#maybe ill pin it. YOU WILL BE GRANTED PINNED POST.

[parvulous-writings]

Dear Friend // Vander x Piltover!Reader

Summary: There is a silent friendship between you and an Undercity dweller.

Warnings: Brief mentions of violence and injury (not explicit)

Words: 2.7K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my gif

The Bridge of Progress may have been built to unite two people's, but most saw it as something that partially furthered division between the two cities. On both sides, the people's knew it was safer not to cross, to stay far from the bridge, lest the guards on the bridge are particularly crabby. Which they almost always were - no one wanted to be stationed there for any length of time. The complaints were always the same; the air was thicker with smog the closer you got to the bridge, there was always this smell of... Mustiness, that came along with it. No one enjoyed it. At least, that was Topside's view of the Bridge. Something to keep away from, to avoid, to not think about it, if it could be helped. For the dwellers of Zaun, however, it was something quite different. It was constant, looming reminder of what they were to Piltover. Nothing more than the things down below - not even people to most of them. Most Zaunites either were entirely indifferent to Piltover and it's so called progress, or held a deep-rooted disdain for each and every person Topside. You, however, weren't like your fellow city-livers. You didn't hate those who lived below you - you didn't see them as less-than for being born into something far beyond their control. Though, that could be in part because of a strange connection you had formed with one of the Zaunites. You knew nothing about him; not his name, his life, none of it. You didn't even know his eye colour - neither of you had dared to venture closer to one another, to close the gap over the bridge, for whatever reason. Whether it was the fear of repercussions from the watching enforcers, or fear of one another you had never really managed to put your finger on. You just knew that it had become an almost ritual for the two of you. Thankfully, the enforcers had never asked what you were doing, visiting the bridge almost every day, at the same time. They didn't care, so long as you left them alone, and didn't cause a fuss.

Today, the fog towards the opposite end of the bridge didn't seem to be as thick. It was still there, of course - it always was - but you could see through most of it, down part of the practically defunct cobble road, but your vision was soon rendered void as the road disappeared into the darkness of the city below. You sat down in your usual spot, about a quarter of the way along the bridge, waiting for your 'friend' to make an appearance. He always turned up after you, but he did turn up at the same time every day. Maybe it was because he knew you'd already be there, waiting for him. There had only been a handful of times where he hadn't shown up. And those days you'd spent as long as the enforcers would let you, sitting in your spot on the bridge, waiting, hoping that your friend was alright. Of course, so far he'd always turn up in a day or two - you came to realise he was probably sick. You'd never really thought how bad conditions down there must have been, and how often illness must've made it's rounds in the populous - it simply wasn't a thing in Piltover, it was something you had always really taken for granted. Everyone did, no one imagined a life without the healthcare that the citizens of Piltover were given. You supposed, for your friend, and any family he may have, that was their reality. No help, besides whatever home remedies they could scrounge together. You pitied them, but you didn't think there was much that you could do.

Whilst deep in your thoughts, you caught a shadow lumbering up the road in the distance. The broad shoulders - even though tiny from how far they were from you - were familiar enough. You sat up a bit straighter, trying to see if he was okay, without exchanging a single word with him. He looked more run down than usual - and even with the space between you, you could see the dirt on his face, the tears in his clothes. His shirt was torn in several places, exposing his skin and a few wounds here and there. His nose was battered and bloodied, and one eye seemed to have swollen shut. You felt your jaw practically drop at the sight. You had seen him recovering from illness before, you had seen him with some minor injuries, but this... This was something else to you. You had no idea what to make of it - was he the one to instigate whatever brawl he had been in? Was he jumping to someone's aid, someone's protection? You had no idea. For all the time you had spent with him, you had never said anything to him; never learnt his name, or who he was beyond his appearance. He could have been anyone - from Zaun's most vicious criminal, to their sweetest habitant. In the state that he was, though, vicious man or not, you were surprised that he had still come. You glanced over your shoulder towards the enforcers standing at your side of the bridge, to check if they were keeping a close eye on you. Of course they weren't - they hardly did, you caused no trouble, so why have cause to believe you would now?

Biting the bullet, you pushed yourself to your feet. Warily, you made your way further down the bridge than you ever had done before, taking yourself closer and closer to your friend, and by proxy, Zaun. At first, your friend didn't notice you. He was preoccupied, trying to rub his hands clean of the grime and blood that caked his knuckles. A fighter, clearly a rough one. You drew close, and crouched down beside him. "How badly are you hurt?" You ask him, your voice as gentle as you could make it, but it still made him jump a mile. So much crossed his face in that moment - fear, surprise, relief, scepticism. He had no idea what to say to you. Why were you this close to him? Why were you talking to him? You give him a moment, to collect his thoughts and his composure, but he still doesn't say anything. He just stares at you, as if you had asked him something unthinkable. "Are you okay?" You ask him, hoping that maybe this time he'd respond to you. "What happened?" He continues to stare for a while longer, before clearing his throat quietly. "Fight..." Was all he responded with, as if that was the most difficult thing to figure out about his current situation. "I see that..." You answer slowly. "But... What happened? How badly are you hurt?" You asked again, now that he seemed to be responding. He looked at you for a moment, seeming to be... Analysing something. Perhaps if you would understand, as a Topsider. "Someone was bein' less then courteous to a mate of mine... Wanted to stick up for him..." He told you - and for some, odd reason, this struck you. You'd never considered that fissure folk would fight for more than just trivial things and necessities. The man must've seen the look on your face, as he scowled a little bit. "What? Think we don't look after each other down there?" He asked, gesturing with his head towards the way he had come. "Well-" You started, though you weren't even sure what you were going to respond with. "Well we do. We're not savages, we're people." He told you, clearly this was something he had more of an opinion on than yourself. You supposed, as you crouched there beside him, that the bridge, and the separation of the cities was something far more prominent in the lives of the fissure folk, than it was in yours.

You snapped out of your thought-filled daze, patting yourself down, your gaze flitting this way and that, as you look for something, anything, that could help him. In a flash of what you thought to be genius, you tried to rip off part of your shirt to wrap his hand; it was something that you had read in adventure novels that seemed to work every time. When you attempted it, however, nothing happened, you couldn't even make a small tear in the fabric. The man just watched, his gaze moving between your hands, and your face. The corner of his lip twitched upwards slightly, clearly he was trying not to laugh at you. You sigh quietly, "Listen, I've not-" "Done this before, yeah, I can tell..." He replied, "I don't need bandages, these'll heal by 'emselves..." He told you, "'S not the first time this has happened, I'll live." "But you're bleeding-" "So? We all bleed. It's only a little, anyway. I'll be fine." He reiterated, shaking his head slowly. "I've had worse." Worse? Worse?? The man looked like he had crawled through hell and back just to sit on the bridge with you, and yet here he was saying he'd had worse? Your jaw when slack, and he huffed in laughter, "Don't s'pose you see much like this often, do you?" You shook your head. "Um... No..." You replied, your voice was soft, almost meek in comparison to his. The pair of you lapsed into silence for a while, sitting the way the pair of you normally did, just much much closer than usual. It was quite surreal, actually. Though you had often thought of the way the gap between you might one day lessen, you had never for one moment thought that this would be how. A few more minutes pass by, and as the midday sun starts to hit the top of the bridge's pillars, an idea strikes you. You start to rummage deep in your pockets, eliciting a strange look from the man beside you. You grasp at many small coins - just spare change you had grabbed and left in your pockets. To be honest you were surprised that there was any still left there, the amount of times you go to get something from your pocket and lose several coins. "Look-" You start, shoving the coins into his bruised and broken hands, "I know it's not much, but it's something, right-?" You hurriedly say to him, and his brows furrow. "I don't need your pity money." He tries to hand back what you had given to him, but you refuse. "I've got enough of it - I can get you some more, if you want-" "I just said-" "I know!" You cut him off, "But... It's just hit me how different our lives are, you know? Like... How much... Better, I have it." The man looked... Unimpressed. "You're joking, right?" Of course, to him, the differences were obvious. They were something thought about and discussed often, unlike with you, where it was a train of thought often shoved away, something that was not discussed in polite conversation. "It only just occurred to you?" You shrugged lightly in response, and he just sighed. "Listen... It's not that I don't appreciate it. I do. But..." He paused for a moment, "I can't just... Take your money, no matter how much you may have - it's not right." "You're not taking it!" You assure him, "I'm giving it to you... You need it a lot more than I do." And at this, he just... Looks at you. You couldn't really tell what he was thinking - then again, he didn't even know what to think in that moment. Were you just doing this out of pity, or was it genuine kindness? His mind logically went to the former, but something in his heart wanted to settle on the latter. A small glimmer of hope within him desperately wanted to believe that you weren't doing this just because you felt sorry for him, but because you genuinely wanted to help him. "I can bring some more tomorrow..." You told him quietly, glancing over your shoulder as if the guards would hear you. You knew they almost certainly wouldn't, not that they really cared anyway. "It's not a lot, but I'll get you more..."

"You didn't even have to give me this…" He mumbled, finally seeming to accept your gift to him. "I know… But you need it… I'm… I'm not going to miss it.." You admit to him, and he's just… Astounded. Not missing money? He could hardly fathom the idea. It just wasn't a concept in his day-to-day life. It was a small difference between your lives, but at the same time, it was something that had such an impact on both of you. There's a beat of silence as he considers this. "You sure?" He daren't pass this opportunity now - the one time he's found a Top-sider who seems to have any sort of empathy towards him and others like him. You nod, completely and utterly certain in your actions. "Yeah, I'm sure. You need it." "Thank you." The words are quiet, not quite ashamed, but appreciative. Truly and deeply grateful for this kindness, even though to you it was only small. There's another beat of silence, as he considers what to say next. "Name's Vander." "Huh… Suits you." You smile back at him, and Vander just watches you for a moment, almost expectantly. "You going to tell me your name?" He asks you, and you consider doing so for a moment. "Maybe." You reply, a smile playing on your lips. "But… Maybe we should be on better terms first…" "What, so you're now my mysterious benefactor?" He asks, shaking his head a little bit. "Come on… It's just your name…It's not like I'm askin' for your whole life story now, is it?" "Well, no.. but… Well you offered your name first, and I was totally fine to keep things anonymous between us… That's how it's always been, and… I don't know if I'm ready to take the leap out of that mystery just yet…. You know?" You turn to look at him, and after a moment, he begins to nod slowly. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean…" He replies slowly. There's a beat of silence before he speaks again. "I respect it… I won't pry. Could be… Fun, I s'pose… Though I don't know if telling folks back home that I got this money from 'a mysterious topsider' will go down well…" Before you could reassure him about the situation, and give him something to tell the other people back home that wouldn't get him in trouble, he spoke once more. "Ah well… I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, eh?" "You could always say it's from a dear friend?" You suggest to him, and Vander shakes his head. "They'd never believe that, not in a million years… I think the mystery will probably serve me a little better, might be able to make some story with it…" He nods thoughtfully at his own words. "Well, so long as you're sure…" "I am." Vander replies assuredly, clearly despite the inconvenience of the lack of information you've given him has had no effect on his confidence at the moment. "Besides, I think people'll be more concerned about this." He chuckles as he holds up a fist. There's another moment of silence between the two of you. Content, almost friendly. Then, Vander puts his hands on his knees, pushing himself to his feet. You follow suite, and he turns to you. "Well, um… Thank you." He tells you, almost awkwardly. It's clear he's not entirely sure what to say to you here. "I've… Got to get going… But I'll be back, tomorrow, like always… If you are, of course…" "I've never missed a day." You respond with a light chuckle. "You take care of yourself, alright? Try not to get into anymore fights?" You ask, like a concerned parent worrying about their rebellious son. "No promises." Vander laughs quietly, before slowly starting to plod away. "I'll catch you next time…" By the time you've glanced at him to say your own goodbyes, he's gone too far down the path for you to follow. At least today. Perhaps, you think as you turn to start on your own way home, you may be able to summon the courage to cross the bridge at a later date. But for now, you're just happy you have your own little meeting place, with Vander. It'll do, for the time being.

[transhoverfish]

your fic... immaculate vibes. crying from the latest chapter but hopefully in a good way

this ask has been sitting in my inbox for probably over a year now bc ive loved it so so much that i wanted to see it everytime i opened my inbox for a quick mood increase. it literally gave me energy on bad days. i am now finally releasing into the wild just to tell u how absolutely much i love this probably random nonchalant message u sent over a year ago. thank u for reading and for my weeks long favorite sayings of "immaculate vibes" and "crying but hopefully in a good way"

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (2)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: MENTIONS OF SMUT FOR THIS CHAPTER. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOURS. (18+ ONLY), polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, mentions of illnesses, momentary fluff, bit of angst care of Bucky, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, rejection, bullying, heartbreak, character death

A/N: I couldn’t resist not posting this early. Here you go. Next ones will probably take a while coz I have to be an actual adult for a bit. 

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:2 Dark Chocolate

A few days of rest was required to recover from a super soldier's punch. The doctors had said that you were lucky Steve hadn't punched you with full strength or else you would probably have a whole cracked rib cage. You were anxious to jump back in to training, not used to being idle for very long.

You were given some painkillers at the clinic and ordered to stay there for the rest of the afternoon for monitoring. When you woke up, it was early evening and a blonde super soldier was napping on a steel chair next to your bed. He jumped when you moved to sit up, his heightened senses alarmed and disoriented for a second before he quickly switched to repeatedly apologizing to you. You laughed out loud. It was just a little ridiculous to you to see such a commanding presence in the field so charmingly boyish and adorably embarrassed.

Steve was a comforting presence but to be honest you were hoping to see Bucky. You didn't get a chance to thank him since he left immediately after the doctors had ushered you into the examination room. Once you were cleared to return to training, you caught sight of his long brunette hair and the bright smile on your face couldn't be stopped. It was the glare he pinned you with that made you halt your approach.

He was back to his disapproval of your very existence.

You had to admit that it stung. You thought that you were getting somewhere with him after he helped you. At least somewhere outside of the realm of outward disdain. And maybe you were hoping just a little bit that it could lead down the road to him feeling the same about you.

The timing was perfect when you were assigned to your first official mission with the Avengers. It was a chance to prove your worth to the team and to Bucky in particular. A chance to maybe make him see you as more than just a troublesome recruit.

You came back from the mission with your head held high and absolutely glowing with confidence at the kudos from Sam and Natasha. The great Natasha Romanoff had complimented your sniping skills, picking off enemies in her area even before she could aim her own gun at them.

The first thing you wanted to do after getting back to the Compound was to tell Bucky. You wanted to brag a little bit and maybe even thank him for the mentoring. If he hadn’t been so hard on you then you wouldn’t have pushed yourself to be at this level. You were skipping down the halls of the Compound in search for him, clutching the bullet casing from your first official Avenger kill.

FRIDAY had informed you that he was in the training area and you were bouncing on your feet with excitement. As you entered though the place was empty, the rest of the agents having retired to the mess halls. You ventured further in, trusting FRIDAY’s intel until you heard some noises coming from the adjacent armory. You smiled, he must be cleaning his guns again.

As you got closer, the noise began to get louder until you could make out what was undeniably pleasured moaning, one low and gravelly while the other more high pitched. You should have turned away, if only for the privacy of the couple who was wrapped up in their passion, but your curiosity pushed you to come closer and peak through the small crack in the door.

The brief image that you saw made you instantly draw back, a shaking hand pressed to your mouth to silence the shocked gasp. You backed away slowly, your mind struggling to process what you had just seen, then your flight response kicked in and you ran like hell out of there. The scene was burning a hole in your brain and caused your skin to grow cold. Sergeant Barnes rutting hard against a woman wrapped around his waist, his glinting eyes locked with yours, and a cocky sneer on his face.

You didn’t go to dinner that night or to the team celebration for a successful first mission. You chose instead to lay in your bunk with tears burning in your eyes and trying to erase the memory of your discovery. Of course he was already dating someone. A man of his caliber was sure to have a line-up of gorgeous eager women at his disposal. He probably had no interest in boring recruits like yourself. The woman he was throwing into bliss must be some supermodel or high ranking spy. How did you even end up deluding yourself that you could possibly catch his eye?

The rest of your roommates filtered in after a few hours, chatting away noisily about the party. Anna had come to sit on the edge of your bed and ran a comforting hand along your arm, concern clearly etched on her face.

“I’m fine. Just tired. The mission really wore me out,” you muttered with a small smile. You weren't ready to talk about it yet.

“Personally I think I had better success today than all of you,” Kim’s shrill voice cut through the good natured conversations in the room.

She wasn’t part of the group taken on the mission, claiming beforehand that she was ill. A chorus of curious why’s rang out through the group and she preened at once again being the center of attention.

“Well I just had the fuck of a lifetime from none other than Sergeant James Barnes.”

The room of women burst into chaos; squeals of disbelief, rapid fire questions on how big he was and how good of a lay was he, were they dating now or was this a fuck buddy situation. Of course Kim was more than happy to entertain each question.

You tuned all of it out, the noise turning into an annoying ringing in your ear. You turned around to face the wall as the silent tears that refused to be contained any longer fell to wet your pillow. You barely registered Anna squeezing your shoulder or the words that Kim threw your way.

“Sorry, Y/N. I guess I was just more Bucky’s type.”

You curled yourself into a tighter ball as the pain in your chest radiated across your whole body. You had assumed wrong about Bucky. It seemed that he wasn’t opposed to dating new recruits.

He was just opposed to you.

The taunting from Kim continued on and you just couldn't take it any longer. You brushed the tears away, grabbed your sweater, and marched yourself to the door. You needed to get some air. You needed to get away. Anywhere but there. You wrenched open the door and almost came crashing straight toward a solid chest. Your eyes travelled up to lock with the kind blue gaze of Captain America. You wondered why Steve was standing at the doors of your bunkers holding a pack of beer in his hand.

"Good evening, ladies," he said to the room of now suddenly speechless females. "I'm just going to borrow Y/N for a bit."

The crowd remained in shocked silence while you stared at him in confusion as he smiled sweetly down at you. He had gone looking for you when he didn't see you at the celebration after Natasha and Sam had sang your praises to him at your performance. He wanted to congratulate you and bring you a drink for a job well done.

"Come on. I know a good spot," he said, placing a hand on your back and guiding you out.

Steve brought you to the top of an observatory in the Compound. It was quiet, peaceful, and offered a great view. He cracked open a bottle for you and the conversation just flowed naturally. He kept making you laugh until your sides hurt with stories about his time as a performer in the military and all the unfortunate videos that came with it. You were crying with pure joy when he relented and re-enacted his buy military bonds act, your earlier darkened mood forgotten for the moment.

Steve felt like he did something right when your glassy eyes and defeated expression was replaced with clear amusement. Even if it was at his expense. He wouldn't ask what the reason was, but he felt happy he made you feel better.

"Thank you, Steve," you muttered before you parted ways. Somehow both of you understood that it was more than just for the drink.

You promised yourself then that you would give yourself tonight to weep over your unfortunate romantic feelings. Only for tonight. Come morning you would focus all your energy on what you actually came here to do; become an Avenger. You slept fitfully that night, the shell casing from your first mission still gripped in your hand.

You made a conscious effort after that day to limit your interactions with Bucky and Kim to polite clipped conversations. At first Bucky had been surprised at your change in attitude, your blank expression and sparse words causing a momentary guilt to flash in his eyes. You had chosen instead to spend more time with Steve and the twins, your mood obviously brighter around them.

You were sitting now in a large conference room for a briefing on the next mission with a handful of other recruits when Sam Wilson sent you out to fetch the rest of the Avengers who were running late and not responding.

"Can you get them for me, sweetheart?" he chuckled, knowing that you blushed uncontrollably each time he used a nickname on you.

FRIDAY had directed you to the private common room exclusive for their use. You were about to knock on the door when you heard your name in the middle of what sounded like a heated argument. Against your better judgement, you leaned in closer.

"I don't think Y/N's cut out to be part of this team."

Your heart dropped. The conviction in Bucky's voice was clear. It was one thing for your infatuation with him to be forcefully thrown back at your face, but for him to explicitly state to a set of people that you held at such high esteem that you were not good enough was a whole other vicious heartbreak.

Lily was wrong. This time you should have known when to quit.

You forced yourself to crack the door wider and step inside, clearing your throat to announce your presence. You didn't see the startled look on their faces or the guilty one that followed when they realized that you had heard. One look at your sad glistening eyes that refused to look up confirmed it. Natasha and Steve both threw Bucky a deadly glare.

"Sam wants you all at a briefing. I was sent to come get you."

Your voice was so small and unsteady, none of the easy happiness and optimistic determination that it usually carried. Bucky felt the shame burn through him, the guilt drowning him in an instant. You weren't supposed to hear that. He took a step towards you, instinct driving him to do anything to wipe that defeated look off your face, but a threatening look from the twins pinned him in place.

"We'll walk back with you, little star," Pietro said softly, appearing beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Wanda came on the other side, looping your arm with hers.

For the rest of the briefing, you strained with the effort of focusing on Sam while blatantly ignoring Bucky. You knew he was staring a hole at the back of your head, but you couldn't allow yourself to give him any satisfaction by looking back. You were soon assigned your tasks, you being placed on sniper duty again having performed well the last time.

It was supposed to be a run of the mill mission for intel and taking out a criminal base, but with the expectation of more hostiles so a slightly bigger team was necessary. You practically flew out of the room when you were dismissed, not giving anyone a chance to talk to you. A decision was solid in your mind now for when you got back.

This would be your last mission.

The ride on the jet to the location was spent with you cleaning your gear and checking your weapons. You were sliding a few knives in place when Bucky came in front of you holding out another set of knives for you to take.

"You know if you tilt the hilt to the left you can fit more in one holster," he said.

It was odd hearing him with almost warmth in his tone toward you. If it had happened yesterday, you probably would be celebrating this fact. You nodded at him, but didn't say a word.

"Remember to keep your head low and stay on your post. Okay, doll?"

You nodded wordlessly again. Because you made a point not to look at his face, you missed the way he was struggling to say more to you and the disheartened look when you obviously weren't going to answer him. You ignored him for the rest of the ride, choosing to focus on reviewing the intel.

As far as bad intel could go, this had to be the worst. You were perched up on a densely covered hill a good distance away from the base that the rest of the team were storming. You were picking off as many hostiles coming out of the base as quick as your hands would allow. Your fingers were starting to ache from the constant reloading, your eyes stung from the gunpowder, and your lip was already bleeding from biting down on it.

The noise in the comms was pure mayhem. Each team member trying to ask for help, for backup, for a plan. You had all come expecting a fight but not an army prepared to defend. You were certainly not expecting HYDRA.

"They have Bucky."

Three words spoken that sent a cold dread to wash over all of you. HYDRA couldn't be allowed to take Bucky. You abandoned your post without a second thought and sprinted down toward the base, pistols at the ready for anyone coming your way.

"Last location," you asked urgently as you slipped into the building shooting down two agents immediately.

"West wing. Near the last corridor," Steve grunted, clearly having a hard time on his end. "Y/N, do not engage!"

"I'm the closest one, Cap."

"I'm close too. Just a little busy," Natasha huffed. "I'll follow, Y/N. Steve, we need to get the hell out of here."

Steve had reluctantly agreed, seeing that there was no other choice. He quickly barked orders and commanded you to keep safe. You nodded although he couldn't see it as you wove through the corridors at full speed in search of your teammate. The moment you barged into that last room, your eyes found an unconscious Bucky immediately.

Seeing him in that chair horrified you; shirt ripped, bleeding in several areas, skin pale and cold with sweat, chest rising and falling far too rapidly, and eyes that were unresponsive. You were so distracted by the jarring image that you failed to notice the operatives across the room until the bullets were burning through your soft flesh.

You screamed from the pain, but raised your gun and fired back until you heard their bodies thud heavily on the floor. You clutched at your side, the amount of wet blood pouring out was alarming. You pushed your own welfare aside and hurriedly undid Bucky's restraints. It was a struggle to sit up a semi-conscious super soldier and when you took his weight on your shoulders, you collapsed to the floor at the intense pain in your arm. You hadn't realized that you had multiple shots there too.

You gritted your teeth and groaned at the effort of lifting you both up, your blood soaking through your gear as well as Bucky's. You huffed painfully with each step but you just had to get him out of there. You could have kissed Natasha square in the mouth when you saw her come barreling towards you.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N!" she winced at your state before taking Bucky's other side. Apparently you looked as bad as you felt. "We gotta move fast. I hear more of them coming up this way. This path is clear."

Having Natasha's help in carrying Bucky alleviated some of the burden from you and made you all move faster, but the blood loss was already starting to make your vision blurry and the adrenaline was wearing off. Through the haze, you could also hear the rapidly approaching footsteps. Soon you would be basically useless and you knew there was no way Natasha could carry you both out while fighting off a hoard of enemies.

"Natasha," you said quietly, your steps faltering.

"No. Keep going goddamn it!" Natasha cried.

She knew what you were thinking. She had assessed the situation too and come to the same miserable conclusion. You smiled sadly at her angry eyes and shaking head as you let go of your hold on Bucky. Her eyes widened further as you limped toward the doors behind you and locked them tight before raising your guns to aim right at anyone who would come through them.

She didn't miss how your hands were shaking and your shot arm could barely hold up, the way you scowled deeper in pain with each movement, or how your uniform was soaked in your own blood and slowly forming a pool at your feet. Ghastly as you looked, you turned your head and tossed her another gentle smile. You were basically going to use yourself as a human shield for them and yet you were comforting her. You were reassuring her.

"Check on my sister for me, yeah?"

Natasha wanted to insist on another plan. Anything other than leave you behind to hold off the nearing enemy units. Shouting and gunfire from the other side of the door forced her to make a decision. She cursed sharply under her breath and dragged Bucky away with her, the regret heavy on her heart for having to leave you behind.

You stepped further back and supported your weak body against the wall after Natasha had thankfully left. The enemy was trying their hardest to barge through the door, ramming into it and shooting their guns at the locks. It wouldn't be long now before they manage to breach it.

You took a moment to spare a thought for your sister. A part of you was saddened to think of her grief after she finds out that you had done the most heroic thing anyone could ever do.

Sacrifice.

Another part of you was relieved knowing that she had Jill and she wouldn't be alone in that grief. When you decided this morning that this would be your last mission, you didn't necessarily expect it to be in this way.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

Natasha managed to get Bucky back to the jet where the rest of the team were all converging, still fighting off operatives chasing after them. There just didn't seem to be any end to them.

"I'm going back for Y/N!" she yelled to the team as she dropped Bucky on the floor of the jet. There was no time to be gentle, she had to hurry back to help you out.

"What do you mean? Where the hell is Y/N, Nat?" Steve shouted as he grabbed her arm.

"She stayed behind to hold off the ones chasing us so we could get out. I have to go back!"

"I will go. I can get her out," Pietro volunteered at once but he doubled over immediately from the extensive wounds on his torso.

Natasha was already sprinting back into the compound, not willing to waste another minute. She made it only a few feet before the entire facility exploded into a fiery inferno that quickly ravaged it and threw her farther back.

The entire team watched in horror as the explosions continued on several parts of the structure. The area was quickly getting engulfed by the flames and smoke. Steve had to force everyone onto the jet and bodily carry a shell shocked Natasha.

No one could have possibly survived that.

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

Natasha steadied her breath as she quietly landed on a perch high above in the rafters of a seedy warehouse. Wanda joined her seconds later, weaving her magic to better cloak them. The other twin was running a lap around the perimeter and would join them later.

She was assigned weird missions all the time. Missions that had very little to doubtful intel was common. This mission though was by far the strangest she's ever gotten. There was a very small list of vague things that were told to them; the time and location, not to intervene, to remain unseen until the target was ready, bring the target to the Compound.

She was slightly annoyed, but she complied anyway. She was curious too as the mission was given in secret to only the three of them. A million questions was speeding through her mind as she observed the activity below. It looked like a regular run of the mill drug den filled with busy workers and roving guards.

"How many, Wanda?" Natasha whispered.

"I sense more than 25 of them. All armed, but with much fear."

A gust of wind signaled the return of the other twin. He had a frown on his face and a concerned look in his eyes. "There is another one, but this one does not seem to be with them."

Natasha was starting to sincerely doubt this mission when a fast movement from the shadows caught her eye. By the way the twins perked up too, they surely had seen it. They followed the figure as it slipped through the darkness, almost losing track if they hadn't noticed that the guards were quickly dwindling in number. Natasha was growing worried, this was surely a highly skilled group of assassins. Pietro must have been mistaken. They were clean and efficient too.

All of a sudden a gunfight broke out below them. A figure completely clad in black, strolled casually out from the shadows with a pistol in each hand firing precisely at their targets. They confidently charged closer, unfazed as they greeted the gunfire. They continued to tear viciously through the crowd with a deadly mix of combat, bullets, and blades. 

The workers had drawn their weapons by now as well, but they were quickly killed off with barbaric aggression. It did not take long for the floor below to become a sea of blood and lifeless bodies. One person remained barely alive, hanging on to his middle to keep his internal organs from spilling out from the wide gash. The attacker came to him, nonchalantly stepping over decimated bodies. They couldn't hear what was exchanged from this distance, only the choked scream that followed as he was stabbed straight through the throat. His blood spurting out like a broken faucet.

Natasha had been in this profession for a while, but she has never seen this level of unrestrained violence.

One person.

One single person had cleared out a base of approximately 30 people. Natasha was growing more and more worried. Clearly this person was at the very least an enhanced and even with the twins with her, they were not prepared to face someone powered.

What kind of bloodthirsty lunatic does this?

"You can come down now."

All three of them froze in place. Looking down, the attacker was staring right at them with cloaked eyes. Reluctantly and very slowly, Wanda used her powers to float them down carefully keeping a good distance from this murderer.

From this close they could now see that they were in full military tactical gear in what was originally all matte black, but now had an explosion of dripping red. Combat boots, fitted cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt underneath a tight bulletproof vest, gloves, a loose hood over their head, and a cloth mask around the lower half of their face.

"Should have known something was up when my team mentioned seeing a really fast man."

The shivers that travelled through every expanse of skin on Natasha, was a reaction to that voice. It sounded strangely familiar yet unknown, but something in her mind was denying her from piecing it together. The moment the hood was dropped to reveal their eyes was when she spiraled into a complete icy shock. They were eyes that had haunted her for the past ten years. Haunted all of them. The only difference was that the eyes in her memories were smiling warmly.

The bloodied face mask was lowered to reveal a face they mourned, unmistakable and yet completely different. White raised scars branched out like weaving vines from the right side of the neck to just above the jaw and the ears. They were obviously old and healed but still raised and prominent, adding an even more dangerous edge to the menacing look on their face.

Your face.

"Hello, Natasha. Pietro. Wanda."

10 years after they had watched you tragically perish in a burning HYDRA facility, you stood before three of a group of people you had unknowingly tormented all these years.

The earpiece you wore crackled to life. "Blackbird to Hedwig. I have a visual. Should I shoot them?"

You smirked. There was no need for that. At least not right now.

"Hey, Blackbird. Tell Raven I'll be late for dinner. I have a reunion to get to."

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

A/N: Tell me which pairing or combination in this harem you’re most looking forward to. Smut or otherwise. I’m still rearranging scenes and working out smut. There is a long list of kinks. I need help.

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[froggie-recs-fics]

Fic Roundup (up to 9/26/21)

I'm gonna start collecting fics I've read recently to recommend them, because making trope lists takes too long and many fics fall by the wayside. Let me know if you like this new format!

The fandoms in this list are as follows: Marvel (SamBucky, HTP, SpideyPool, WinterHawk, WinterIron, Stony, Stucky, SpiderShield), DCU (Bane/Blake), Inception (Arthur/Eames), Teen Wolf (Sterek).

A * signifies a particular favorite (though I love all these fics)

Marvel

Sam/Bucky

double back by flowermasters (E, 12K, Post-Endgame, Time Loop, Time Travel)

Sam gets stuck in a time loop. In 1943.

Things could be worse, but they could certainly be better.

Companion piece here: quick time

I'll explain everything to the geese by napricot (Post-Endgame, E, 50K, Sam can talk to birds)

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Rumlow/Bucky

**blueprints for a better world series by itallstartedwithdefenestration @astralhux (CATWS, Post-CATWS, Noncon, E, 115K, Dark Main Character)

When Pierce discovers the asset is no longer capable of getting himself hard during recreational use, he tells Rumlow to figure out what the problem is, and to fix it. The solution turns out to be more complicated than anyone expected.

I can't recommend this series enough

Peter/Wade

*Dead Men Walking series by doctorestranged @lazystrawberrymilkshakes (E, 235K, Identity Porn, Slow Burn)

When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

All About Chemistry by TwiceBakedPotato @sedatedkoala (No Powers AU, M, CNTW, 74K, Teacher-Student Relationship, Slow Build)

After serving his 20 years in the Marine Corps, Wade Wilson is cashing in his GI Bill and going back to college. He feels like the old man on campus, but that doesn't matter. He likes his classes. He likes learning. And he especially likes his Chemistry professor with the messy brown hair.

Clint/Bucky

Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB @kangofu-cb (No Powers AU, T, 20K, Pet Store, Slow Burn, Pining, Misunderstandings)

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop.

He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

*Nameless by AvaKelly (Post-CATWS, M, 101K, Time Travel, Time Loop, Slow Burn)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

Glitter, G-Strings and Other Mission Hazards by flawedamythyst @flawedamythyst (T, 16K, Undercover, Stripper Clint)

“Which is why you need me to shake my booty for cash,” said Clint.

“Precisely,” said Coulson. “You’re the only agent we have who wouldn’t need additional training in the skills of an exotic dancer to take on the mission, and we want to get someone in there as soon as possible.”

Clint nodded, shutting the file. “Okay, awesome. I’ll dig out my sequined g-string.”

“You’ll have full access to requisition any costumes you might need,” said Coulson.

A mission requires Bucky to be Clint's back-up as he goes undercover as a stripper, which gets more difficult with every new costume he comes out in.

Paternal Error by EVVS @skylarkevanson (Post-CATWS, T, 33K, Kid Fic, Established Relationship)

Bucky has never once thought of being a parent. Not since the Winter Solider happened.

Until he falls in love with Clint Barton. And that idiot just keeps collecting children for his flock.

Now Bucky has to pretend like he's good at parenting.

Bucky/Tony

Forms of Love by bear_bell (Post-CACW, E, 33K, Split Personalities)

Months after the Avengers' dispute in Germany, the team returns to the US and moves back into the tower. As always, everyone pretends that nothing happened. Tony is just fine with this. He's used to pretending, and he'll be damned if he lets any of them see him flinch.

Tony's the bad guy, after all. He's used to it. He's fine with it. He's good at it.

Only now, there's something far worse loitering around the tower - The Winter Soldier. No one notices the guy at first, but when they do, Tony figures that he should have the soldier's back.

Birds of a feather should flock together, and the bad guys should start a book club.

Steve/Tony

While You Were Sleeping by betheflame @betheflame (No Powers AU, M, 65K, While You Were Sleeping AU)

It's been years since Steve Grant Rogers Drysdale has spoken to his twin, Ransom. So it was quite a shock when he was summoned to a hospital and found out that Ransom was in a coma.

Even more shocking? That Ransom is engaged. To Tony Stark.

Steve/Bucky

The Road Goes Ever On And On by PipGraham (Omegaverse AU, M, Noncon, Graphic Violence, 20K, Road Trip, Pre-Serum Steve, Past Domestic Violence)

When Brock's continued domestic abuse puts not only Steve's life in danger, but also that of his unborn pup, he flees into the night with just a small backpack of clothes and almost no money to his name.

Steve quickly runs into trouble as he tries to embark on a 3-day cross-country bus journey back home to New York City.

He meets a kind veteran when he most needs a helping hand.

Just Words by LadyRazzle (crimegimp) @ladyrazzle (Pre-CATFA, Soulmate AU, T, 2K, Fluff)

Inspired by that now legendary post: "soulmate AU where you wake up on your 18th birthday with the first words your soulmate will say to you tattooed on your body so you’ll know them when you meet them." Well what if they appear the moment you turn 18, rather than just the day? And what if by the time you turn 18, you'd already fallen in love?

Bucky wasn’t eager to discover what the words said. He already knew what he wanted them to say. He always had.

Peter/Steve

Forgetting It's There by spinstitcher (stygian) (NR, 8K, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn)

“You’re Captain America,” he blurts out.

“What?” says Captain America, looking a little wide-eyed. He casts a nervous glance at the girl at the counter – he has nothing to worry about there, she’s rocking out to her iPod and could care less what they’re talking about – and says, “No, uh, Steve, it’s just, I’m Steve.”

“Right,” says Peter, and then because his brain-to-mouth filter had apparently been completely destroyed in the fight on Oscorp Tower: “Hey, your butt really is as tight as it looks on TV.”

DCU

Bane/Blake

7 Deadly Ass(as)sins by teacuphuman @teacuphuman09 (AU, E, 23K, BDSM)

Bane and Barsad own a sex shop and John needs a job.

Straws by Menirva (Bane/Blake/Barsad, AU, E, 38K, BDSM)

John works in a smoothie shop.

He has a knack, a second sense if you will, for being able to look at a person and know what they're going to order. It's not the most spectacular gift in the world but he likes being able to figure people out and he's never wrong.

Except for this scruffy asshole who is clearly just ordering the wrong thing to fuck with him.

How is he even finishing an extra-large?

Inception

Aurthur/Eames

Rough Trade by Whisky (whiskyrunner) @whiskyrunner (AU, E, 23K, Internalized Homophobia)

Arthur is an investment banker. He is professional and efficient. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since the age of eighteen. Maybe he's tired all the time because he works about ninety hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already a success.

And there are some things Arthur is not. For instance: Arthur is not gay.

Lucky by earlgreytea68 @earlgreytea68 (M, 37K, Kid fic)

Arthur finds a baby.

Teen Wolf

Stiles/Derek

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress (Omegaverse AU, E, 112K, Secret Relationship, Enemies to Lovers kinda)

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?”

The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.”

Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Cornerstone by Vendelin (Human AU, E, 83K, Marine Derek, Blind Stiles, Friends to Lovers)

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach (AU, Graphic Violence, E, 76K, Captivity, Feral Derek)

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

The Payoff Pitch by Leslie_Knope (Sports AU, E, 83K, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers)

Derek is on the cusp of his second season with the LA Dodgers, and as the reigning runner-up Rookie of the Year, the pressure’s on him to become the team’s star pitcher and lead them to the playoffs for the first time in five years. He’s trying to deal with the burden of expectations and really has zero desire to spend any extra time or energy on anything that isn’t baseball.

But then he meets Stiles.

[scotianostra]

On September 5th 1750, the poet Robert Fergusson was born in the Canongate in Edinburgh.

He may have only lived for 24 years, the last of which was traumatic, but those short years not only inspired Scotland’s best-known bard Robert Burns and the writer Robert Louis Stevenson, it also paved the way for better treatment of people with mental health conditions thanks to the work of Doctor Andrew Duncan, a name many in Edinburgh will associate with the The Royal Edinburgh Hospital. The famous English writer Charles Dickens also visited Fergusson’s grave, mote on that later. 

Although still relatively unknown, Fergusson was one of the most influential writers of his time despite dying at the tender age of 24, I wonder how many of you have maybe posed at his statue outside Canongate Kirkyard, but paid little attention to who he was?

Fergusson was brought up initially in Edinburgh but then moved to Dundee where he attended high school before being matriculated to the St Andrews University in 1765.

After the death of his father and completing his studies, the responsibility for supporting his mother fell upon Fergusson and he moved back to Edinburgh, taking up a post as a copyist. This caused some friction with his uncle as Fergusson had essentially rejected the excepted professions of the time such as lawyer or going into the church as a priest.

There is plenty of reason to believe that the young Fergusson had started developing his poetic sensibilities whilst at St Andrews, including beginning work on a play about Scottish brave-heart William Wallace. Moving to Edinburgh allowed Fergusson to get to known the writers and other artistic talent in the city, and he mixed largely in bohemian circles, befriending William Woods who managed some of the theatres there.

At the time, he also became friends with opera singer Tenducci who was touring the country with his company. This was when Fergusson was asked to produce Scottish songs for the Edinburgh section of the tour and marked his first published work. Buoyed by his success he began to produce satirical and pastoral poems for the Weekly Review that was run by Walter Ruddiman.

His initial offerings were traditional poems but it wasn’t long before Fergusson began writing verses that were considered more ‘Scots’. In 1772 he published The Daft Days which drew a good deal of attention and from then on he would submit poems in both English and the Scots dialect. His popularity also grew and in 1773 a collection of his work was published by Ruddiman which sold well enough for Fergusson to earn some money from his artistic endeavours.

Fergusson wrote his most well-known work, Auld Reekie, about this time and was confident enough of success to arrange to publish it himself. It was intended to be part of a much longer poem and provides an engaging and masterful portrait of Edinburgh at the time.

Unfortunately, Fergusson also suffered from bouts of depression and, if any further work was done on the poem it was probably destroyed by him in one of his darker moments.

Fergusson became a member of the famous Cape Club that would regularly meet in a local hostelry in the city. Each member of the club had a name and characteristic attached to them and drawings from the time show Fergusson as ‘Mr Precentor’.

Towards the middle of 1773, despite his growing success and popularity, Fergusson’s work grew a little darker and included Poem to the Memory of John Cunningham where he wrote about his fears of suffering a similar fate and ending up in a mental institution or asylum.

At the end of 1774, Fergusson suffered from an injury to his head and, though details are sketchy, did indeed end up in the Edinburgh equivalent of Bedlam. Two weeks later he was dead, at the tender age of 24, and had been buried in an unmarked plot in the city cemetery.

Now that may have been the end to the story and our fine Edinburgh poet may well have disappeared into obscurity if it weren’t for Robert Burns arrived in Edinburgh in 1786, he made a pilgrimage to the Canongate kirkyard to pay his respects to the young man who had inspired his poetry and whose grave lay unmarked for 12 years since his death at the age of 24 in October 1774.

Had Robert Fergusson lived and written more than one slim volume of poems, Scotland might now have two national bards and celebrate Fergusson Night with a feast of his favourite seafood on September 5th, the date of the neglected poet’s birth in 1750.

Burns himself acknowledged it long ago, when he paid for the headstone that now marks Fergusson’s grave and composed a heartfelt inscription:

No sculptur’d marble here, nor pompus lay,

No story’d urn nor animated bust;

This simple stone directs pale Scotia’s way

To pour her sorrows o'er her poet’s dust.

When Charles Dickens went to see Robert Ferguson’s grave It was dusk,  he saw another grave stone and Ebenezer Scrogge Because it was dark, he thought his grave stone had mean man written on it But it read Meal man, meaning grain merchant, , , he thought how could a man be so mean, that they’d write it on his grave, the rest is history.

I touched upon Dr Andrew Duncan earlier he was Fergusson's doctor, and was moved by the poet's death, and he resolved to set up a hospital in the city which would look after the mentally ill with greater dignity and respect. Duncan launched a fundraising appeal in 1792, and eventually, in 1806, Parliament granted £2000 from estates forfeited during the Jacobite rebellion in 1745.

The money was used to buy a large house in Morningside with four acres of land, and the architect Robert Reid was commissioned to design a new building, which came to be called the East House.

Originally called the Edinburgh Lunatic Asylum, the hospital opened in 1813, initially for patients whose families could afford to pay. The West House, designed by William Burn, opened in 1842, for poor patients, and taking over the care of the city's Bedlam inmates in 1844. The West House was demolished in 1896, but the Royal Edinburgh Hospital remains. It includes the Andrew Duncan Clinic, opened in 1965.

I posted a bit of his epic poem Auld Reikie   last year so this year here is another of his famous works, The Daft-days, in which Auld Reikie takes a central role, it is the old nickname for Scotland's capital city. The Daft-Days is the old name given to the period from Christmas to Handsel Monday  because it is given over to celebration, merriment and excess, with many people having licence to act in frivolous or daft (mad) ways. It is still the primary period of national celebration in Scotland

The Daft-Days.

Now mirk December’s dowie face Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace, While, thro’ his minimum of space, The bleer-ey’d sun, Wi blinkin light and stealing pace, His race doth run.

From naked groves nae birdie sings, To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings, The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings From Borean cave, And dwyning nature droops her wings, Wi visage grave.

Mankind but scanty pleasure glean Frae snawy hill or barren plain, Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train, Wi frozen spear, Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain, And guides the weir.

Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole, A bield for many caldrife soul, Wha snugly at thine ingle loll, Baith warm and couth, While round they gar the bicker roll To weet their mouth.

When merry Yule-day comes, I trou, You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou; Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou O’ gusty gear, And kickshaws, strangers to our view, Sin fairn-year.

Ye browster wives, now busk ye braw, And fling your sorrows far awa; Then come and gie’s the tither blaw Of reaming ale, Mair precious than the well of Spa, Our hearts to heal.

Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’, Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel; Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl To spoil our glee, As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel We’ll drink and ‘gree.

Fidlers, your pins in temper fix, And roset weel your fiddle-sticks; But banish vile Italian tricks Frae out your quorum, Not fortes wi pianos mix – Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.

For nought can cheer the heart sae weel As can a canty Highland reel; It even vivifies the heel To skip and dance: Lifeless is he wha canna feel Its influence.

Let mirth abound, let social cheer Invest the dawning of the year; Let blithesome innocence appear To crown our joy; Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer Our bliss destroy.

And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae! Wha sways the empire of this city, When fou we’re sometimes capernoity, Be thou prepar’d To hedge us frae that black banditti, The City Guard.

More on Fergusson and some of his poetry here https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poet/robert-fergusson/

[redstainedsocks]

Human Again

For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking

Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)

Warnings: Forced nudity, implied torture, implied past noncon, choking, noncon kissing, shotgunning cigarette smoke, smoking, cigarette burns, manhandling, antagonistic language, blindfolds, captive whumpee, nausea mention, food mention, prisoner denied food

Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there. 

The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?

He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side. 

“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice. 

Great, Mack, of all people, was here. 

Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it. 

“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”

Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.

Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.

Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.

“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”

Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”

“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”

Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.

He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.

He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat. 

Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill? 

The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.

“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.

He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed. 

It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth. 

Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.

He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.

Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.

“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”

Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.

“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”

Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human. 

Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.

“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”

With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep. 

He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.

[godess-ofthe-underworld]

Love Finds A Way

(sequel to “See You Again) (A Harry Hook x reader story)

Part 9

"I… I…"

"You what?"

Harry stepped closer, the movement making Hadley look up from the hook.  Their eyes met, Hadley could see the emotions swimming through his ocean blue eyes.  

She let out a deep breath she didn't know she was holding.

"I love you…"

Part 9

Harry's crystal blue eyes widened,enhanced by the thick line of eyeliner around them, his shoulders slumped, his jaw slacked a little. 

Hadley saw the other vks close to the pipe and had to act fast.

"I'm sorry"

Harry snapped out of it just as Hadley dropped the hook over the railing and into the water. 

Harry rushed past her not saying anything as she ran past to join the others. 

A few tears prickled in her eyes as she fought more pirates.

Hadley helped Ruby fight off two pirates as Jay and Lonnie ran through the pipe.

They backed closer to it.

Hadley watched as Harry fought Ben, dripping wet. There was a rage in his eyes that Hadley never saw before. She snapped out of her staring when Evie pulled her back.

"Carlos! Smoke bomb!"

Carlos tossed the smoke bomb to Evie and she held it up.

Purple smoke billowed out from the broken bomb, covering them to escape.

"Ben go!"

Evie, Ruby and Ben went through the pipe.

Hadley and Mal made it over the bridge, stopping at the opening.

Together they kicked the bridge off the docks and into the waters below.

Mal smirked at Uma and turned away going through the tunnel.

Hadley lingered a few moments longer looking at Harry.

He was looking straight back, his blue eyes sad. He almost looked like he wanted to say something.

"i'm sorry"

Hadley turned and ran through the tunnel, throwing her sword in the trunk of the limo and climbing in.

When she settled in her seat a  silent tear slipped down her cheek.

The way back was silent, no one said anything aside from Dude saying things he shouldn't.

When they got back all Hadley wanted to do was sit in her room and cry.

Ruby ran off to the dorms as soon as her feet hit Auradon soil.

Evie pulled her and Mal away walking towards the dorms.

"We need to talk"

Hadley nodded, another tear dripping down her cheek.

"No."  Carlos stepped forward making the girls turn around.

"No?"

“You guys are always going off in a huddle, whispering your girl-talk or whatever.  And Jay and I are tired of it.”

Jay looked at Carlos wide eyes before holding his hands up.

“I'm not.” He shrugged.

“We're your family, too.” Carlos continued “We've been through a lot. Together. I'm not stopping that now. Okay?” Mal and Hadley shook their heads.

Carlos looked at the other four standing around him.

“Everyone, sit.” Carlos sat down cross-legged in the grass with Dude in his lap.

They looked around at each other before sitting down.

The five sat in a circle in silence for a few seconds before Carlos spoke again looking over at Jay.

“I don't know how to start girl-talk.”

Jay shrugged “what up?”

Evie chuckled and Mal spoke up.

“Um… Well…” she paused looking for the right words, “ I'm a mess. I'm such a mess.” Mal laughed nervously and Evie placed a hand on her shoulder and Hadley reached out for her hand squeezing it reassuringly “I mean, six months ago, I was, you know, stealing candy from babies, and know, everyone wants me to be this Lady of the Court and I have no idea how to keep up the act”

“Then don't” Carlos shrugged.

“See? This was dumb.” Jay sighed starting to get up.

Evie held out her hand stopping him from leaving the grass.

“Maybe not,” she readjusted to hold Mals other hand and face the others.

“we are always going to be the kids from the Isle.  I tried to forget it, I really tried. But those are our roots.  And we all did what we had to do to survive, but it made us who we are.  And we are never going to be like anyone else here.  And that's okay.”

“And we can't fake it” Carlos added.

“Yeah, I mean, especially without my spell book.” Mal sighed.

“Well of Ben doesn't love the real you, then he's not the one.  The same goes with Harry, Hadley.  If Harry can't see the way you feel for him and what you gave up, then he doesn't deserve you” Carlos gave a small smile.

Hadley laughed nervously and another year slid down her cheek.

“See that's the thing, Harry does know how I feel, at least he does now now anyway.” Hadley looked down.

“What do you mean?” Jay furrowed his eyebrows.

“I, um.., I told him that I loved him.” Hadley let out a sharp breath.

The others gasped.

“What did he say?” Evie looked wide eyes at her.

“He didn't say anything.” Hadley gave a sheepishly sad smile “ I said it right before I dropped his hook in the water, he dove in right after,” Hadley paused before starting again. 

“He thought I forgot about him, he thought I abandoned him there.  And I know you guys don't necessarily like him because he's on Umas crew and everything, but he does have a heart.  And to see the look on his face when he confronted me outside of the Ursals’, I broke my heart.  Knowing that I was the sole purpose of it.  Hell I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me now, I mean, I did tell him I was coming back for him.  And now I won't even get to know what his answer would be.” Hadley wiped away the tears that had fallen.

“Well, if he's dumb enough to not love you back then, you don't deserve him.” Jay nodded.

Hadley smiled sadly.

There was silence for a few minutes before  Evie spoke.

“ Hadley and I are going to go make some changes to your dress. And if you're up for it, only if you're up for it, it'll be waiting for you, okay?” Mal nodded slightly and Evie pulled her into a hug mounting 'thank you’re to Carlos who nodded.

Jay, Evie, Hadley and Carlos stood up and began walking away.

When Hadley and Evie reached Evie's dorm, Hadley flopped on her bed.

“E, what am I going to do?” Evie leaned against the post at the foot of her bed.

Evie gave her a small smile.

She sat down on the bed as Hadley sat up and pulled the girl into a side hug. 

“What does your heart say?” 

“That right now, I'm hoping for a miracle” Hadley sighed.

(Evie)

They don't always happen when you ask And its easy to give in to your fears But when you're blinded by your pain Can't see the way, get through the rain A small but still, resilient voice Says hope is very near, oh (Oh) There can be miracles (Miracles) When you believe (Boy, when you believe, yeah) (Though hope is frail) Though hope is frail (Its hard) Its hard to kill (Hard to kill, oh, yeah) Who knows what miracles You can achieve (You can achieve, oh) When you believe somehow you will (Somehow, somehow, somehow) Somehow you will (I know, I know, know) You will when you believe (When you)

(A/n: for those of you who read 'see you again' will know where this song came from :))

Hadley turned and hugged Evie tight.

“What would I do without you?” She smiled.

“Not sure. But now, we have a dress to fix.” Evie stood up pulling Hadley with her.  After getting changed from their Isle clothes, Evie gladly let Hadley borrow some clothes, together they pulled out Mal's yellow and blue dress, attaching it to the mannequin.  Evie cut and Hadley sewed.

Just over an hour later, there was a frantic knock on the door.

“Come in” Hadley said through the pins in her teeth.

The door burst open and in walked a tear streaked Ruby.

Hadley stood up and removed the pins from her mouth seeing her friend in such a state.

“Ruby? What's wrong?” Hadey and Evie both rushed over to console the blonde girl.

“I think I'm in love.” Ruby didn't look up from the floor.

“Well that's great!” Evie squealed.

“Ruby?” Hadley already had an idea on who it was.

“With who?” 

Ruby looked up at them.

“I think I'm in love with Gil.” 

Hadley and Evie looked at each other.

Oh boy..

“Okay, you need to talk and we need to work, let's go” Hadley shut the door and pulled Ruby over to the dresses.

Hadey and Evie resumed their work both listening to her

“Spill.”

“I don't know, I just, I felt something when we ran into him the first time on the Isle.”

Hadley urged her for more details

“After I was captured by Umas crew, Gil never left my side. He also didn't let any of the other crew members get close to me.  We got to talking, found out we have a similar interest in adventures and discovering new places.  He's really sweet." Ruby had a far off look in her eyes. 

"Gil always was. Granted he can be a bit thick headed but, nonetheless,  he is a great guy.  Harry's told me that." Hadley hadn't looked away from the lace she was sewing.

"I understand completely" she reached out and placed her hand on Ruby's knee. 

"I just wish there was some way to bring him over, you know?"Ruby sighed.

"Oh believe me, nobody knows about wanting to bring someone over more than Hadley and I" Evie said walking around the front of the dress.

"There are many people on that island that don't deserve to be there."

Hadley finished stitching, stepping back with Evie and looking the dress up and down. 

"Its even more perfect than before." Hadley high fived Evie admiring their handywork.  

Hadley walked over to Ruby and pulled her up holding onto her hands.

"We will find a way to get Gil off the Isle.  Even if I have to go back there and drag him out myself." Hadley smiled. 

Ruby gave a slight chuckle and pulled Hadley and Evie into a hug.

"Now, its almost time for cotillion." Hadley walked over to the rack of dresses and pulled off a large dress bag labeled 'Ruby'.  She held the bag out.

"Go back to your dorm and get some rest, ill be over in a bit to help you get ready i gotta help deliver dresses and help Evie get ready." She leaned in as Ruby took the bag,and whispered "and to be honest, Evie is the only one who can get me into my dress." Ruby laughed as she nodded her head and walked out the door. 

 I gotta say this part tor me up writing... anyways.. If you liked this part and would like part 10 please like and comment.  As always you can read the illustrated version over on my Wattpad (@phelpsphan).  If you would like to be added to the tag list please message me. <3<3<3

Summary: You would think that six months in Auradon would do any villain kid good.  Well, not Hadley.  After the events of the Coronation, Hadley's mood took a downward spiral; and for one reason, guilt.  She'd broken a promise and left her best friend on the Isle of the Lost.  How will she handle seeing him again when certain circumstances bring her back to the Isle? Will she finally tell him what she really feels?  

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in Descendants.  Hadley and the plot between her and Harry are mine. 

Tag list: @unded-bride

[insanityinherited]

Existence Is Futile

Ooh boy. Ooh fucking boy. This one has even a long time coming. I haven’t been able to write for over a month but apparently the dam has broken. This is going to be a cross post between my EMDR blog and my insanity blog, so apologies to those who have to read it twice. It belongs on my EMDR blog because my homework is about EMDR; it belongs on my insanity blog because it’s about my incredible brain and how absolutely unincreidble its surroundings can be.

This week my psych homework has been to keep within the window of tolerance. “Hahahaha” shouts the universe. I’m not finding it so easy right now, hence the banging away on a keyboard to calm myself down. My brain is pretty unique, right? It’s been a long road for me to be able to say that and actually believe it. It’s hard because my brain absolutely does not work like most other people’s. In an odd quirk of the universe, the star stuff that makes up my existence is ordered a little differently to the star stuff that shapes most people. Any neurological study you read will tell you the same thing: “we’re pretty sure our idea about why brains are different is correct, but we can’t really be certain...” Maybe we’re not meant to know? Knowledge grants control and control isn’t always a good thing. While I love my brain, I really don’t always like the consequences of being different. Right now, what I am trying to explain is that any sort of neurodivergence removes a layer of privilege from my life and makes me uncomfortable. Needless to say, I don’t like it. So, my brain is left with a frustrating juxtaposition: “I like my brain but I wish my mental illness didn’t strip away a layer of privilege that I’m accustomed to.” I’m frustrated that society is so discriminatory. Our intersectionality means that few people aren’t impacted in some way or other - obviously though, some people are more disadvantaged than others and this makes me really, really cross. No one should have to alter who they are just to survive and be happy. And yet, isn’t functional society built on meeting the needs of the most people possible in the knowledge that some people may lose out? [Yes, I’m aware that while that’s the idea, capitalism has left us far from that reality.] Sigh.

This isn’t really getting me anywhere, however it has achieved one goal: I’m no longer vibrating out of my skin with frustration. One of the biggest problems I have is communication, and thus, validation. I’ve known for ages that any sort of invalidation is a huge trigger, whether it’s been explicitly communicated or whether it’s implied by my surroundings. My inability to communicate my ideas or intent is a rare thing, but it’s also intensely, overwhelmingly frustrating. I really, really, really hate being misunderstood or not just not understood at all. It’s pretty rare that it happens these days because I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to mimic the way other people communicate and articulate ideas so that I can be a part of society. However, when it does happen, oh boy does it happen. I also live with someone with vascular dementia. As much as I am going insane not being able to be understood, that is exactly as much as my grandmother would be going insane if she understood that she was unable to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve probably been smarter than both my grandparents for a number of years, their life experience has added up to a wisdom and ability to understand and empathise with just about anyone. These qualities have always lead me to hold them in such high esteem that they were more than just human: they are genius in human form - they are the knowers of knowledge, the keepers of secrets, the fixers of broken things and the menders of relationships. There is a certain amount of disillusionment that you go through when your parents age. My mother is only fifty-three but her parents, who also raised me, are in their eighties. And despite the old saying that ‘children keep you young’, I am having to process this new realisation: my grandparents are falliable. Alas, this has been a rather large sidetrack that I did not intend to take. Ahem.

Right, so back to where we were: communication problems cause validation problems which make me sad and angry and self-harmy. I would like to find a solution to this ‘instant trigger’, because SageBrain, AloeBrain or EarthBrain really don’t help with that instant, stabbed-with-a-hat-pin feeling of yuckiness. I need like an ‘EmergencyBrain’. Research this week: What plants relate to emergencies and health? I shall think on this...

[blookmallow]

i dont have the energy to go through all my outlast 2 screenshots right now, i have one liveblog post drafted that i was working on before, and now i have a huge pile of screenshots to go through again so there’ll be. at LEAST two more... play by play type posts lmao

so anyway the order’s gonna be kinda weird but my brain is screaming and ive been going through wiki pages for like 2 hours so heres. some thoughts and a lot of questions and some observations i think im. sort of starting to get it,

---

ok so... knoth believed the antichrist was going to be born, apparently he DID think it was going to be from one of his own people, but then. blake and lynn obviously aren’t from his people so i have no idea why he suddenly decided it was on them 

marta was his “angel of death” hitman going around murdering people in the name of god

people who got sick (definitely STDs, believed to be the Curse of Sin or whatever but it might have just been anyone who was diseased at all) got banished to the scalled village where they all got HORRIFICALLY sick and infected and have completely lost their minds now abandoned by the church

val broke off from knoth’s church and started the heretics cult, they seem to be. satanists now and are trying to allow the birth of the anti christ but are also constantly trying to kill me to death too 

according to the wiki val is almost definitely a trans woman, which. the Only trans character in outlast is a woman who is a violent sexual predator who might be a devil worshipper and has wet dreams about child murder. granted everyone in outlast is fucked up but THAT’S A PARTICULAR KIND OF FUCKED UP

lynn was not visibly pregnant when they crashed, blake claims they hadn’t been sexually active in months so if she was pregnant, it’s not his child. when he finds her again she’s not only very visibly pregnant, but actively going into labor. she calls it “our baby.” blake doesn’t have the chance to ask her how this happened. this is never fucking explained : )

like it doesn’t look like lynn was just like.... reverse c-sectioned and even if someone raped her to force pregnancy she wouldn’t have gone through an entire 9 month pregnancy in ONE NIGHT, so what the FUCK was that about

the wiki mentions its possible the baby isn’t actually real, it apparently doesn’t cast a shadow and lynn has the “there’s nothing there” line, but even if blake hallucinated the pregnancy and the baby (which. at least would explain how the process of “giving birth” took like 3 seconds and she became suddenly 9 months pregnant in one day) why would lynn be reacting as if she was pregnant too. or if they both hallucinated it why did she say “there’s nothing there,” wouldn’t she be able to see it too 

anyway jessica, lynn, and blake were all friends in. high school middle school whatever age.  it seems like there was some kind of love triangle going on, jessica seems into blake in the flashbacks, blake seems unsure

he starts getting lynn and jessica confused near the end so he might’ve had some kind of feelings for her though, the wiki mentions his complete obsession with saving lynn might have been partly fueled by “i couldn’t save jessica but im going to save lynn im not going to lose them both i HAVE to succeed this time” to the point that they just kind of became the same person in his head by the end 

there’s some weird parallels with jessica playfully jumping on him and val pinning him down so its very possible jessica was acting... sexually aggressive toward him, on a much smaller scale of course, but enough that val’s assault triggered the memory

jessica was almost definitely being molested by one of their teachers/church leaders/whatever and blake seems to blame himself for not doing anything about it

i thought jessica killed herself and blake felt responsible for it, maybe figuring the abuse she was enduring from the teacher (and possibly her father, she reacts very afraid when he threatens to call her father) might have been one of the causes, and he didn’t help her 

but the wiki says the teacher actually may have killed jessica and forced blake to help cover it up as a suicide, hence... finding her on the stairs. which i guess makes sense too 

but the whole flashback thing is never explained?? i guess maybe it really was just trauma manifesting in really fucked up ways and like, that’s still narratively interesting but the fact that it kept crossing over into the real world (the recordings from the flashbacks showed up as corrupted files, so Something happened and it wasn’t just in blake’s head, frequently you get stuck somewhere you can’t escape from, get pulled into the other world, wake up somewhere else entirely) means it’s not just internal so why the FUCK is he crossing dimensions. they don’t tell you!!! i had to go digging on the wiki to figure this shit out

from the wiki:

“The "apocalypse" Blake had witnessed, as well as the nightmarish flashbacks to his childhood, were all just hallucinations induced by the Murkoff Corporation's local Radio Towers.“

WHAT???? IT WAS MURKOFF THE WHOLE TIME 

but like. are you telling me it was all a hallucination that was just kind of vaguely mentioned Once. the big reveal/the truth behind it all was literally just hinted about in One Note/One weird encounter with a distant radio tower in ONE SCENE randomly in the middle of the game and never expanded on. what the FUCK kind of writing/game design is THAT

it looks like the “voice of God” knoth was hearing was actually the murkoff frequencies too, but like. fucking why. why were they telling this guy to kill babies and create a murder cult. was it just a “how far can we take this” experiment like the “how badly can we fuck someone’s mind up if we take away their meds and exacerbate their mental illness” thing at mount massive. i mean i guess a corporation that would do That would also probably fuck with a bunch of hyper religious hillbillies too but it just seems way too convoluted for “idk just wanted to see what would happen” 

and “maybe if we hide subliminal messages in the radio frequencies we can convince some random guy we’re the voice of God” is. way too specific to actually Work, i guess maybe if they could induce hallucinations they could maybe manipulate peoples’ minds that much more efficiently but like. still. it doesnt fucking make sense!!!!!! why would it manifest as “flashbacks of childhood trauma” in blake and “suddenly im pregnant” in lynn and “God Said I Gotta Kill Everyone” in knoth and “satan said i gotta fuck everyone” in val NONE OF THAT MAKES ANY FUCKING SENSE!!!

APPARENTLY there’s a whole mess of comics that go along with this and hopefully explain shit a little bit more but “explaining what the fuck happened in your game by means of a side comic that isn’t mentioned in said game” is : ) 

I DONT KNOW. iM SO TIRED ITS 1 AM SOMEHOW

ill go through all my screenshots and shit later maybe that’ll help. something :’) god. I MEAN TO BE FAIR, outlast’s strengths have never been its story telling, it’s a great game for being absolutely scared out of your fucking mind and boy did they ever deliver on that front so like... i guess ultimately i got what i wanted out of it but im still CONFUSED,

i should really have expected this though lmao this is the same thing that happened at the end of outlast 1 i didnt understand anything until 900 wiki pages later and still hated the ending even when i finally did sort of almost understand it 

[westallenfun]

Before the Hood - 1/6

For @jade4813 from @backtothestart02​ -I’m not going to lie. This gets pretty angsty pretty quickly and ends on a bittersweet note. But it’s meant to be the prequel to my Robin Hood westallen AU that I plan to write eventually (yes, this is a Robin Hood AU, you got me), and that fic will end very happily, so if you’d like, you can consider that your fic too. I hope you’re able to enjoy this fic though!

I so appreciate you as a person and a shipper and a writer. I am always so inspired by you and your talent and appreciate so much how kind you are. So I was unbelievably excited when I received your name as my giftee (you write such incredible AUs!). Hopefully you will enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it and be hopeful about what comes after instead of in a puddle of tears. I hope I can do your masterpieces some justice and that you have an amazing Christmas and holiday season!!

Merry Christmas!

…

(All of these chapters have been lightly proofread, so feel free to do a re-read once I post them to AO3 & FFnet, b/c I’m sure they’ll be in much better condition then.)

Fun Fact: I did some medieval research for this story that I did try to incorporate. (1) People were not meant to be educated unless they were upperclass/royalty/clergymen. (2) Women were rarely educated period, unless upperclass and then very little. They were expected to marry and raise children. (3) The Crusades and everything according to the Robin Hood legend that I googled I tried to incorporate to some degree, since I did keep the story set in the Middle Ages. (There’s prob more, but I can’t think of what at the moment.)

…

Chapter 1 -

Collin Woods.

A place thick with trees, alive with wildlife, and far from any central city on the map, two hundred miles away from the literal Central City. Within the woods contained the small town of the same name, the only structure cresting above the trees being the stone castle of the royals. Previously residing there was King Richard – a loyal, good king who took care of his people and flourished the town with bountiful riches and a thriving population. But within the past several months he had left the town and its people to embark on the noble quest of fighting in the Crusades. In his place, he left his younger brother, Prince John, a selfish, spoiled, adolescent fool who little by little drained the small town of its resources until the only thing rich and satisfying to the eye could be found within the castle grounds.

Many of the young men of the town had gone off to fight in the Crusades with their King. Not all could go, because work needed to be done that could not only be sustained by older men, women, and children. But some left not only for the cause itself but to escape the death trap that had become their once thriving homeland. War with all its drudgery, pain, and rate of death on the battlefield was still a welcome reprieve. To those that survived, they only hoped their king would return with them and so sustain the lands they used to call home and create a small paradise once again for themselves and those they loved.

Beside Prince John was his wise and yet often taken for granted advisor, Sir Hiss – not his actual name of course, but his natural born lisp that often affected his speech had granted him the title. The superficial prince did nothing to correct it. Since he relished as well as mocked his only true friend – if he could be called that – the name suited him in the latter case. Trained guards were at Prince John’s disposal, as well as the particularly greedy Sheriff of Collin Woods, Clifford Devoe.

Amongst the townspeople was the West family, but with the father, Joseph, and the son, Wallace, off to fight in the Crusades, and the mother, Francine, passed many years ago, the daughter, Maid Iris, was ordered by Prince John to live under the care of Sheriff DeVoe and his wife, Marlise. Iris was rarely seen after that, except for at festivals hosted by Prince John. And by one other, who she risked everything to see night after night by moonlight, hidden amongst the trees lining Silver Lake.

Barry Allen.

Bartholomew was his given name, but hardly rolling off the tongue, his best friend, Cisco – who’d also shortened his name – decided on a nick name for the young Allen. To those around him, it had stuck.

Barry was the only child of Henry and Nora Allen. The former was the only doctor in the town. He had taken a young pupil under his wing, a girl – which was most unheard of, Caitlin Snow. He’d tried to lure his son into the teachings of medicine. There were few things greater than the ability to heal, he would say. But young Barry would have none of it. And being a friend of Caitlin himself, Barry encouraged the union. There should be more than two doctors in one town, should one fall ill, heaven forbid. But it wasn’t going to be him. Most of the time when he wasn’t home, he traveled into town to offer his skills – that of repairing homes and entertaining children – as proof of his servitude. His mother, Nora, who was a seamstress to nearly everyone found this to be a great addition to the work force. And since she needed to do little to win over her husband, most of the time he relented.

But Barry didn’t spend all of his time tending to the needs of the townsfolk. His favorite pastimes were narrowed down to three: fishing with his best friend, Cisco, practicing archery from his handmade bow and arrows, and visiting Maid Iris by moonlight.

One late afternoon in June, finished with his tasks for today, Barry idly leaned against a tree and carved himself some new arrows, preparing to get some practice in. For the Crusades he would tell his father if the subject ever arose. But it hadn’t yet. Only his friends knew of his hobby, and it was kept amongst them. It was no secret Barry didn’t want to go to war.

“Hey!”

The disgruntled voice pulled Barry out of his reverie, and he saw an unamused Cisco standing inches beneath where his arrow had landed, a hole piercing his new hat as it stay pinned against the tree behind him.

Barry had the decency to blush.

“Sorry, Cisco.”

Cisco carefully pulled the arrow free and his hat with it and placed it back on his head.

“Watch it. My mother made that.”

Cisco’s mother was not the greatest seamstress – as was evidenced by the seams falling apart of the hats she made for her son, even without arrows being shot through them. But his parents looked down upon the Allen’s for Henry’s audacity to train a young girl in medicine, to educate a peasant girl whose duty it was to marry and raise children, not attempt to heal people. And also, because Barry’s parents were not stricter with him. As a result, they forbid their son from being friends with Barry – an order he ignored fervently.

“My mother could make you a new one,” Barry offered, not for the first time, as he turned his full attention to his friend.

Cisco snorted. “My mother would know. She knows she can’t sew. It has never been her talent. And if she saw how neatly the seams were sewn, she’d know where I had been.”

Barry nodded. He knew. He just couldn’t help but offer.

“Did you see Caitlin today?” Cisco asked casually, leaning against the tree beside Barry.

Barry shook his head. “I left early this morning. Ralph was off with Sue again, so he wasn’t around to watch his younger brothers and sisters. I offered my services.”

Cisco’s lips turned up in a smirk. “Of course you did.”

“It is my contribution,” Barry said, picking up another arrow and shaving down the sides so it would fly more smoothly.

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe you’re just jealous Ralph can spend time with Sue in broad daylight when you have to sneak around with Iris by moonlight.”

Barry froze, his eyes wide as he turned to look at his friend.

“What? You thought I didn’t know?”

Barry turned his body fully.

“I’m your best friend,” Cisco said, offended.

“You’re not- You didn’t- Does anyone else-”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course no one else knows. At least not because of me. I won’t tell a soul.” He paused. “At least not until you do.”

Barry snorted and returned to his arrows.

“I’ll never be able to do that,” he muttered under his breath.

“You never know,” Cisco said, softening.

Barry picked up his bow and arrow and aimed for a farther tree.

“As long as King Richard is fighting in the Crusades and Iris is cooped up with that awful Sheriff DeVoe, there’s no way we can be together openly. She’ll probably marry that awful knight Julian,” Barry said, scowling.

“I thought he’s planning to leave for the Crusades,” Cisco said, his brows fusing together.

“Not before obtaining a marriage proposal, I bet.”

“And why would the Sheriff say yes to him? He gains too much by keeping Iris locked up. He feeds off her inheritance.”

Barry lowered his bow. “Because Julian is a knight, and his father is in Prince John’s royal guard. He probably thinks Julian won’t return from the Crusades and he won’t have to worry about it.”

“But if he does return…”

“He’ll have to own up to the promise. And Maid Iris will have no choice in the matter.”

Cisco shoulders slumped, and then he gathered himself together, determined to let them not both be burdened down by this possibility.

“It might not happen,” he offered. “Julian’s thirst for war might overcome his desire for Iris.”

Barry looked at him. “It does.”

Cisco’s brows furrowed again.

“Julian wants her because I have her. It’s his petty jealousy for everything I have that is greater than his thirst for war. All the medals and glory in the world would mean nothing to him if they didn’t also crush me into the ground in the process.”

He shot off another arrow, this one recklessly into the air at a distance. Someone could trace it, find him, discover his hobby and somehow use it against him. But he didn’t care. Few things stifled his hatred for Julian Albert, son of the guard, knight in training, who gloated about all that he would receive on his return from the Crusades. More than once Barry had wanted to retort bitterly, ‘If you return.’ But he’d held his breath. He wouldn’t sink to his level.

“And what do you have that he doesn’t?” Cisco asked, though he knew at least some of what his answer would be.

“Both parents, friends, the right to choose what I want to do, and a father who is willing to bend the rules for the sake of the people.”

“And the love of Iris,” Cisco added, which made Barry’s anger finally fizzle out.

“Yes. And that.”

…

In the quiet cottage just off the edge of town, Nora Allen sat in her rocking chair and picking up a new color of yarn to add to her nearest quilt. She hummed quietly to herself, a melody to harmonize with the blue birds chirping outside the window. The sun shone through it, warming her face, and with the scent of biscuits wafting out of the oven, she knew dinner would soon be at hand. The chicken was ready, and the corn. With the prepared food would come her husband, her son, and the young girl Henry had taken under his wing, Caitlin Snow.

Caitlin was a quiet one. With long brown locks and the same purple, cotton dress she wore day after day, only changing the ribbons in her hair on occasion, Nora had taken to mothering her. She’d never had a daughter, and there was much about Caitlin that appealed to her. From her determination to chase after her dreams to her polite refusal of anything that might inconvenience anyone, Nora welcomed having her in their home and at their table. A few times she had studied her son’s interactions with her to see if there was any spark. She certainly wouldn’t mind having Caitlin officially part of their family.

But Caitlin, it seemed, was in love with a slightly older boy, Ronnie Raymond, who had gone off to fight in the Crusades. And Nora’s boy, Barry, she had begun to suspect, still fancied Maid Iris.

It was a star-crossed romance she’d hoped her son could avoid. Not because she held anything against Iris or her family, but because it would be nearly impossible for them to find happiness together in a practical sense with Iris being elevated in her father’s and brother’s absence. In addition, she knew the feelings had not been one-sided before Joseph and Wallace had left for Crusades. That made the young romance even more devastating.

But Iris lived with Sheriff DeVoe now, who was snide and arrogant and in line with that terrible Prince John who was constantly raising the taxes. She hoped Marlise DeVoe, who while loyal to her husband, didn’t appreciate his tactics, had taken Iris under her wing and protected her. Heaven only knows what kind of atmosphere existed in that house if she hadn’t.

With Prince John’s almost constant raising of taxes – and demand in paying them being more frequent – Nora worried that soon Henry would allow appointments without pay. He tried to be firm and decisive on the outside, but on the inside his love for her and his son and the townspeople had turned him to mush. After all, once Barry had made it clear he would not be following in his footsteps, Henry had sought out a pupil and had no qualms whatsoever about taking on Caitlin Snow.

The sound of the heavy wooden door being opened interrupted her thoughts, and the sound of her husband’s warm voice made the sadness of her thoughts all but disappear.

“Something smells good,” Henry said, walking through the door. “You smell that, Caitlin?” The young girl nodded beside him. “It smells wonderful.”

Nora smiled to herself, set aside her tools and yarn and walked into the entryway adjoining the kitchen.

“You’re home,” she said, to which her husband crossed the distance between them and placed a kiss on her cheek. “It smells so good.” He pulled back. “Is it biscuits?”

She nodded. “Yes. And chicken and potatoes.”

Caitlin’s eyes lit up. “You have potatoes?”

“Yes. And I’m going to mash them. Would you like to help?”

Caitlin nearly bounced up on her toes. It never ceased to amazing Nora how this girl could go from being shy to eager and excited when new opportunities presented themselves. She wondered what that meant about her home life but decided not to think on it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckled. “Come on.” She nodded her head towards the hot pot over the fire and grabbed some pot warmers so as not to burn herself. “Grab a bowl from the bottom shelf. We’ll put them in there first.”

Caitlin did as she was told and used the large spoon to transfer the vegetable. Nora looked over her shoulder at her husband as she did so.

“Have you seen Barry today?”

“Not this morning,” he said on a sigh. “But the Dibny’s informed me he spent all morning with their rambunctious children, so he must’ve done some good today.”

“Henry.” Her voice lowered, and he reined himself in.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a good thing what he’s doing. It’s better than just lying around this place all day. I’m glad he’s getting work in and that he’ll help out with the harvest in the fall.”

“Oh!” Caitlin interjected, spying the individual in question walking passed the distant window. “I think I see him.”

Moments later, the door opened and Barry walked in, a basket of freshly pulled carrots in his arms.

“Carrots,” Caitlin said, awe-struck by yet another delicious food being added to the menu.

“What a brilliant idea, Barry. Thank you for thinking of it,” his mother said.

He forced a smile that matched his father’s until Henry felt the glare his wife was delivering to the back of his head.

“I thought it might…add something,” Barry added lamely, avoiding his father’s gaze.

“I talked to the Dibny’s earlier today,” Henry said, pushing bitter feelings behind him for the sake of the meal and the company. “It sounds like you were very helpful to them this morning.”

Barry looked at him, then glanced at his mother and Caitlin and knew he had to do something to release the tension.

“Well, someone had to be, what with Ralph running off with Sue just as his brothers and sisters were waking up.”

Henry softened, a proud smile gracing his features.

“I’m glad you stepped up, son.” He gripped his shoulder. “It’s good to know what’s important in life and not go running after a lass before you’ve found your place.”

He glanced over at Caitlin.

“Nothing against you, of course, Caitlin.”

She grinned sardonically.

“Of course not. I’m special.”

Barry shook his head at the comment, but it had the whole family laughing, and so the tension was broken.

…

Night descended over Collin Woods about an hour after dinner. Caitlin had returned home, promising to meet Henry at his clinic the next day as early as she could. He promised to bring food with him and Nora insisted she come home with Henry for dinner again. Caitlin was reluctant to make that promise, so she just smiled as a goodbye and waved her hand on the way out. Barry watched her from the front window and thought about the impact she made on their home. He was glad to have her in his life, and glad even more so that she’d provided an escape for him from his father’s profession. But he worried some about her home life. Whenever he saw her about in town, there was no light in her eyes. She looked sullen, almost like a young child. And he saw the tight grip her mother always had on her even though she was three years into adulthood at age fifteen. It just made him more aware of the destruction Prince John had brought upon their little town.

Barry lay in bed until he could hear his parents’ snores drifting down the hall. Deeming it safe to slip out, he pushed open his window and carefully climbed over the ledge to the other side. He closed it after he’d landed in the grass, keeping it open a crack so he wouldn’t have difficulty going in, and then slinked away from his home, taking off as fast as one of his arrows as soon as he’d reached the cluster of trees thickening like a swarm of flies on the way to Central Pond.

He got to the edge of the water, looked up and saw some hazy clouds crossing over the moon. He worried for a moment that she wouldn’t come. They had always said that if it was a cloudy night, maybe it was a sign they shouldn’t meet up that night, that there was somehow a better likelihood of them being caught, even if logically that didn’t make sense. They should be harder to see with no grand moonlight making figures known amongst the trees.

But he didn’t have to worry long. Because mere moments later, a tap came on his shoulder, and he nearly fell into the water because of it.

“Barry!” she quietly shrieked, pulling him back by the fabric of his shirt, and then dissolving into a fit of giggles when she did. Putting a hand over her mouth, she tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

He was flushed, breathing heavily for a few moments, but then a silly grin stretched across his face.

“No apology needed,” he said, then took her hand and led her away from the water into the woods. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“So was I,” she said. “The clouds were so much thicker from my bedroom window.” She came to a stop and held both of her hands in his, swinging a little on the balls of her feet. “But I thought I’d make a try for it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

In truth it had been two days, and the only reason they hadn’t met up was because of storms, rain that poured hard and for hours. But it still felt like an eternity. Every moment apart felt like a lifetime.

“I know,” he said, intertwining their fingers together. “It’s been forever.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled on her hands with his own, instantly bringing her closer, and met her lips with a sudden kiss. She melted into it, and so did he. His arms moved to settle on her waist as hers wrapped around his neck. And for a while they stood there in the filtered moonlight, just ignoring the world around them.

“Oh, Barry,” she murmured, eventually pulling back enough to lay her head on his chest. He swayed them gently. “I wish it could be like this forever.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head and shut his eyes, listening to the sway of her long dress in the night breeze.

“So do I.”

“I dream at night about us, you know.”

He smiled to himself. “You do?”

“Well, don’t you?” She lifted her head to look up at him.

“Of course, Iris. I dream about you even when I’m not sleeping. I almost shot Cisco with an arrow today because I was so distracted dreaming of you.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You wouldn’t have hit him.”

“I don’t know…I was pretty distracted.”

“You never miss,” she said. “Not even when you’re distracted.”

“I might’ve made an exception for Julian,” he joked lightly.

She smirked. “I might’ve let you.”

He didn’t know if her not liking Julian any more than he did made their situation even more tragic, but he decided he liked it. Better the knight not be his competition when it came to Iris’ heart. In any other way, he could deal, even if he didn’t want to, but if he was unsure about where her heart lie, he was sure he would die.

“Come on,” he said, stepping back enough to just hold her hand. “I want to show you something.”

Iris bit her bottom lip and ran with him through the woods until they came to a large tree. She stopped before he did and looked up at the spectacle before them.

“It’s amazing,” she said, awestruck.

“It’s old,” he responded. “And probably shouldn’t be climbed on.” He bent down to pick something off the grass just around the old oak. “But it’s unlike any other tree in the whole forest, and I think we should make it our own.”

He came back to her and handed her a rock, sharp and narrow at the end. She looked at it strangely and met his eyes with a quizzical expression.

“What are you thinking, Barry?”

He grinned and pulled her to the large, oak tree. Then she watched as he used his own rock to painstakingly carve his initials into the wood. He made a small cross beneath it and stepped back. He glanced at her when she didn’t move.

“Your turn,” he said.

Excitedly, though she tried to contain herself, Iris stepped forward and carved her own initials in. Then, without any prodding, she drew a large heart around their letters and stepped back, looking at their masterpiece proudly.

“I love you, Iris,” he said, softly, and she turned to find him staring at her, so much love in his eyes. She didn’t doubt his declaration for a second.

“I love you, too, Barry,” she returned, taking both his hands in hers as they’d been before.

“I don’t know how long we can be like this,” he admitted. “But I’m going to treasure every moment.” He brought their clasped hands to his heart and held them there. “You’re my home, Iris. And that’s one thing that will never change.”

Her heart aflutter, and all words fallen away from her memory, she smiled softly in response. Then she tilted her face up, closed her eyes, and waited for him to kiss her.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Thirty-One: On A Hill ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

It still shakes him to see this place.

Most of the destruction was lost on him in those final few minutes. He’d been a little preoccupied to take in the scenery, what with his using the last of his chakra on Kirin, not wanting to take his eyes off Itachi for a moment. Exhausted, terrified, and desperate, he’d hardly noticed the rubble until he his back had been pressed against it.

No escape.

...Sasuke’s not even sure why he’s come back. The stones are still scorched from Amaterasu’s obsidian flames, a brush of his fingers smudging soot. Almost nothing remains of the old Uchiha hideout. A piece of history lost to violence. But those are long-bygone days, now. He’s almost glad a testament to what was before is gone. While he grieves his clan, and their oppression...so too does Sasuke know they weren’t always blameless. They were ruthless during the Sengoku Jidai. They had to be, under Madara’s banner.

And even now, the scraps of them left have to be tough. But not in ways that require grand fortresses atop mountains.

Ironically enough, it’s raining. Lightly, just barely a misting...but he can’t help but find it...fitting. He doesn’t even bother with the hood of his traveling cloak as they breach the top of the hill.

“It’s still unbelievable...what you two did here.”

A dark eye glances to his right, where his companion stands. Her own kekkei genkai is active, looking over the ruins quietly. “This place must have been huge...and to end up like this…”

“...Itachi and I are both peerless shinobi. Even then, we were both forces to be reckoned with.” Of course, the purple, rippled iris he keeps hidden beneath his hitai ate now means he’s grown even more powerful since then. Destruction of this scale is hardly unheard of for him now. Just look what he and Naruto wrought a few months later upon Shūmatsu no Tani. Granted...both that battle and the one here were fought with the highest of stakes. But that doesn’t mean he’s not still as capable.

Hinata lets her eyes rest. “...does he know you were coming back here today?”

“No. No point.”

“Why...are we here…?”

In truth, he’s not sure. He just felt compelled to revisit it. “...closure, maybe. Guilt. I don’t know. Just felt right to come back.”

She doesn't offer a reply - there’s no need. Sometimes a person doesn’t need a reason. Just a feeling. Wordlessly, she makes her way forward, Sasuke following.

“...you said still. Still unbelievable. Have you seen this before, Hinata?”

“I have. Did I never tell you?” There’s a curious glance to her new husband. “I was part of the retrieval team that went looking for you just as you and Itachi-san began your fight. My team went along as trackers.I went with Naruto-kun and Yamato-san, and one of Kakashi-sensei’s ninken. Later we all met up here, but...you and Itachi’s body were already gone. Obito had taken you…” Her gaze turns somber, turning back ahead. “...Naruto-kun was so upset...he’d thought you killing Orochimaru would mean coming home. And when that failed te be true, then surely, after Itachi was dead...but then Akatsuki got ahold of you.”

“...and I learned the truth about my clan’s massacre.”

“From a rather jilted source.”

Sasuke doesn’t stop a humorless snort. “...you’re right...but it didn’t make it any less true. Just...weaponized. Manipulating. I still would have reacted the same had anyone else told me. I just happened to ally with the wrong person because of it.”

It’s then they end up at the threshold of what was once the floor. Nearly all of the walls have been blown apart. One can only tell due to the smoothing of the stone compared to the outside. “What...was this place, exactly?”

“All I know is that it was once a clan hideout. Pretty sure from before the formation of the hidden villages. It was huge...even had a throne.” Another snort. “I’d bet my life savings Madara was the only one to ever use it...clan head or not, he had the ego for it.”

Hinata’s lips give a small twitch.

“...well I’ll be damned.”

Speaking of, said throne sits - majorly chipped - at the rear of the ruins. A large portion of the back is missing, only part of the mural behind it still standing. “...guess it wasn’t directly impacted. Makes sense...it was inside.” Sasuke nods to it. “...that’s where Itachi was sitting when I walked in.”

“...he really did go all out…”

Flashes of his brother’s behavior flicker through Sasuke’s mind. “...he kept up the charade until the very end. I thought he’d just lost it right before he died, saying what he said...doing what he did. I wasn’t...exactly in the best frame of mind at that point, either.”

Hinata can’t help a sympathetic glance. “...no, I’d imagine not…”

It’s then Sasuke decides to just...elaborate about what happened that day. He points to where each stage of the battle took place, vaguely narrating from what he can recall. It’s been over five years, now...and yet being here makes it feel just like yesterday. And all the while, Hinata listens quietly, delving into a piece of her beloved’s past he’s avoided up until now. The recollection, she knows, can’t be easy. Itachi’s truth had to have made it hard enough...but having his brother returned to him must make living with those choices - not to mention all those years - more than difficult.

“...here.”

They come to a stop, having moved through the rubble as he spoke. Before them, a huge hunk of stone with an inlaid Uchiha crest lies, turned to one side. “...he pinned me here. I remember my back hitting the wall, looking up, seeing the crest...it really hit me that I was going to die. And then he just…”

Waiting for a moment, Hinata looks over as Sasuke’s silence stretches. “...he spared you.”

“...it was all a farce. To convince me I’d outlasted him. Killed him. All while letting himself finally succumb to illness...he freed me from my curse seal. Set everything up so that I could walk away with a clear conscience. My revenge. My body. And then Obito subverted all his work.”

“...would you have gone back to Konoha then? If Obito hadn’t found you?”

“...I don't know. It had been my plan to go back eventually. But I don’t know if I would have felt satisfied at that point. I might have needed time first. But...it doesn’t really matter. I’ll never know. And as...convoluted as my path ended up...I think it was for the best. It led to my brother’s revival. I don’t know if he could have been if things hadn’t gone the way they did. My life isn’t perfect...and there’s no taking away what I suffered. But...I’m on a better path. I have a better future ahead of me now. I have a few pieces of my family back, and a few new ones…” Sasuke turns to her, lips lifting in just a hint of a smile. “...including you.”

Hinata softens. “...you’re right. No more what-ifs. Just what-will-bes. And we’ll face them all together.”

“...I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As though hearing their words, a few dapples of sunlight manage to filter through the clouds.

“...should we head back?”

“We should. I’m sure everyone’s wondering where we went.”

“...will we tell them?”

“We might as well. I think I’m done letting this hang over me. Over us. Time to move forward.”

“I agree.” Taking Sasuke’s hand, Hinata gently tugs him back toward the main staircase, giving the view from on the hill one last glance before they make their way down.

Behind them, the sunrays glitter over the Uchiha crest before growing, bathing the ruins in a new light.

     AHHH!!! A whole month down, omggg! I'm so psyched guys - this month has just...FLOWN by! Technically I'm posting this after midnight, so a little late (like...most entries are), BUT! I didn't miss a SINGLE DAY! Let's see if I can keep it up for the rest of the year, ahaha!      ANYWAY, this prompt threw me a little bit. I almost went with something FAR angstier, but...I figured this was somber enough. Poor Sasuke...coming back here isn't easy. But I think he feels a lot better for having done so. Especially since he didn't have to go alone.      But yes, on that note, I really need to call it a night here pretty soon - but as always, thank you SO much for reading! One month down...eleven to go!

[kdtheghostwriter]

On the Outside of Paradise

So, you may be wondering why I start this post with a callback to one of the three good parents in this series. As it turns out, Carla’s request to Mikasa - all these years later - continues to hold a great significance in her life.

This was originally supposed to be solely about the 104th train ride in 108. It wasn’t meant to be a character study but...here we are. Follow me!

The important thing you must remember as you consider the conversation the 104th holds on the future of Paradis and the successor of the Attack Titan is that they are, all of them, still very much teenagers. They are very mature for their age, mostly from necessity and trauma, but there simply is a certain amount of emotional nuance that is hard to grasp at that age.

tl;dr - Feelings are difficult.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

OK, stop right there. Because we could go for ages on the implications of these panels but first, a word on Jean. Your boy and mine. My favorite character in this story. He loves his bff Eren just like the rest of the crew. He’s lived and very literally died with him for seven years. He feels the same way about his teammates. Naturally, when the topic of choosing Eren’s successor comes up, Jean volunteers the only way he knows how: putting over his own greatness, in the same breath criticizing Eren, all while hiding his true noble motive behind a wall of classic Jean bravado. It’s a masterclass of deflection and I love every word.

Then we have The Look. Hm. Everyone has already given their two cents on how they interpret this panel and the subtext therein. All I can say is this: If you view this interaction as merely platonic, or something more serious, or nothing at all, congratulations because you are correct! There’s no one "correct” way to decipher this (outside of confirmation from the author himself) but it is objectively true that this moment was shared amongst the group and not just these two people.

The moment occurs after Eren, in a rare tender moment, forbids his friends from inheriting his Attack Titan so that they can live long, healthy lives. He values them more than anything, tells them this, and finds himself embarrassed for doing so. Feelings are still quite hard.

The significance of the two sharing that moment within the moment has more to do with who they are than what they’re thinking. Eren and Mikasa have a magical relationship. I mean that in the most literal non-shipping way I can manage. You could call them friends, but that short-changes it. You could argue that they love each other, but it’s deeper than that. You would be correct in calling them family, but that doesn’t tell the whole story, either. It’s all kind of a mess, but it’s a mess that’s lasted most of their lives.

My interpretation of The Look is pretty simple when taken in the context. Eren has opened up to his friends and made everything super awkward. Armin diverts the group’s attention away from him but Mikasa pins him down with a sly, knowing look. Ah, so we are your friends after all? to which Eren responds with a Yeah, you’re my friends now shut uuuuup. They have a whole conversation separate from the party without any words. I find that amazing.

Also important to note is that prior to this, the 104th just had a very frank conversation of just how little time Eren has left. Mikasa has come a long way, because instead of brooding over this fact, she allows herself to be happy in the small moment she has with the most important people in her life. It would be easier to be happy about this if it wasn’t just a flashback.

Even if the feelings are romantic - whether or not they are reciprocated in some way - they originate from a place of tragedy. Mikasa’s protectiveness of Eren isn’t merely obsession. It’s duty: tasked to her by a woman she accepted as her mother. Mikasa takes family matters seriously.

This is not unlike another character we know.  A certain someone who fretted himself over his significant other’s whereabouts every waking moment. Someone who cultivated a sometimes professional, highly suggestive relationship with his commanding officer and is still regarded as one of the best characters in the series. Rightfully so! The female soldier, on the other hand, was admonished for deciding to give a damn about the most important people in her life. I wonder why that is? Hm.

It feels weird to say, because we have this conversation anew seemingly every month but... Mikasa is such a subtle character. Honestly one of the best I’ve seen in years, nevermind her gender or lineage. It’s especially subtle when you compare how overt and dramatic her cohorts are at all times.

Krista and then Historia both had a story’s worth of development in back-to-back volumes. She’s hiding her true identity, then she reveals it to her girlfriend, then her girlfriend runs away, then she usurps her father, THEN she becomes Queen! And then she retires to run an orphanage. That’s a lot to happen to a person. And more might happen to her before the story ends, but we’ve seen the major ebbs and flows of her arc.

Mikasa still has major things to do. And a major decision to make.

Connie already propositioned her. Who’s side are you on, Mikasa? Hm? Do you stand with the friends and teammates who have fought by your side for almost a decade? Or do you side with the one person here that takes your friendship for granted and abandons you time and again?

Framed that way, it seems like it should be cut and dry. Maybe it would if we were still dealing with the OG Eren. But we aren’t currently.

We’re dealing with this Eren. More specifically-

This Eren.

I’ve talked before about mental health’s role in the telling of this story. Reiner is Bipolar and suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that has made him suicidal. Eren is often seen talking to himself and is having trouble recognizing dream and reality as no less than four people are screaming in his head telling him how to live his life. The IRL name for this is Schizophrenia. In SnK, Titan Magics are involved but, by definition, this 19-year-old boy is mentally ill.

There are no excuses for Eren’s rash behavior. It is highly doubtful the Survey Corps would have cooked up a plan to abscond with Zeke and/or subvert global war before the Beast Titan’s term expired. However! The Attack Titan going AWOL has now guaranteed a mass conflict. On top of that, Eren rather callously took advantage of his friends’ trust and disregarded their feelings completely. So, what to do with him now?

Connie has already stated his intention. He won’t be this angry for much longer but I still 100% believe him. Armin and Jean are pragmatists and have made their decision already. They don’t want to fight Eren. Like, at all. But they’ve been fighting giants their whole lives and will not hesitate to kill one more just because their closest friend is inside.

Mikasa is the only one left undecided and boy does she not want to decide. But she’ll have to. Isayama has said so several times. In order to reach her full potential, she’ll have to step away from Eren. She’ll have to do it anyway, thanks to Ymir’s Curse. Now, she’ll have to be a lot quicker.

Mikasa Ackerman is the top graduate of the 104th Corps. I have no reason to think she won’t see her duty through as a soldier for the sake of her friends and humanity, but the road to that point will be very difficult.

Too Long; Didn’t Read? The story isn’t over yet. Mikasa has more to do.

[chocobostrinket]

Lost & Found

Prompt: Family 

Day: September 10th 

Platonic Aranea/Loqi, Platonic Cor/Loqi, or Cor/Loqi

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3027

Warnings: Implied deep depression, implied emotional child neglect, implied violence.

Summary: Loqi’s family situation shifted from his actual blood family, to his idea of loyalty to the emperor being his family, to basically adopting Aranea as an older sibling along with Biggs and Wedge, and eventually the strange relationship he has with Cor. He reflects on this, along with the constant depression that’s been present throughout his life.

Also posted on AO3. 

Loqi sniffled in his seat. Not because he was crying, but because his nose was still bleeding, and he dared not get the blood on his uniform. A glower was aimed at the secretary of his school, the one responsible for calling his father. And in turn she only gave him a smug look, as if proud that she might see one of the proud Tummelts in trouble. Even if said Tummelt was only 13.

Meanwhile, the boy who had started the fight was currently on his way to the nearest medical facility. Loqi had, regrettably, broken the boy’s wrist after he had thrown the first punch. Allowed him to make him bleed so he could justifiably call it self-defense. He was after all, the smaller of the two, and could be called the weaker based on that alone. But his father…

Well, his father would know better. He’d been the one who’d taught him after all.

Loqi could hear the door of the school open in the distance then, thanks to the echoing halls. A heavy sigh left him, and he braced himself with every step of his father’s boots he heard. When the door to the office opened, he stood up straight and allowed his face to relax into something neutral. His father only glanced at him, and then at the secretary.

“Your reason for calling me here?” He said simply, his tone ensuring he got only a straight answer.

“Your son was involved in an altercation.” She said, also rising to her feet. She held her head up, as if sure she was just in calling his father here from the Emperor’s side.

She explained that a fight had broken out. But she neglected to mention that the other boy had started it, or why they had started fighting at all. Just that Loqi had broken the boy’s wrist. He managed to keep his face stoic through her run down of events, but he couldn’t help the slight tensing of his shoulders when his father leveled his gaze at him.

He looked at his face, as if searching for a lie before it could even leave Loqi’s mouth. His silence scared Loqi, making his father seem larger than he was, like a creature coiling for a killing strike. More than once, when he was younger, had he been on the receiving end of his father’s strikes. Honestly, the boy’s punch was nothing compared to his training sessions.

“Loqi. What happened?”

He sounded so calm, but Loqi, from experience could hear the traces of anger in his voice.

“Sir,” He started, his voice level, “Dean from class 7 started the fight. He claimed that the emperor’s health would fail him soon, and that his family was closer in line to the throne than ours.”

At that his father seemed to settle back into his bones, but not entirely. “And?”

“I told him the emperor was far from being ill, and had named his successor already, whom house Tummelt would serve to our greatest ability, as we always have, and would hold no claim over the throne no matter what.” He said, reciting part of his family’s oath. “I also said that he should watch his words, as one could take what he said as a threat upon the emperor from his family if he wasn’t careful.”

His father’s eyes narrowed, but he was appeased. Though ire was still present in his voice, just no longer directed at Loqi.

“And then what occurred?”

“Dean punched me.” Loqi said it simply, not realizing that his nose, though the bleeding had slowed, hadn’t stopped. “So I reacted to it as a threat to myself, as the future of house Tummelt.”

He knew he was laying it on rather thick with the family loyalty stuff, but part of him did want nothing more to uphold the honor his family had won for generation after generation. Plus, his father seemed satisfied with the explanation.

Loqi sort of mentally checked out then, glad he’d managed to direct his father’s anger at someone other than himself. And his father was upset that clearly his school was seeking to pin the blame on Loqi for the whole ordeal. The secretary’s face was no longer smug, but slowly sinking into placating and apologetic. He wasn’t paying attention at that point, letting his father get the anger out of his system without interrupting.

He was only pulled out of his thoughts only when his father pressed his handkerchief under his nose. Loqi looked up at his father, the brief thought of how he’d never catch up to his height passing through his mind, and made a questioning noise.

“Come Loqi. We’re going home.”

Loqi lifted his hand and took over on holding the cloth under his nose. “Yes father.”

He followed his father’s quick pace, taking two steps for every one of his fathers, and didn’t complain. It was only when they were in their car, with the MT designated to them by the emperor driving, that his father spoke again.

“I think it’s time we moved you out of the civilian school system.” His father seemed to mull something over, and then continued, “You’ve already proven that you understand what is being asked of our family. As such, you’ve proven ready for the next phase of your life.”

Loqi’s heart rate sped up, and he said, “Yes father.”

That could only mean one thing. He’d be placed into the military program, presumably the fast track like all Tummelts. Literally, something he’d been raised for all his life. But it was mildly concerning when he realized that he’d probably be the youngest Tummelt in history to go into the program. However, he didn’t dare to question his father. (Though part of him did wonder if his father was rushing him into the program for some other reason.)

He’d be made into a weapon for the empire. And while he was already considered advanced for his age, he knew that they’d hammer him into a prodigy in his own right. Equal parts dread, and excitement filled him. And for once, his father looked proud of Loqi. But only for a moment.

He then turned away from his son and looked out the window, watching the passing landscape instead.

~

He’d just turned 15, in the middle of sparring with some of the best instructors available for his fighting style, inside one of the empire’s numerous training facilities, when he received word.

“Loqi Tummelt.” A voice called from over his left shoulder, and he quickly snapped around and saluted on instinct.

“Sir.”

Ravus, the once prince of Tenebrae and current officer of the military, stalked closer to him, stopping only a few feet away. He’d always liked him. Ravus, though he’d been softer than Loqi had ever been allowed, soon enough had become a renown soldier. However, at the moment he seemed to look Loqi up and down. Or maybe he was searching for a way to start whatever he had to say. Loqi couldn’t tell. But then he simply stated what he came there for.

“Your father has fallen, listing you as his only heir.” Ravus paused, assessing Loqi’s facial expression undoubtedly. But when it remained unchanging, he continued, “Your house retainers shall take over his duties, until you reach the age necessary for you to assume responsibility of them.”

Loqi stood still, unchanging, almost as if he was paralyzed. At that moment, it felt like a stone was sinking down into his stomach, one made of intense dislike of Ravus. Simply for the fact he was the one telling him of his father’s death. And perhaps, the tactical side of his brain whispered, the emperor had planned for this result. It made sense, for him not to like a former royal of a conquered territory. The Tummelts were made to serve the emperor after all. Better to not risk the only heir of the house turning traitor for the sake of something silly like friendship.

“Lord Tummelt, do you understand what I’m saying?” Ravus asked, his face also unchanging, but there was concern in his eyes. Loqi had just become unresponsive for a time after all. (And it deeply bothered him, just how young Loqi really was.)

However, it was the concern in Ravus’s eyes that pulled him back. He snapped back into his body and nodded.

“Yes. I understand,” he said mechanically, “Will that be all?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Ravus said, and he watched as Loqi returned to his sparring.

And if he noticed the 15-year-old was more vicious from then on, he said nothing.

~

A few months after that, he returned home. Home, where his father would never return. Where his mother had passed away from illness. Where he was alone, aside from those who now worked for him. There was a horrible hollow feeling in his chest. He’d felt it before as a child, but never to this extent.

He didn’t like it.

Part of him debated on asking Ravus, now a respected colleague and no more, to send for Lady Lunafreya. To see if she could pull what could only be described as sickness from his heart. But in the end he didn’t. Rather, he went into his father’s study and summoned his father’s- no, his retainers to him. To teach him the paper work and responsibilities his father had left him and let himself be lost in that work for a while.

But it wasn’t enough.

Soon enough, once he was proficient enough in his responsibilities, he requested an audience with the emperor and requested to be sent to war.

“I want to serve as my father did, in service to you and your glory.” He said, arm crossed over his sternum and bowed at the waist.

The emperor laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. Rather, it was one of fondness. “And so, his son is already prepared to swear his service and don his mantle. Your father did not lie when he said that you might be the brightest mind to come from house Tummelt.”

The Emperor hummed, seemingly in thought. But then answered. “Granted. You’ll start your new duties in a week. See to it that you finish all necessary paperwork and ensure that your responsibilities will be seen to while you’re away.”

“Thank you, your radiance.” He said in reply, truly meaning his gratitude. Knowing that he would be away from home, and risking his life, somehow made the hollowness recede. If only a little. “House Tummelt, as always, lives for the glory of the empire.”

With that, he was dismissed and immediately went to work doing as the emperor asked.

~

“My name’s Loqi Tummelt. Pleasure to be working with you.” He nodded his head to the woman he’d be working with for the next few months. Behind him stood one of his combat trainers, simply here to observe his actions and report back how he handles himself in live combat. So, he didn’t introduce himself.

“Shiva’s frosty ass, they sent us a kid.” Aranea shook her head and turned away, a strange look on her face. “Well. As long as you can keep up Tummelt. Name’s Aranea. Welcome to the crew.”

With her, he settled into himself. Her men became people he could trust unreservedly. They’d talk long into the day, and then greet the night and find the demons that were required. He threw himself into battle after battle, with each one becoming more and more alive. But it would always recede back into hollowness.

It was also with her that he first felt defeat.

With gasping breaths, and blood pounding in his ears, he fell to his knees.

They had been separated. Ordered to assist a frontal assault mission gone wrong. Aranea was off fighting with simple soldiers of Lucis. He on the other hand, ended up locked in battle with the immortal. He hadn’t meant to, at first. He and his trainer were just supposed to slip away from battle, and stay out of sight of Cor. But then something burned inside him, making him the hotheaded and headstrong kid he wasn’t supposed to be. He wanted to fight him. And before he knew it, he’d shouted at him, challenging him and throwing himself at the man while his trainer tried to talk some sense into him.

It hadn’t ended well of course.

He used his sword to hold himself up, not willing to endure the embarrassment of falling forward. Before him walked Cor the immortal, face just as blank as his was. However, their eyes held different emotions. Loqi never felt so alive, even with what he was sure was death walking toward him. Death on the immortal’s sword was an honorable one. The only thing he regretted was that his house would end with him.

But the hollowness was gone.

He glared upward at the man, and watched as he raised his sword, never breaking eye contact. But then, to both their surprise, he lowered his blade and replaced it in its sheath. He then leveled a stare at him that slightly unnerved Loqi.

Loqi was used to being able to read people. But the emotions buzzing in his chest after years of not feeling them made him unable to focus enough, so the strange look in Cor’s eyes scared him a little. But he only responded to that feeling with a glare. However, Cor’s gaze seemed like he could see through all of Loqi’s bullshit. That thought made Loqi both angry and hopeful in equal amounts.

(Please, please let someone see the hollow thing eating me.)

But the Cor shattered that hope.

“You shouldn’t charge in so recklessly. That’s the quickest way to be killed.” He said.

He’d left then, ignoring the insults that Loqi was screaming at his back. He was angry, upset about the small hope he’d felt, after years of feeling empty, being stripped away so callously. It was then, right after Cor was out of sight and Loqi finally allowed himself to collapse, that he swore that Cor would die by his hand.

Because how dare he give him that hope.

When he awoke, he was in one of Aranea’s camps. The battle was over and already the hollow feeling was back. She revealed that his trainer was killed by Cor after he’d passed out. But when she said it, she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the floor, but she was glaring. As if the words she said tasted bad in her mouth. She was lying. Cor had walked away.

But he said nothing and agreed to write his report on what happened. He left out that he’d seen Cor leave, and was pronounced proficient for combat since he’d outlived his trainer on the field.

Soon enough, once that was settled, months turned into years with Aranea, two to be precise. And eventually, when the hollowness came back and became too much to bear, he handed in a request for a general’s position.

To his surprise he was promoted and assigned to frontline assault rather than simple demon collection, with his own battalion of MTs to command. And when he left her side, he briefly entertained the thought that she must act like an older sister does, and thanked her for everything.

~

He becomes known for being reckless, but deadly on the battlefield. Headstrong, and able to stand up to the marshal.

(He begins to think that the Marshal, judging by the advice he leaves him with after every battle, one day wishes to be killed by him.)

~

He sat on the walls of Lestallum late at night, staring out into the darkness. A soft sigh left him. The feeling of hollowness was worse than ever before. He felt cold. He’d always thought it was just the ice around Gralea that made him cold, or the altitude of the airships. But no. Even here on the ground, in arguably the warmest place in the world, his hands were like ice, and he could barely suppress the shiver in his shoulders from making itself known.

“Loqi?”

Cor’s voice came from behind him, and when Loqi turned, he placed a hand on his shoulder. Loqi’s eyes flickered to his hand and then back up to his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched, and that was all the sign that Cor needed these days. His hand ever so slightly tightened on Loqi’s shoulder, meant to reassure, but also keep him from ‘falling’ off the wall. He then guided him away from where he sat and made sure to stand between him and the edge.

As if Loqi would be so dramatic as to fling himself off the wall.

Cor had been the first one to broach the topic, with Aranea being unable to, no matter how she wished. She had explained his tendencies. His actions. His moods. His thought processes. And Cor had pieced it together. Loqi didn’t feel hollow. Cor said disassociating was common in soldiers, especially ones who had started as young as they had. And that was only a small piece of it.

He also explained why Loqi only ever felt alive when in danger, and Loqi had hated him for a while for it.

But now, when they got down from the wall, Cor took his hands, holing them between his own. Occasionally, he’d blow on them, trying to warm them with his breath. It worked for his hands, and he felt less cold. But also, Loqi noticed that when he did this for him, the place in his chest didn’t feel so hollow anymore.

A hint of warmth was there now as well.

“Come on Loqi, let’s go find Aranea. Maybe she’ll share some of that Tenebraen whiskey she found.” Cor suggested. And while Loqi couldn’t bring himself to talk just yet, he nodded.

He didn’t follow Cor, but rather Cor matched his steps, so he wasn’t forced to try and keep up with the taller man. And upon reaching the barracks where they called home, Aranea, Biggs, and Wedge were there to welcome him.

[nights-nonsensical-ramblings]

whats ur stance on the wheels vs doors debate?

when i first got this ask i thought it was probably a shit post and just your general run of the mill tumblr nonsense, but something told me there was more to this ask, so i looked up the door vs wheel debate and...

Holy shit, how did i not know about this, i enjoy pointless debates, i live for arguments that have no true consequence to them. i love seeing people go to insane lengths to prove their side on mundane disputes

thank you anon for bringing this to my attention and sending me down this rabbit hole of what truly is a wheel, and what can you reasonably call a door.

so buckle up i havent chosen i side yet, so im gonna to extensive lenghts to decide my stance and thus the hill i shall die on

alright so my first order of business was to find out what counts as a wheel or door. 

WHEEL:  a circular frame of hard material that may be solid, partly solid, or spoked and that is capable of turning on an axle

DOOR: a usually swinging or sliding barrier by which an entry is closed and opened also : a similar part of a piece of furniture

but most people would say that: in general doors can be walked through and wheel are on vehicles 

(with some exeption that i think most people would argee on, like cupboard and locker like things for doors and potters wheel/ game show wheels type thing (idk how to simply catogarize those things) for wheels) 

now that i have that infomaton i can get a better idea of what im doing

so looking around the room i’m currently in i can see 12 definate no doubt doors and 12 sliding windows that could be called doors by the definition i gave but it is bit of a stretch and if asked someone they probliyl wouldnt call it a door, so ill put a pin in that for now.

looking around the room again this time for wheels i see 8 definate wheels and 8 fans which dose match the definiton i gave but yet again most people don’t look at a fan and think “hey thats a wheel” 

ill have to expand my thinking.

to the rest of my school! so my school had 6 houses and about 350 lockers each. so that’s 2100 door already. and theres about 50 other lockers so 2150 doors just by lockers, and then theres the bathrooms like each bathroom at my school has and average of 6 doors illl say and maybe 10 bathrooms acrosss the school so another 60 doors. and the class rooms? they all have doors, and many of them have cupboards or side rooms so like 3 or 4 doors a class room and who knows how many class rooms we have? 

and then theres all the offices and hidden store/mantenence rooms.all the kitichen cupboards we have like 4 or 5 kitchens.  then we have all the padock gates, all the shead doors the 21 doors for just one aviary complex

HOLY FUCK I FORGOT THE PHONE LOCKERS we got like a thousand of them

and that’s just 1 school

it’s not looking good for wheels here and im definatly leaning towards doors]

but granted i have been unfair to wheels, a school is a stationary place so not being many wheels isnt that unexpected.

so where do you expext to find wheels? vehicles. and what do most people have? a car.

so your average car has 6 wheels,( 4 in use 1 spare, 1 steering) but also 6 definate doors (boot, front, 4 side) and then you could count all the various compartment doors way out numbering the wheels.

that’s all that i could think on the initial rant from the top of my head.

im pretty sure im on TEAM DOORS

and a common saying i have is: “one of the best way to prove a theory is to try and disprove it.”

 so lets look at some other peoples arguments, shall we?

one argument i found that was in fact a verry good argument was “wheels get replaced a lot” and this nearly stumped me, sure there are a lot of doors but with wheels being replaced a lot would the number of door be enough. my thoughts where an unsure yes.

but then i checked the origional question again. 

“do you think there are more doors or wheels in the world?”

its all in present tense. if a wheel is replaced the old one is probably gonna get destroyed in some mannor and thus, no longer be a wheel

 and to try and bring in past and future doors and wheels that are not currently in existance must be the result of a desperate reach.

so that argument holds less water now, and granted not every wheel thats replace will get destroyed, but certnaly not enought to tip the balance in wheels favor.

one thing i can see threatening team doors is all the tiny toy cars they dont have an equiviant door like with cars, but im kinda sure doors from else where can counter act that but i cant say for 100% certain.

but for me this is all in good fun and if we can find for certian which has more i shall acept it.

ok wow this turned out long. im not done with this debate but im gonna leave my initial thoughts here.

for now.

[blackhatcoven-blog]

30 days of Aphrodite, Day 6

Since I already posted Sappho’s hymn to Aphrodite, here is Hymn 5 by Hugh E. Evelyn-White: 

To Aphrodite[1] Muse, tell me the deeds of golden Aphrodite the Cyprian, who stirs up sweet passion in the gods and subdues the tribes of mortal men and birds that fly in air and all the many creatures [5] that the dry land rears, and all that the sea: all these love the deeds of rich-crowned Cytherea.

Yet there are three hearts that she cannot bend nor yet ensnare. First is the daughter of Zeus who holds the aegis, bright-eyed Athena; for she has no pleasure in the deeds of golden Aphrodite, [10] but delights in wars and in the work of Ares, in strifes and battles and in preparing famous crafts. She first taught earthly craftsmen to make chariots of war and cars variously wrought with bronze, and she, too, teaches tender maidens in the house [15] and puts knowledge of goodly arts in each one's mind. Nor does laughter-loving Aphrodite ever tame in love Artemis, the huntress with shafts of gold; for she loves archery and the slaying of wild beasts in the mountains, the lyre also and dancing and thrilling cries [20] and shady woods and the cities of upright men. Nor yet does the pure maiden Hestia love Aphrodite's works. She was the first-born child of wily Cronos and youngest too,1 by will of Zeus who holds the aegis, —a queenly maid whom both Poseidon and Apollo sought to wed. [25] But she was wholly unwilling, nay, stubbornly refused; and touching the head of father Zeus who holds the aegis, she, that fair goddess, swear a great oath which has in truth been fulfilled, that she would be a maiden all her days. So Zeus the Father gave her an high honor instead of marriage, [30] and she has her place in the midst of the house and has the richest portion. In all the temples of the gods she has a share of honor, and among all mortal men she is chief of the goddesses.

Of these three Aphrodite cannot bend or ensnare the hearts. But of all others there is nothing [35] among the blessed gods or among mortal men that has escaped Aphrodite. Even the heart of Zeus, who delights in thunder, is led astray by her; though he is greatest of all and has the lot of highest majesty, she beguiles even his wise heart whensoever she pleases, and mates him with mortal women, [40] unknown to Hera, his sister and his wife, the grandest far in beauty among the deathless goddesses —most glorious is she whom wily Cronos with her mother Rhea did beget: and Zeus, whose wisdom is everlasting, made her his chaste and careful wife.

[45] But upon Aphrodite herself Zeus cast sweet desire to be joined in love with a mortal man, to the end that, very soon, not even she should be innocent of a mortal's love; lest laughter-loving Aphrodite should one day softly smile and say mockingly among all the gods [50] that she had joined the gods in love with mortal women who bare sons of death to the deathless gods, and had mated the goddesses with mortal men.

And so he put in her heart sweet desire for Anchises who at that time among the steep hills of many-fountained Ida [55] was tending cattle, and in shape was like the immortal gods. Therefore, when laughter-loving Aphrodite saw him, she loved him, and terribly desire seized her in her heart. She went to Cyprus, to Paphos, where her precinct is and fragrant altar, and passed into her sweet-smelling temple. [60] There she went in and put to the glittering doors, and there the Graces bathed her with heavenly oil such as blooms upon the bodies of the eternal gods —oil divinely sweet, which she had by her, filled with fragrance. And laughter-loving Aphrodite put on all her rich clothes, [65] and when she had decked herself with gold, she left sweet-smelling Cyprus and went in haste towards Troy, swiftly travelling high up among the clouds. So she came to many-fountained Ida, the mother of wild creatures and went straight to the homestead across the mountains. After her [70] came grey wolves, fawning on her, and grim-eyed lions, and bears, and fleet leopards, ravenous for deer: and she was glad in heart to see them, and put desire in their breasts, so that they all mated, two together, about the shadowy coombes.

[75] But she herself came to the neat-built shelters, and him she found left quite alone in the homestead —the hero Anchises who was comely as the gods. All the others were following the herds over the grassy pastures, and he, left quite alone in the homestead, [80] was roaming hither and thither and playing thrillingly upon the lyre. And Aphrodite, the daughter of Zeus stood before him, being like a pure maiden in height and mien, that he should not be frightened when he took heed of her with his eyes. Now when Anchises saw her, he marked her well and wondered at [85] her mien and height and shining garments. For she was clad in a robe out-shining the brightness of fire, [89] a splendid robe of gold, enriched with all manner of needlework, which shimmered like the moon [90] over her tender breasts, a marvel to see. Also she wore twisted brooches and shining earrings in the form of flowers; [87] and round her soft throat were lovely necklaces. [88]

And Anchises was seized with love, and said to her: [91] “Hail, lady, whoever of the blessed ones you are that are come to this house, whether Artemis, or Leto, or golden Aphrodite, or high-born Themis, or bright-eyed Athena. [95] Or, maybe, you are one of the Graces come hither, who bear the gods company and are called immortal, or else one of the Nymphs who haunt the pleasant woods, or of those who inhabit this lovely mountain and the springs of rivers and grassy meads. [100] I will make you an altar upon a high peak in a far seen place, and will sacrifice rich offerings to you at all seasons. And do you feel kindly towards me and grant that I may become a man very eminent among the Trojans, and give me strong offspring for the time to come. As for my own self, [105] let me live long and happily, seeing the light of the sun, and come to the threshold of old age, a man prosperous among the people.”

Thereupon Aphrodite the daughter of Zeus answered him: “Anchises, most glorious of all men born on earth, know that I am no goddess: why do you liken me to the deathless ones? [110] Nay, I am but a mortal, and a woman was the mother that bare me. Otreus of famous name is my father, if so be you have heard of him, and he reigns over all Phrygia rich in fortresses. But I know your speech well beside my own, for a Trojan nurse brought me up at home: [115] she took me from my dear mother and reared me thenceforth when I was a little child. So comes it, then, that I well know your tongue also. And now the Slayer of Argus with the golden wand has caught me up from the dance of huntress Artemis, her with the golden arrows. For there were many of us, nymphs and marriageable2 maidens, [120] playing together; and an innumerable company encircled us: from these the Slayer of Argus with the golden wand rapt me away. He carried me over many fields of mortal men and over much land untilled and unpossessed, where savage wild-beasts roam through shady coombes, [125] until I thought never again to touch the life-giving earth with my feet. And he said that I should be called the wedded wife of Anchises, and should bear you goodly children. But when he had told and advised me, he, the strong Slayer of Argos, went back to the families of the deathless gods, [130] while I am now come to you: for unbending necessity is upon me. But I beseech you by Zeus and by your noble parents —for no base folk could get such a son as you —take me now, stainless and unproved in love, and show me to your father and careful mother [135] and to your brothers sprung from the same stock. I shall be no ill-liking daughter for them, but a likely. Moreover, send a messenger quickly to the swift-horsed Phrygians, to tell my father and my sorrowing mother; and they will send you gold in plenty and woven stuffs, many splendid gifts; [140] take these as bride-piece. So do, and then prepare the sweet marriage that is honorable in the eyes of men and deathless gods.”

When she had so spoken, the goddess put sweet desire in his heart. And Anchises was seized with love, so that he opened his mouth and said:

[145] “If you are a mortal and a woman was the mother who bare you, and Otreus of famous name is your father as you say, and if you are come here by the will of Hermes the immortal Guide, and are to be called my wife always, then neither god nor mortal man [150] shall here restrain me till I have lain with you in love right now; no, not even if far-shooting Apollo himself should launch grievous shafts from his silver bow. Willingly would I go down into the house of Hades, O lady, beautiful as the goddesses, once I had gone up to your bed.”

[155] So speaking, he caught her by the hand. And laughter-loving Aphrodite, with face turned away and lovely eyes downcast, crept to the well-spread couch which was already laid with soft coverings for the hero; and upon it lay skins of bears and deep-roaring lions [160] which he himself had slain in the high mountains. And when they had gone up upon the well-fitted bed, first Anchises took off her bright jewelry of pins and twisted brooches and earrings and necklaces, and loosed her girdle and stripped off her bright garments [165] and laid them down upon a silver-studded seat. Then by the will of the gods and destiny he lay with her, a mortal man with an immortal goddess, not clearly knowing what he did.

But at the time when the herdsmen drive their oxen and hardy sheep back to the fold from the flowery pastures, [170] even then Aphrodite poured soft sleep upon Anchises, but herself put on her rich raiment. And when the bright goddess had fully clothed herself, she stood by the couch, and her head reached to the well-hewn roof-tree; from her cheeks shone unearthly beauty [175] such as belongs to rich-crowned Cytherea. Then she aroused him from sleep and opened her mouth and said:

“Up, son of Dardanus! —why sleep you so heavily? —and consider whether I look as I did when first you saw me with your eyes.”

[180] “So she spake. And he awoke in a moment and obeyed her. But when he saw the neck and lovely eyes of Aphrodite, he was afraid and turned his eyes aside another way, hiding his comely face with his cloak. Then he uttered winged words and entreated her:

[185] “So soon as ever I saw you with my eyes, goddess, I knew that you were divine; but you did not tell me truly. Yet by Zeus who holds the aegis I beseech you, leave me not to lead a palsied life among men, but have pity on me; [190] for he who lies with a deathless goddess is no hale man afterwards.”

Then Aphrodite the daughter of Zeus answered him: “Anchises, most glorious of mortal men, take courage and be not too fearful in your heart. You need fear no harm from me [195] nor from the other blessed ones, for you are dear to the gods: and you shall have a dear son who shall reign among the Trojans, and children's children after him, springing up continually. His name shall be Aeneas,3 because I felt awful grief in that I laid me in the bed of a mortal man: [200] yet are those of your race always the most like to gods of all mortal men in beauty and in stature.4

Verily wise Zeus carried off golden-haired Ganymedes because of his beauty, to be amongst the Deathless Ones and pour drink for the gods in the house of Zeus — [205] a wonder to see—,honored by all the immortals as he draws the red nectar from the golden bowl. But grief that could not be soothed filled the heart of Tros; for he knew not whither the heaven-sent whirlwind had caught up his dear son, so that he mourned him always, unceasingly, [210] until Zeus pitied him and gave him high-stepping horses such as carry the immortals as recompense for his son. These he gave him as a gift. And at the command of Zeus, the Guide, the slayer of Argus, told him all, and how his son would be deathless and unageing, even as the gods. [215] So when Tros heard these tidings from Zeus, he no longer kept mourning but rejoiced in his heart and rode joyfully with his storm-footed horses.

So also golden-throned Eos rapt away Tithonus who was of your race and like the deathless gods. [220] And she went to ask the dark-clouded Son of Cronos that he should be deathless and live eternally; and Zeus bowed his head to her prayer and fulfilled her desire. Too simple was queenly Eos: she thought not in her heart to ask youth for him and to strip him of the slough of deadly age. [225] So while he enjoyed the sweet flower of life he lived rapturously with golden-throned Eos, the early-born, by the streams of Ocean, at the ends of the earth; but when the first grey hairs began to ripple from his comely head and noble chin, [230] queenly Eos kept away from his bed, though she cherished him in her house and nourished him with food and ambrosia and gave him rich clothing. But when loathsome old age pressed full upon him, and he could not move nor lift his limbs, [235] this seemed to her in her heart the best counsel: she laid him in a room and put to the shining doors. There he babbles endlessly, and no more has strength at all, such as once he had in his supple limbs.

I would not have you be deathless among the deathless gods [240] and live continually after such sort. Yet if you could live on such as now you are in look and in form, and be called my husband, sorrow would not then enfold my careful heart. But, as it is, harsh5 old age will soon enshroud you — [245] ruthless age which stands someday at the side of every man, deadly, wearying, dreaded even by the gods.

And now because of you I shall have great shame among the deathless gods henceforth, continually. For until now they feared my jibes and the wiles by which, or soon or late, [250] I mated all the immortals with mortal women, making them all subject to my will. But now my mouth shall no more have this power among the gods; for very great has been my madness, my miserable and dreadful madness, and I went astray out of my mind [255] who have gotten a child beneath my girdle, mating with a mortal man. As for the child, as soon as he sees the light of the sun, the deep-breasted mountain Nymphs who inhabit this great and holy mountain shall bring him up. They rank neither with mortals nor with immortals: [260] long indeed do they live, eating heavenly food and treading the lovely dance among the immortals, and with them the Sileni and the sharp-eyed Slayer of Argus mate in the depths of pleasant caves; but at their birth pines or high-topped oaks [265] spring up with them upon the fruitful earth, beautiful, flourishing trees, towering high upon the lofty mountains （and men call them holy places of the immortals, and never mortal lops them with the axe）; but when the fate of death is near at hand, [270] first those lovely trees wither where they stand, and the bark shrivels away about them, and the twigs fall down, and at last the life of the Nymph and of the tree leave the light of the sun together. These Nymphs shall keep my son with them and rear him, and as soon as he is come to lovely boyhood, [275] the goddesses will bring him here to you and show you your child. But, that I may tell you all that I have in mind, I will come here again towards the fifth year and bring you my son. So soon as ever you have seen him —a scion to delight the eyes —, you will rejoice in beholding him; for he shall be most godlike: [280] them bring him at once to windy Ilion. And if any mortal man ask you who got your dear son beneath her girdle, remember to tell him as I bid you: say he is the offspring of one of the flower-like Nymphs [285] who inhabit this forest-clad hill. But if you tell all and foolishly boast that you lay with rich-crowned Aphrodite, Zeus will smite you in his anger with a smoking thunderbolt. Now I have told you all. Take heed: [290] refrain and name me not, but have regard to the anger of the gods.”

When the goddess had so spoken, she soared up to windy heaven.

Hail, goddess, queen of well-builded Cyprus! with you have I begun; now I will turn me to another hymn.

[gilliansanderson]

Kindred

Mildly nsfw. Mulder runs into an old X File while on the run.

A while ago i joked about writing a mulder/cryptid fic and i uh. did it. But it isn’t Nessie and it isnt Flukeman. It’s a little bit MSR angst. It’s very Mulder/other. Tbh i don’t know what it is.

P.S: This is my first attempt at the smuts so please be forgiving

She hadn’t believed in any God, until she had become one. She hadn’t believed in destiny either, until it had turned her into a party trick.

He told her the one thing he didn’t believe in was fate after she had found him in the city that never sleeps, sleeping in a rental car, blocking her driveway.

She believes that Kismet is nothing but some sick god’s sick joke, playing with the hearts of fools. She believed the twisted string of fate had stitched their paths together. She did not believe that it meant for anything good.

The least she could do was offer him her couch, she reasoned, since he was the only reason she had one, to begin with.

Jenn had never had a roommate before, it was not an unwelcome change. After four months they had discovered were equally terrible at living. They both forgot to clean the dishes and forgot to pay the gas bill and forgot to get mad at the other about it.

It happened one night in cold December, her boiler had kicked the bucket. They huddled in front of a space heater, nursing their flat beers.

The one thing she likes most about Mulder was that “We don’t talk about me,” was his one and only rule. Genies rarely get therapy, so she was ok with that. But she had drained the last of her Guineas and had a question she was itching to have answered.

“So, how’s the baby?” she said out of the blue, making him choke on his malt liquor.

“how did you…” he began, before realisation caught up with him and hit him square between the eyes. It was almost the same look people had always gotten when she would twist their careless words against them; she revelled in the nostalgia of it. “It was you,”

“Nah, it was all you, buddy,” she replied with a wry wink “I just helped you out a little,”

“But I didn’t… I used my last wish to set you free,”

“And you did. And I was grateful. You should also be grateful that you didn’t wish for me to stop being an all-powerful being,”

Jenn snorted at the look of sheer dumb awe on his face, at the cautious twinge of terror. “Don’t worry, I’m just your average gal with unlimited magical energy, who chooses to use it for the people I feel deserve it.”

Also maybe to win a scratch card or two. 500 years wrapped in a carpet doesn’t qualify you for much, and a mortal’s gotta eat.

“So? Our little wish?” she prompted, nudging his shoulder heavily with her own.

He pulled the picture from his wallet. The wish was cute, chubby cheeks and a bright tuft of hair, looking content in the arms of his mother, gazing him with pure adoration. Jenn felt a rush of pride at what was probably her finest work.

“He’s… perfect, Jenn, he looks just like his mother.” The corner of his mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile.

She doesn’t know what possessed her to place her hand on his, but he turned his palm to meet hers and gently squeezed.

An idea invaded her head as he gazed forlornly at the photograph, the mother and the son, and the empty space where he should have been. A wish, a twisted, terrible, fucked up wish. Utterly and completely sick and wrong. Jenn wasn’t entirely sure if it was his or hers.

She didn’t realise she was granting it until the freckles started to bloom on her skin.

Mulder, with the keenest of senses, noticed the most subtle change in the hand he was holding, and his head snapped up, startled.

“Jenn,” he gaped, his fingers continued to grip hers like a vice.

“I have a talent, Mulder, for predicting one’s deepest desire,” she murmured in a voice not hers, “You pick it up after the first few hundred years,”

He drank her in for a long while, eyes roaming over her, intense and unreadable, she had to stop herself from squirming.

“So,” breathed Jenn, “how did I do?”

The Polaroid is face down on the coffee table. Mulder’s free hand began to move, achingly slow, as if by its own accord, and pushed up the light blue fabric of her shirt. His fingers feather-light against her stomach, butterflies burst from their cocoons and began to flutter at his touch.

“She was shot, once. The bullet went straight through there,” he finally whispered, “It nearly killed her. It nearly killed me too,”

The scar formed on her skin and she watched his expression darken. nobody had ever looked at Jennie with so much longing, and she began to ache. Her shirt disappeared along with her inhibitions and there was suddenly very little space between them, as an arm snaked around her, he drew slow circles with his knuckles on the small of her back.

“She has a tattoo right there, I really fucking hate it,”

Fucked up. They were so fucked up.

She felt a phantom needle breaking her skin, and her breathing becomes shallow. The tension in the air was suffocating as he cupped the base of her neck.

“This scar is new, it happened while I was gone,” he travels down her spine, leaving a thin line of broken tissue behind, “Something about a parasitic slug,”

She let him discard her now ill-fitting bra the old-fashioned way. Mulder examined the subtle curve of her body with an agonising tenderness. “She has a birthmark here,” he said, as a thumb traced the underside of her breast.

“And a mole right here,”

Jenn stifled a moan as he pressed his lips softly against her collarbone.

“Here,” he whispered again, lips on her shoulder now, his breath tickling her neck.

“And here,”

She’d already counted for the mark on her lip, but that didn’t stop his mouth from brushing over hers. She kissed him hungrily, urgently, a frenzy of teeth and tongues.

The two of them so touch starved, they were ravenous. Pinning him to the unmade couch, her thighs locked tightly around his waist, grinding her aching wet heat against him as he hardened beneath his jeans. His hands were everywhere, on her breasts and in her hair and all the places he’d fixed. He found his way into her pants and they groaned into each other’s mouths.

His kiss became salty and she immediately broke it, halting the movement of her hips as she caught him wiping the tears of anguish streaming down his face.

Sick. They were sick.

“Mulder,” Jenn panted, catching her swollen lip between her teeth, “We don’t have to do this,”

“We shouldn’t,” he agreed, for a moment she was terrified that they wouldn’t, before he flipped her on her back.

He came inside her with Scully’s name on his lips. Maybe that should have bothered her less. Maybe it should have bothered her more. But the buzz of the post-orgasm high gave way to exhaustion.

When Jenn woke after what felt like a thousand years, her hair was dark again and Mulder’s clothes were gone.

She wished that she would see him again, if only to return the picture he forgot.