After every debriefing, he takes a bow as the curtain draws before him, the spotlight diminishing from his view, he can’t help but reach for it. The ring acts like some sort of tether, bound somewhere between the role Quentin plays and something far fetched...a yearning feeling that breaks his own heart at times. He can’t quite find the words to express how he feels but he knows to ignore such foolish longing.

Focus, Beck.

Focus.

2) “author questionnaire tag” tagged by @veanery (gracias, mi amiga!!) and @deviantramblings (MISS. LAUREN!! MWAH!!)

fandoms you write for: bruh moment, it changes almost every single day or sumn. i predominately write for marvel and star wars however i have written for john wick, devil may cry 5, stranger things, and d*troit: b*come h*man in the past. i thought about writing for rdr2 hehe

where you post: if you don’t find my work here, you can find me at ao3 under the pseudo “zebracakes”. fair warning, i do not upload all my stories there unless it’s a personal story that i think my readers over there will appreciate as well. so, if u think u see my work on wattpad or whatever y’all mfs use, that ain’t me!

most popular one-shot: Under the Twinkling Stars is a fake wedding date!john wick x reader story that honestly never thought would take off the way that it did. nearly 2k notes! it was originally a request...like wow kudos to op

most popular multi-chapter story: haha....ahh, i accidentally deleted my multi-series story but it was my one and only so there ain’t no answer here

favorite story you’ve wrote: hands down it’s νοσταλγία. this loki x reader story is something that was written in the spur of the moment and it’s about my favorite trope of all time (soulmate au). i tried a new approaching to writing and i am really happy with the outcome!! sometimes i forget that i actually wrote it sjdsajlda

a story you were nervous to post: like hannah said, all of them. authors always tend to be their own worst critics and i am no different. funny enough, i’ve actually taken down some stories i felt were just...not my strongest because they were a little embarrassing to have them up on display.

how do you choose your titles: hmm, great question! i know a lot of authors use lyrics as their titles nd like...i wish i had that kinda brand. most of the times, the title ties into the story and though it’s never stated in the story, it relates to what the story is about. some of my more “adventurous” titles revolve around foreign languages and sometimes inspired by song titles.

do you outline: HELL NAH! i have a vague concept, open up an empty text post, and ROLL WITH IT. however, with some stories, i do take a little bit of time to pinpoint crucial moments of the story but other than that...i just wing it, bro.

complete: what the fuck does this mean?? how many stories i’ve completed?? umm on this blog it’s 53? i think? i was counting fast. i did have more pero i deleted a lot of them during a spiral lmaoo

in-progress: according to my drafts, it’s 15 and they are all OVER the place. however, i do not plan on writing all of them. big sad let’s pour one out

coming soon: i know i piqued some of y’all’s interests when i said i’m stepping into the mysterio x reader fic world so i got sumn in the kitchen for y’all. surprisingly...if anyone is up to it....there’s some dbh leftovers in the fridge...

do you accept prompts: of course i always do! though motivation has been a fickle thing so...bear with me and understand if i don’t take your request.

upcoming story you are most excited to write: quentin x reader angst that has me waking up sometimes to write sumn down for it. without giving too much away, it deals with grief, heartache, longing, and...time travel? brooOo i’m the only one excited like it’s just me, omi, nur, and dori shrieking in the woodlands

3) “10 things tag” tagged by @deviantramblings (thank u, madame!)

list 10 things that make me happy :)

good music to dance to

air conditioning

cats

kind words

cold water

ibuprofen

soft blankets

pdf files

keanu reeves

finding money that you forgot u had

4) “last line tag” tagged by @deviantramblings (thank u again, ma’am), @the-darklings (*tips fedora*), and @veanery (u tagged me so LONG ago EYE)

this is for that one quentin beck x reader story i was talking about.

“Is he currently sleep walking?“

this is the last thing i typed on my draft. however, on my notes app....she is just all over the place...idk where she begins and ends. it’s utter chaos

5) “21 questions” tagged by @thefvlcon (thnak u, kayla!!)

Name / Nickname: it’s anjelica but i go by my nickname “angel”

Sign: scorpio sun, aquarius moon, scorpio rising (?) aka i’m all sorts of dumbass

Height: 5 ft 4

Hogwarts House: i’m only interested in y’all’s hufflepuff bc the mascot is cute and apparently they live near the kitchen??

Last thing I Googled: .....electric shaver....don’t @ me bro only omi knows

Favourite musician/s: bro :// umm, mitski, kshmr, lil nas x, bastille, megan thee stallion, foxes, the killers

Last song I listened to: 10,000 nights by alphabeat! such an old school bop y’all BEST listen to it

Song stuck in my head: it ranges from strawberry blond by mitski or barbed wire by rogue

Following: 78

Followers: on this writing blog, 1,861. my main blog has 1,464

Do you get asks: once in awhile hehe

Amount of Sleep: fluctuates from nine hours to straight up four hours asjkdsalk WHEW

Lucky Number: 7? it’s always been 7

What I’m Wearing: my pajamas aka a ratty light blue avengers shirt from walmart with holes and weird stains and pajama shorts with lil stars and moons from walmart as well lmaooo

Dream Trip: PUMPKIN SOUP WORLD TOUR

Instruments: flute and piano...i am a Lady

Languages: english and spanish because i’m basic and unoriginal

Favourite Song/s: of all time?? BABA YETU!!!!!!!!!!

Random Fact: wild how some of y’all don’t know that i have a twin sister. we ain’t look alike pero u came out from the same mom so

Aesthetic: exposed brick, warm tones, neon lighting, pink sunsets, matte, possums

6) “find the word tag” tagged by @deviantramblings (gosh it’s just u nd me and these tag games huh!!)

rules are you are given a set of words to search them in your wips. my set of challenge words are: tear(s), snow, sun, laugh

omg...i couldn’t....find any of those words in any of my wips asjkdsajkldsa WHEW this was quite....uneventful lmao sorry to disappoint :(( however, i did find some with the word “laughter”...does that count?

start from the beginning (connor x reader)

Hank can’t contain his laughter as he wraps his arms across his chest and shakes his graying hair. He knows that when Connor whips out his formal title out, it’s all in a joking, familial matter. “Oh, and you’re gonna use me as well? Shit, kid, might as well take my house while you’re at it.”

untitled bucky x reader

Your laughter sounds like a sweet melody, one he’s heard over and over again yet he never gets tired of hearing it. Bucky watches as you stand up and walk towards him to take the mason jars out of his hands. His eyes look down to observe a golden wedding band around your finger which prompts him to look at his own left hand. Lo and behold, gold.

oh hold up i found “laugh” lmaooo

untitled connor x reader

“Hello? Is anyone home?” He waves his hand over your face to snap you out of your daze. Your reaction makes Connor’s whole body shake as he laughs with his entire being. A shy smile grows as you lick the seam of your lips and giggle softly to yourself. The candles on the cake flicker, the flames creating a hypnotic trance as they dance to and fro.

(if it sounds ooc, there’s a reason for that that you’ll find out IF I EVER PUBLISH IT LMAOO)

WAIT! I FOUND “TEAR(S)”!!

untitled bucky x reader

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes but you must not show the fear, the exact physiological response they’re anticipating. You slow down your erratic breathing, trying your best to calm your racing heart. Your eyes shift from your boots to the containment they are keeping your Bucky in. He is sound asleep, a false sense of peace and equilibrium. You want to caress his face and to press your body against him once again to remember the feeling you’ve lost years ago.

7) “ writing style alignment tag” tagged by @deviantramblings (u a real one)

most definitely a chaotic planster! defined by:

has an idea for a plot when they start

who writes things down??

has to assemble scenes into a frankendraft

my method is incredibly messy when it comes to writing. usually there is an idea (thanks, nick fury), which is usually triggered by a scene i want to develop. sometimes all i have is a scene but no plot. sometimes i have a concept of a plot with no real direction. AM I VALID??

8) “ playlist shuffling tag” tagged by @the-darklings (*jenna marbles voice* oh hell yeah) and @veanery (oh my gosh this tag is from many MOONS ago)

since my main playlist only has like five songs, i will go into my general playlist where it’s a literal...what even is it...

oriana by roger zarzour

focus by blackcode

superhuman by crystal knives

adios by ricky martin

take me (not your dope remix) by jikay

all you need to know by gryffin

this is love by hardwell

can’t hear a word you’re saying by x-change

kay gayi chull by the kapoor & sons cast

music del corazon by josh groban

9) “about me tag” tagged by @veanery (brooo thank u), @pointedly-foolish (ayy lmaoo suh dude), @deviantramblings (this was a popular game huh), and @wrinkledparchment (miss. lexi said rights!)

name: angel

gender: female

birthday: november 10th

relationship status: single

favorite color: sunflower yellow

top 3 ships: besides my usual self-ships, let’s do some...actual ships. finnrey, thorkyrie, finnpoe

last song: 学園天国 by clc

last movie: *checks letterboxd* spider-man: far from home lmaooo asjkdsjakl

10) “OTP challenge “ tagged by @reyskywclker (thank u for my rights, miss. parker)

besides the ones that i said in the previous tag, here’s ten more

john/abigail

han/leia

rey/jessika

sam/bucky

thor/bruce

carol/maria

t’challa/nakia

connor/north

peter/mj (mcu)

fuck i literally don’t ship a lot omg i am running on FUMES uhhhh....tiana/prince naveen

11) “about me” tagged by @reyskywclker (this is literally from earlier this year eye...)

Q1. Relationship status?

single and printing out boyfriend applications as we speak

Q2. Favourite colour?

right now it’s yellow :) it definitely fluctuates with what’s going tf on with my life. real life mood ring

Q3. Top 3 ships?

i’m going self-ships because it’s MY sleepover!! loki/me but two more times

Q4. Lipstick or chapstick?

MATTE LIQUID LIPSTICK IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOOOO

Q5. Last song I listened to?

came here for love by sigala

Q6. Last movie I watched?

spidey far from homie

12) “aesthetics tag” tagged by @deviantramblings (mwah!)

honey and lemon or milk and sugar // musicals or plays // lemonade or iced tea //strawberries or raspberries // winter or summer // beaches or forests // diners or cafés //unicorns or dragons // gemstones or crystals // hummingbirds or owls // fireworks or sparklers // brunch or happy hour // sweet or sour // rome or amsterdam // classic or modern art // sushi or ramen // sun or moon // polka dots or stripes // macaroon or croissants // glitter or matte //degas or seurat // aquariums or planetariums // road trip or camping trip //colouring books or water colour // fairy lights or candles

13) “about tag” tagged by @obsiidio (o hy mgosdhashdja HELLLLOOO!!)

name: angel, formally known as anjelica age: 24 lmaooo favourite colour: yellow!! when you made this account: may 26, 2010 at 8:40:44 PM follower count: 1,861?? i think? superpower: night owl favourite drink: ICE COLD WATER, BABEYY! a song(s) you love right now: devil inside me by kshmr dream career: for now....doing something fun while getting paid dream vacation: tokyo and seoul aka just the pumpkin soup world tour hogwarts house: hufflemfpuff fuck jk rowlings for sorting me into gryffindor favourite character this week: DR. JOHNNY WILCOX!!!! HELL YEAH!! christmas or halloween: halloweem

and THAT’S THAT ON THAT! whew, that was...a lot of energy. this took me two days to finish. for those who have not been tagged in these challenges, feel free to tag me in any of these :) you do NOT have to do each and everyone of them ajskdjsal

#about me

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1000roughdrafts · 5 years

Text

When Reality Starts to Falter - Part 2

Summary: you get a call from your ex, Jared, to work a few scenes on the set of Supernatural as a hunter that takes a liking to Dean. The producers love the chemistry between you and Jensen, so they decide to give you a full time gig. Feelings for Jared come back in a flush, but over time, as your character falls for Dean, you find yourself falling for Jensen.

A/N: Posting this 2 hours early because I’m having SO much fun with this so far! Couple things I have to note before we continue:

When dating Jared, Y/N was an actress on a television show I ‘created’ specifically for this fic called Code Red, as a character named Pamela Banks.

Your characters name on Supernatural is Bell.

Italics are the Supernatural scenes, or YN’s thoughts - I hope it’s not too difficult to discern

A/N 2: Uhm, also...I don’t really know where the goofball!Misha thing came from, but I made myself laugh when I wrote it - so you get to be a victim to that, too.

Pairings: Ex!Jared X actress!Reader, Dean Winchester X hunter!reader (and single!Jensen X actress!reader in the future)

Warnings: swearing, supernatural themed violence/action, confusing!Jared (idk how else to put that-you’ll see), general angst, angst/snubbing from Jared, fluffy support from Jensen

Word Count: almost 1.8k

Part One Master List

Opening the passenger door of the Impala, the breeze wraps itself around you in a cordial, tepid hug. You sweep your feet out and stand up, adjusting your outfit. It’s eerily dim. The sun’s reflection on the clouds is the only true light offered to you as you stare in horror at the people running from the fairground’s entrance.

A siren is blaring just loud enough that parents are covering the ears of their children. A strange feeling sits in your gut while you watch the police guide the families out into the parking lot. Sam coasts to your side and places your FBI badge into your hand, “you ready?”

His eyebrows raise as you look up at him, only mumbling a reply. “You’ve been pretty out of it the last few days and-”

“I’m fine, Sam,” you snarl. Forcing a foot in front of you, you pedal towards the entrance and push through the mob. With his height, it doesn’t take very long for Sam to catch up to you. The conversation between the two of you is choppy as you walk against the flow of traffic, and attempts at masking the siren’s screaming.

Since Dean left with Jody and Bobby to work a ‘small, quick’ case, Sam had been nipping at your heels, pleading for a case much like a dog holding a leash in it’s mouth and nuzzling at their owner.

Small, you think, recalling the story Dean had relayed to you about his last encounter with a Djinn. You bite the inside of your lip in worry, unable to take your mind off of him, hoping that he’s okay.

It’s been a few days since you heard anything and when you asked Sam about it he’d shrugged it off. Said something about how he’s a good hunter, and Jody and Bobby would never let anything happen to him. You shake away the thoughts.

As you get closer to a tent in the back of the circus, you see a man wearing a lousy cape and a top hat. You scoff at his wanna-be magician appearance. Initiating a stand-off, you fold your arms and halt to a stop. Sam, apparently not paying attention, slams into you. Grunting irritably, you lurch forward and catch your balance with one, agile step.

Immediately and aggressively, you confront the caped man. “Where is it?” you shout. “I know it was you. I had visions of it!”

Sam jerks his head in your direction, giving you a concerned glance. You ignore it, figuring you would now have to explain sooner rather than later, but press in on the suspect. The ‘magician’ laughs, taking a step forward.

Shrugging, he slows his drawl, “if you saw it then why don’t you tell us where it is?” he asks in the most cynical and creepy of tones.

“Freakin’ bastard,” you spit and lunge for him.

You don’t feel Sam’s hands on your arms, gripping firmly to hold you back, until you’re moving in place. You wiggle around in his clutch, “Sam! What the Hell are you doing?” The magician’s bouncing laugh riles a fury inside of you.

“Not. Here.” Sam whispers between clenched teeth into your ear. You elbow him in the stomach. He grunts out a wheezy breath, but doesn’t relent his grip.

“Let me go, damn it!” you cry, and only when the magician disappears does Sam let you out of his grasp. You fall to the ground, growling at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the forensics team have pulled up a brown tarp.

Brushing off their confounded expressions you focus on the patch of packed dirt that was underneath it, with what look like five gopher holes. They are small and organized in a strange, zig-zag pattern. You tilt your head at them in confusion. A gasp escapes your throat, causing you to choke on your breath.

You leap up and grip onto Sam’s arm, ignoring his prior assault as a new obstacle comes to light. “I think these are decoys, Sam. Uh, think like model trains that replicate a real one. There are bombs, I think, scattered across town.”

You’re on the brink of hyperventilating, but suck in a deep breath. “I saw them in a dream last night. We have to figure out how this correlates and stop it!” You push off of Sam and begin running back to the entrance, yelling out, “call Dean!”

“Dream?” Sam questions. “Bell! Where are you going?” He cups his hands around his mouth as he calls out.

Without looking back, and not particularly bothered whether he hears you or not, you say, “to find Crowley.”

“And cut!” The director’s voice brings you back to reality. “Wonderful job, everyone. How about lunch?”

You hunch over, dropping your hands to your knees to catch your breath. Right. Lunch. Acting.

The reason you dropped out of the media wasn’t entirely because of your less than amicable break-up with Jared. In fact, that didn’t even make it onto the list. You had a ruinous habit of taking things on, getting too engrossed and becoming one with your character in the worst ways imaginable.

When you played a supporting role on Code Red, you completely flew off the handle when the main character, your best friend, died in the season finale. The entire crew, from the producers to hair and make up to your co-stars, applauded the authenticity of your characters reaction and threw a celebratory bash to commend and treasure your work.

Fans went crazy, you won awards. It was in the news, in the tabloids. You were named Actress of the Year by one of the most popular drama television series magazines. Your expeditious rise to the top of fame was torturous to say the least. Only your agent and Jared knew the truth. You had lost grip on reality. For a few sleepless and caffeine fueled days, you were no longer Y/N Y/L/N. You had, in your mind, really become and taken over the life of Pamela Banks; a wife, a mother, a faithful nurse and a woman who’d lost her best friend in a brutal accident.

You spent hours crying over your lines as you rehearsed them through the panic attacks. You pushed on. You fought against your instincts to ask the producer to just kill off your character instead. It wouldn’t have been the same that way, though, and you knew it. So alternatively, you played the part. You watched your best friend die in front of you, and it sent you spiraling into the worst spell of depression in your 26 years of life.

A hand pats on your back. You peek under your arm as Jensen lets out a sympathetic laugh, “you alright there, kiddo?”

Pulling your body back up, you laugh with him. “Yeah, just out of shape, I suppose.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, “you bring lunch today?”

You laugh, “yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking!” Catching Jared’s attention as you sway to the table under Jensen’s arm, his eyes squint slightly before a smile lights up his face. “I didn’t even think about lunch yesterday,” you look up at Jensen, giving an honest smile. “Thanks for sharin’ yours with a stranger.”

He pulls his arm away, but keeps a hand on your shoulder. “You’re not a stranger! It’s just been a while,” he winks, plopping down at the table with his sandwich and a bag of fruit.

Jared keeps a fixed stare on you as he sits across from Jensen. Only you would know that it’s a look of ire and ill-suited lust. You keep your eyes on him, omitting the rights to the muscles in your face. You don’t know what reaction you have to his expressions, you only know that he’s married and looking at you with vexation and a longing, desperation in his eyes.

You had never known him to be a complicated man, so why is he giving you the impression that he’s jealous of Jensen’s harmless embrace? He invited you here, and how he’s acting like he regrets it. Or worse, like his feelings have resurfaced as well.

Or did he call you to work on one of the most tormenting and grueling shows only to bring you back to that low point? Maybe it’s just in your mind. He couldn’t be that spiteful.

Or could he?

“You must be Y/N!” A voice proclaims as energetically as a puppy. “So glad to meet you. I’m Cas-” he cracks out a bellowing laughter, watching as Jensen and Jared roll their eyes. “Oops,” he says sarcastically, drawing a finger to his lip and looking back at you. “I almost name dropped my character, didn’t I? My bad,” he jokes, waving a hand dismissively before holding it out to you. “Nah, I’m just playin’. I’m Misha.”

You smile, shaking his hand and cutting in before he can continue, “Misha. Yes,” you chuckle. “Sorry I missed you yesterday, but it’s very nice to meet you.” Pulling your hand away you nod between the three of them, “I’ll see you all in an hour.”

Starting to turn and walk down the set, Jensen calls out your name. “Yes?” You flip around to see him standing now, twisting the top half of his body in your direction.

“You’re not gonna eat with us?”

“Not today,” you grin. “I thought I’d head to that, uh, new pizza place. It looked appetizing,” you flash an ear to ear smile, hoping to hide behind it while you spin your web of lies.

He pressures you, “you could get it to-go? I’m sure these lovely people here would like to get to know you better,” he waves his hand around the table at familiar, nodding and smiley faces. He shrugs in victory, looking back at you.

“Thanks, but I-” you fiddle with your elbow, blushing imperceptibly. Throwing your hand out to the side and propping it on your rip, you open your mouth to spew another lie about calling your ‘fiance’.

“I brought pie,” he offers, holding the container up. “In honor of Dean.” He smirks, “he’s going through a tough time, thought I’d get him his favorite. I can share-”

“Drop it, man. She said she’s going out. Let her,” Jared shoves a spoon full of soup into his mouth, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head at Jensen.

You furrow your brows, but smile weakly and turn away. Heat fills your cheeks as you briskly walk to the back door and out to your rental car. Flopping down in the seat, your phone vibrates against your side.

<3 If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming chapters let me know here! Have any feedback?

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @fangirl490 @judewinchester123

Part Three

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