#that gives justice to how UNFATHOMABLE this man is

[kingofthewilderwest]

okokokokok last character bingo from me i swear but: Bill Monroe

Bruh, I love your prompts. XD Thanks for spamming!

I like doing Bill dirty. ;) that's what she said Bill Monroe is too easy to speak irreverently on! It's just because I love him! One of THE most characters of all time. Like how is that man even real?

[aechii]

₍₍ GiVE AND YOU SHALL RECEiVE ₎⁠₎

PAiRiNG ?! toxic!jude x toxic!blackfemreader

GENRE ?! angst

SYNOPSiS ?! jude thinks his nonchalance is acceptable, and finds no fault in it. but two can play at that game...

C/W ?! she/her pronouns used, unhealthy relationship, i made jude an asshole in this sorry not sorry, but he has regrets?, reader is just petty, break up *sobs*, reader deserves better

A/N ?! was gifted a prompt by @loadivine and it was love at first sight. i knew i had to write this fic immediately so all credit goes to them, thanks babeee ❤️ anyways, sit back and enjoy the hellish doings within a toxic relationship. hope i did it justice 🤗

~°~

[y/n] took pride, and found contentment in, the fact that jude didn't reside within the stigma of footballer, swearing by the truth and only the truth, finding no shame in being vulnerable and open with her as couples do.

so jude wasn't always like this. there was a time where the relationship was 100/100, both received and both gave love, found it much more beneficial to dissolve an argument as quick as it came into fruition. communication is key, and it was a virtue they both stood by, because at the end of the day, they lived together, and would have to conclude to a resolution anyways.

but now, [y/n] couldn't even consider jude as her boyfriend. couldn't look at the man that held a countenance so foreign and distant and proclaim that he was her's and vice versa. because frankly speaking, she felt vastly the opposite.

it was like jude was a dead weight, and she was forced to drag him along with all the other burdens that she had. the relationship now distributed at 0/200, [y/n] could slowly sense the demise of her patience, a ticking time bomb, but she knew she loved jude more than life itself, and letting him go- breaking up with him was heinous. unfathomable.

she was told, urged, to end things things with him. remembers crying to her sister the hour she came home from a night out with jude. they had both left the house with hands linked and returned without the other.

jude had found no wrong in the girl that had seemingly bonded her body to his all night, and when [y/n] had noticed, confronting him about it in the car, he turned a blind eye. offered no reassurance that whatever happened at the party was on the woman's own accord and that he wasn't to blame.

it was almost as if he enjoyed it.

"so how would you like it if a random dude followed me around the whole night, hm?"

looked at her as if he was listening, feigned attentiveness as he nodded calmly and said, "i dunno."

shrugged and began to recline his seat backward, sensing the crawling ache of sleep in his muscles. would rather doze off here than listen to his girlfriend rant about something he had no fleeting thought for.

he didn't have the intention to even talk to the girl outside the four walls of the grandeur hall. couldn't find it in himself to care about anything, really.

jude could hear the nipping anger as his girlfriend's eyebrows scrunch and she became more rigid.

"you dunno?"

"exactly what i said."

felt dumbfounded at his blunt response, as if he had physically forced tape upon her lips to keep her silent.

"you keep pestering me about shit that i couldn't give a flying fuck about, [y/n]. we are together, not me and her." voice had raised in attitude just an inch. riddled [y/n] in a horrid way and immediately snapped at him back.

"check your tone with me, jude."

"haven't done shit." his retort was quick and mortifyingly calm. remained with loosened flesh as he retreated into the cushioned car seat, closing his eyes.

"you're not going to sleep until we sort this out," [y/n] chastised. jude could honestly are less, though.

"watch me."

and she had indeed. looked on in disbelief as the man in front of her shut his eyes, arms enveloping his chest. whether to actual sleep, or to pull her leg, she didn't care. was completely done with everything to do with jude.

she hurriedly gathered her things in the car, muttering, "i'm so fucking done with your shit," before exiting the car with a vexed slam of the door. made the inconvenient but rather preferred idea to call an uber to her sister's house, which wasn't that much further from her and jude's. she would undoubtedly stay over for a night or two than look at the stranger she had called her boyfriend.

didn't have an ounce of care on whether jude got home safely or not. put her phone on silent as she sat at the back of the taxi, tears already permeating down her face. [y/n] could feel the stare of the driver from his mirror, but was too exhausted to reprimand him for his blatancy.

she didn't know what else she was expecting when she sought comfort from her sister. had heard all those words before, many a time, and although she knew her sibling was right, [y/n] couldn't muster up the courage to actually go through with it.

"it's either you settle all of this once and for all, or you break up with him."

she had wanted to laugh right there and then, remembering what had occurred when she had attempted to talk things out, a few nights before.

had asked jude to chat, to which he replied with a low, dismissive hum, it hurt more than she showed.

"jude."

his eyes didn't leave his phone, leaving his girlfriend frustrated. took matters into her own hands and snatched it from him, but received a minutely dazed jude, staring at his empty palm, sighing.

"what do you want, babe?"

the endearment sounded wrong, in all directions and in every twisted way. it made the girl scoff.

"babe? so now i'm your babe?" tone incredulous, [y/n]'s glare remained stitched to the side of jude's head.

he turned to her, face relaxed and composed, without a silver of care. found it within himself to feign the affection, however.

"what do you mean? of course you are! we haven't broken up, have we?"

it was not a question but rather a statement. urged to end the conversation right there and retreat to their room upstairs but [y/n] emanated persistence.

"well you're fucking acting like it," [y/n] retorted, "do you even care about me anymore?"

jude didn't think about his response, it was all habitual, second nature, " 'course i do."

his words triggered a disbelieving scoff from the girl beside him, "really?"

jude nodded and left it at that. picked at a curl in his fingers and started rolling it between his thumb and index.

his lack of reply irritated [y/n], face scrunched into an almost permanent scowl, "you're not even trying, jude! you barely acknowledge my presence or even talk to me. what the hell is wrong?"

shook his head and mumbled, "nothing."

"i'm not stupid, ju-"

interrupted by a man who, despite his laid back attitude, held so much vindiction. head slumped against the back of the sofa, eyes finding solitude in staring ahead rather than at the woman before him.

"maybe see that the glass is half full, and not half empty, [y/n]."

there's an inkling of dread, masked with confusion however, that stabbed the girl's heart at his insinuation. silently begged the heavens that what she thought is a product of stupid overthinking.

"what are you talking about?" wished it came out stronger and harsher, as intended, but only released as soft questioning.

"be happy that i'm still here- still with you. you're lucky."

if she had relayed his words to her sister, she knew she would've received a slap to the head. they were a flashing persistent warning sign that it was time to leave. that it was the beginning of the end. jude saw the relationship as [y/n]'s honour, something that would benefit her as long as she remained with him.

but this time around, [y/n]'s sister concluded her lecture with a sentence that had her younger sibling's mind scream fucking eureka!

"or you could do neither, and make him feel what you feel. return that energy, [y/n]."

+_-

jude couldn't conjure a reason as to why he had counted just how long [y/n] had been like... that.

he knew that something was off the second she had walked back in the house 2 days after their fight in the car. had not felt the rippling force of a slamming door, or the frustrated collision of keys upon wood.

everything was sedated. the vibe, especially, had plummeted down to a neutral level, and as much as it should've put jude at ease, he would've rather she had burst in, angered, than strolled in with not a vehement thought in mind.

but at that point in time, it wasn't anything he was deeply concerned about. pushed it in the back of his mind, just in case he had to retrieve it later, but everything came rushing back at an unforeseeable velocity that it gave jude whiplash.

on the scale of their relationship, [y/n]'s side seemed to have abandon more than half of its weight. as jude could slowly envision their sides levelling out as he began to plunge from his high, and she commenced her rise.

and then it became 0/0.

+_-

shamed him to say that it had been weeks since he has received any form of affection from his partner. it was baffling the first day he left the house the ritual kiss from his girlfriend. he may have not returned the sentiment, or said anything toward appreciating it, but he internally found it grounding. and without it, he feared a curse would come.

he was just about to leave for training, yet halted as he realised that he hadn't felt the remnants of his girlfriend's lips on his. turned around with a confused face and said, "no kiss?"

[y/n] had not lifted her attention from the phone in front of her, attentively watching a new episode of her current fave, "you'll be fine, jude."

"uh, no?"

she sighed, cocking her head as her face screamed apathy, "jude, you'll be late. just go."

still confused, jude left the house with the inkling feeling that things were to go downwards. yet kept the façade that he was unaffected, though he was palpably the opposite, and proceeded with the day. had thought that maybe she in a temporary sour mood, and things would turn around soon enough.

it never did.

+_-

"you're not listening to me, [y/n]."

the girl rolled her eyes lazily, "i hear you, jude. i'm just not in the mood right now."

the tv blared with another saturday night show, left jude severely disinterested, but [y/n] appeared invested.

"so when will you be all ears to listen to what i have to say?"

the girl shrugged and left his words unresponded to. annoyed, jude grabbed the remote from the sofa, shutting the tv off. heard [y/n] exhale exasperatedly, then felt his side of the couch dip as she arose from her seat.

"i'm going to bed then."

jude didn't give her time to step an inch away from her place, gripping her arm firmly as he spoke, "you're not going anywhere until we speak."

[y/n] began to maniacally chortle, and it slightly frightened the man behind her.

"oh, haven't i heard those words before."

realisation hit jude like a punch to the gut, and anger is the first instinct that overtook his thinking, "so you know what you're doing?"

"i'm not doing shit jude." yanked her arm out of the man's hold as she turned around to face him, "and leave me alone, for God's sake."

jude looked at his girlfriend incredulously, finding it hard to believe that the girl in front of him was acting unlike herself.

"speak to me, [y/n]," could hear the urgency in his tone but knew that there were more serious matters at hand, "we're a couple, we communicate."

"oh fuck off with that, jude," her words were visceral, eyes hardened into a seething stare.

"you didn't care when you were doing it to me, but now you know how it feels, all of a sudden, 'we communicate'."

the truth in her words left the boy dumb, looking at her helplessly as he tried to rummage his mind for words to say.

to tell her that he was sorry. that, although he never said it, he needed her as he needed air to breathe.

but pride, the downfall of men, was the manacle that chained him away from resolution. was well aware that he was in the wrong, but had too much dignity than necessary, and saying 'sorry' was almost bitter in his throat.

"you're being petty, [y/n]."

"and you're not seeing the real problem, jude!" stopped herself before her mouth lead her mind.

"you know what- i'm leaving."

mind sped to a screeching pause, and [y/n] almost laughed at the shock that painted jude's face.

"l-leaving? to where?"

hadn't planned for this to happen. it was all too ill-fitting in this timeline, everything was against them, yet he had no one but himself to blame.

"baby, look- i'm sorry, so sorry. we can fix this, just... don't leave, okay?" jude cupped his girlfriend's face in his hands, placing his forehead on her's, "i've been stupid, i know. i've been an idiot."

waited for the girl to reply, but could physically feel his heart compress into itself as her touch came upon his wrists, gently peeling his palms from her cheeks.

"let me go, jude."

"go where, [y/n]?! home is here... with me," jude insisted, feeling his voice crack. knew that where they stood were at different frequencies, and now he fought for something that was dwindling with no point of return. he had a chance in the past, but was foolish to not take advantage of it.

[y/n] didn't find it within herself to reply, walking away as she picked up her keys from the kitchen counter. jude was hot on her trail, locking her in a backward embrace.

"don't go, please."

she squeezed her eyes shut, sensing his authenticity as his despair siphoned into her skin. but she was so over it, over how he cared so late into decline of their relationship, over how selfish jude was every moment up until now.

his shit didn't faze him, until it came back to strike him tenfold.

"it's not worth fighting over anymore. you know this jude."

his arms loosened around her waist, resting dead by his sides. felt sickeningly weak at the inevitable, looming demise.

"so we're done?"

never would've [y/n] thought she would be hearing those words,.pertaining to her own relationship. but here she was, losing the man that had once had been knitted to her soul.

"yeah. we are."

[ackerifle]

paying the price in full!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem commander. reader

+ CW. — reverse power dynamics/power imbalance deadlock, insubordination, forced relationship, future attempted murder, implied past: rape/non-con & attempted murder, darling is also unhinged.

as of late, you have had this absolutely dreadful and utterly atrocious dilemma that has cost you an unfathomable amount of your otherwise invaluable time. far too many responsibilities regarding the survey corps require your attention, amongst other affairs that concern the other regiments and their respective leaders, including the commander-in-chief himself, and even the scarce — though equally as important — matters that involve the royal monarchy. with your title alone, it is needless to say how indispensable the essence of time has become for you, and it is a shame it must be wasted in such a pitiful way.

and although you’d hate to admit it, deep down you know this is your retribution, the price you must now pay for sending all those soldiers, or rather, your soldiers, to their early graves, to their preordained deaths. repenting for your sins, that you are… however, their sacrifices would not be in vain (not that you had ever believed they were in the first place), and there is not a single entity more vengeful than a soul left at unrest. and for you, it would be a thousand unhoused, and unrest, and unforgiving souls. but it seems their justice will be served, one that comes in the form of your most recent dilemma, also known as levi ackerman.

he is like an annoying pet that constantly pesters you for food, but instead of demanding that you give him food, levi demands that you give him your time, attention, and devotion, and occasionally your body when he’s feeling particularly needy. but today, it seems he only wants your attention, thankfully.

“don’t i deserve a reward for saving your life today?” oh, the nerve of this man—! “your reward is not being honorably fucking discharged for reckless insubordination.” levi doesn’t appear to be too happy at that.

“i’d watch your mouth if i were you. don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten who got you your cushy position as commander.”

of course, only humanity’s strongest soldier could mouth off to the 12th commander of the survey corps without severe repercussions— in front of the highest ranking officials within your division, no less. somehow, ever since you have been promoted to commander, he has gotten more brave and more bold, and infuriatingly audacious. you used to be embarrassed when he would lash out like this, especially in the eyes of your equitably venerated subservients.

what was once a speculating quip regarding your authority amongst your subordinates would in time develop into genuine concern over whether or not you had any semblance of control over their fellow peer, this single soldier of yours— and in all honesty, you don’t, not with this one, not in the slightest. the testament to your power within the recon corps runs dangerously thin these days, and it scares you.

sighing wistfully, or rather at a loss, you conclude the esteemed assembly by offering your gratitude for the well-behaved soldiers, “thank you all for your time today, meeting dismissed.” it isn’t that they particularly scurry out, but they excuse themselves with much greater haste than if levi didn’t happen to be standing at your side, glaring them all down with a cold stare that simply screamed for them to leave at his behest. not that he even made a move to leave upon hearing your dismissal to begin with, cocky bastard.

forcefully shutting your eyes, you press a concerned pointer and middle finger deep into the side of your temple as you roughly fall back onto the wooden chair behind you. had it not been for your beyond enervated state, you would have reacted irritably to the sharp pain of the armrests digging into your sides due to your careless seating. an irritated — but more so defeated — groan escapes through your clenched teeth when you feel the front of levi’s body press up against you from behind. and he must have been leaning into you with all of his might considering how intensely you could feel the rise and fall of his chest through the windsor back of the chair.

tentatively you open your eyes, and astoundingly, it isn’t the pressure of levi’s mischievous hands weighing heavy on your shoulders that first catches your attention, but the man standing undecidedly between the long table and the open door from across the room. and there is only one soldier who has the sheer gall and impertinence to dare witness your shameful willingness of submission to placate such an inferior officer’s delusions for himself. the very man who had brought to you the grand misfortune that was now draped all over you from the underground to the survey corps. his eyes linger, and you can’t tell if he watches out of pity or of guilt, you doubt even he himself knows… and he stays, even after the two of you have made eye contact, much to your chagrin.

“erwin, leave us.” your once vice captain, now entrusted as the current section commander, raises a doubtfully chary brow, but obeys nonetheless once offered a stern incentive to. you’ve long given up caring about how obnoxiously levi flaunts his possessiveness of you in the eyes of the blond, but you wished erwin would have the humility to at least look away. he is wise enough to close the door without being told to do so, you credit him that much.

at times like these, you damn erwin smith to hell. even if you have, regretfully, come to terms with the fact you’ve only yourself to blame for your own miserable circumstances, there is the vindictive part of you, the humanity somewhere deep inside you that the 12th commander does not have, that seethes with rage and ire when you remember what you’ve done, what you allowed him to do. it was erwin who proposed the absurd and asinine idea to recruit a trio of thugs from the underground that had the intent to murder you, and attempt to win them over. at the time, it was your predecessor shadis’ call, but it was yours to entertain their prolonged stay in the corps.

and despite your uncharacteristic apprehension when you had finally come face to face with the sole survivor after he had discovered his dead comrades, erwin had assured you that he wouldn’t let levi kill you, and he was right. but what happened afterwards was honestly far worse; during the grievance of his old life and the rise of his new one, levi had learned to love you. and now you were the only one facing the consequences. but you can’t be rid of levi now, certainly not, and you know, and you know that he knows.

otherwise, you would have put him to death long ago, just like the rest of your devoted soldiers. but there is something entirely inhumane about levi, surpassing the handful of gifted soldiers in titan kills, and surviving more expeditions than even the most well seasoned veterans. the thought of putting an end to his existence has, admittedly, crossed your mind more than once. when you’re at your wits end, and you feel you’ve taken no greater loss. but you know you can’t take him in a fight, you can hardly take him in bed, and quite frankly, you fear no bullet, nor blade, would ever be enough to do the job.

you stop your grisly reminiscing when you feel levi’s icy fingers dip into your collarbones, collecting the twine of your bolo tie in his hands before raising the beautiful blue jewel for his inspection, “ackerman—”

“levi,” he corrects, threading his hands around the dark brown cord, eliciting a pained wince from you when his thumbs graze threateningly, teasingly over your jugular, “—levi, enough.” you give the man an inch and he takes a damn mile. whether he intentionally ignores your warning to spite you, to get the rise and reaction out of you that he has since become so fond of; or because levi is simply distracted by the way his fingertips frivolously touch your body, you don’t know.

and you let him, you let him talk you into retiring to bed early, you let him lead you out of the conference hall to his office and then to his room, you let him undo the straps on your uniform, you let him tuck you into bed and arrange the bed sheets until you look perfect, you let him join you under the covers and hold you until it gets hard to breathe. you let him because you’ve made up your mind— and the only reason you’ve held your tongue and maintained your ill-composed patience for the night is because of how dearly you anticipate the new day’s expedition, the one where you plan to throw away any remnants of both yours and the survey corps’ success and dignity in exchange for abandoning humanity’s strongest soldier outside the walls by any means necessary.

[dreams-writings]

Reverse Interrogation - Part 1

[sub!Feitan Portor x top!Reader]

‼️ NSFW/MDNI‼️

Synopsis: For the first time in his life, Feitan fails an interrogation. Refusing to admit defeat and give up his perfect track record when it comes to his specialty, he begrudgingly allows reader to strike a bargain in exchange for her secrets.. and is shocked to learn what she truly wants. His body. Frustrated and furious with his predicament, he angrily accepts her conditions purely for the sake of the Troupe, agreeing to do as she says. No other reason...

Tw: eventual smut, torture, violence, NSFW/MDNI, vulgar language, Feitan gives verbal consent but still isn't happy with the situation/ (dubcon????)

Feitan's thin, pale fingers were as cold as his heart, a detail that all of his victim's vividly remembered. They always retold their horrid experience with the notorious Phantom Troupe interrogator with a glaze of shell shocked terror in their eyes. The graphic recollection of such chilled skin gripping and tearing harshly at their own flesh would make them sob even years later after the torment. That is, of the few that survived the ordeal. The man in question wasn't necessarily aware of this, he just did his job, striking an unfathomable amount of fear into the hearts of the unlucky few who crossed his merciless path, and whom were ordered to be dragged off to his eery torture chambers. He'd bring them all to the point they'd do anything in the entire world to escape it. Even giving up precious secrets, his most treasured prize for the effort.

He was nonchalant about it. Indifferent, even. Perhaps he could revel in the glory of it, just a bit - the assignment easily giving a man like him a power trip seldom found elsewhere in his youth. Anyone from Meteor City had been conditioned by a brutally unforgiving childhood.

His eyes might crinkle in delight beneath the mysterious cowl at a particularly profound scream, or those empty grey depths could also glimmer amusedly if they begged for his nonexistent mercy. But such was the nature of his upbringing. At the end of the day.. it was the pride of serving his Troupe which overruled any form of guilt or shame that a normal, perhaps more sane person could feel about butchering people into submission. He never failed an interrogation. And he didn't plan to start today, even as the woman before him.. his newest little nut to crack open, was giving him a challenge.

Someone who survived more than perhaps ten minutes was refreshing. But only at first - as he was about to discover. Feitan was accustomed to the disappointment of most human beings succumbing to their primitive instincts and fragility, interrupting his creative ideas at the worst time. It left him unsatisfied, and pent up. The confessions would soon follow after the initial wave of shock passed.. the pathetic blubbering and hiccuping sobs, as his victim unashamedly spilled their intel before he spilled more of their guts. A part of him pitied them. Only a small, miniscule part. But most of him loathed them, too. Not only for their weakness, giving in so easily... but also betraying whomever it was they worked for or served. Mostly, it was his judgement for their inability to endure. He could only think to himself at such times:

Really? That's all you can take? I could've done better in your shoes.. I wouldn't have broken so easily. I would never be a liability to my allies. How detestable.

In his opinion they belonged beneath his boot, to finally suffer the way they caused others to. Feitan trusted Chrollo's judgement. Always. He firmly believed that not one single innocent person had ever, ever found themself in his chambers beneath his vengeful will. An underground lair of hell, which Chrollo gave the order to utilize when a person was seen as fit for punishment. Another rotten pile of garbage and greed for Feitan to pick apart. He embodied a diety of unforgiving justice in his mind. Long ago, he'd stopped asking what the reason was, and just got straight to carving away.

Feitan was currently preoccupied observing today's victim. Except.. she wasn't really acting like a victim, so what was he to call her? Narrowed, steely grey eyes continued to dart up and down her feminine figure as if searching for clues to piece together a puzzle. He couldn't solve this one, not yet... Even his keen attention for catching any signs of weakness wasn't able to determine a chink in the armor. If he thought he'd found one and explored into it a bit, he was only met with the same resilience as before. Her heated, intense stare of defiance. A smirk began to play across his features, it wasn't often he maybe felt a glimmer of respect for someone in his chair.

"Tough girl. How you become immune to shock?" He asked, pausing to idly run a bloodstained cloth over one of his nasty metal tools. He tossed the mechanism back to a metal tray where it gave a harsh clatter.

A clever glint in his eye, he circled her similarly to a jungle cat closing in on alert prey. She snickered right back at him, and he quirked a brow, noticing the bizarre nature of her mental state. Or rather, it was outlandish to him, to see someone with freshly stripped fingernails acting so present and grounded.

By now, almost at this exact time in the routine, the animalistic "deer in headlights" look would appear as his victims squirmed and twisted to find an escape. Hyperventilating through a full bodily trauma response. But not her. She looked as casual as the first moment he forcibly sat her down... Expression careful and aware, but definitely not in the midst of a primitive meltdown. He couldn't help but feel a little bit of curiosity... And interest. He could treat someone like this as a human, even if his cruelty would remain the same.

He did so by talking to her. She was clearly sound enough to respond.

"You been trained? To handle your secrets like big girl?" He inquired condescendingly, pacing restlessly in front of her, looming over her with menace in his intent.

His ghostly slender hand reached forward to grip her by the hair, yanking on the tufts to force eye contact, and her face twisted into an expression he couldn't quite understand, her sharp exhale of surprise leaving a warm feeling tingling against his skin as it swept past his cheeks.

Stripped bare, she was panting lightly, a reaction he noticed. He kept his victims this way to understand them better - an expert in anatomy; he wanted to be able to take in every reaction. Every last possible weak point that could be weaponized or utilized to coax someone into unbearable agony. Being naked psychologically left an impact, making humans feel more vulnerable and insecure through the interrogation process. Subsequently, it urged them to feel cornered and small in more than one way, and let their treasured secrets slip all the easier.

But this wasn't what he was looking for. She wasn't gasping with pain or flinching away. Instead, her soft pants left her cheeks flushed red. So what was going on?

"You could say that," she purred. "Is it frustrating? You haven't had to really work for this before, have you?" She mused.

The way she was looking at him made his skin crawl just a bit. Mostly because he really legitimately couldn't read her face, and he found that unnerving. He was used to total control in this environment. Given the circumstances it should be something totally different - so how was he supposed to understand her at all? He watched a gash on her face ooze slowly with more blood, a little droplet finding it's way down to the ice cold basement flooring with a faint pattering echo. The woman was unphased by his demeanor apparently.

Feitan just sort of stared after such comments, calculating towards her with a hint of annoyance creeping into his gaze. Was she taunting him? For a moment he second guessed it because he couldn't determine why someone in their right god damn mind would mock a life threatening predator actively approaching with a set of torture tools in hand. Not to mention, she was helpless and restrained. Was she bluffing? Either way he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she most definitely was batshit crazy, based on how there was seemingly no logical gain in being so bold.

"...Can't feel pain. As much. Can you?"

After a pause this was all he had said. Coming to this final conclusion, realizing that his vigilant eyes hadn't missed any signs after all. Initially he had thought she had gone through some sort of intense training in pain endurance, for the sole purpose of keeping her sacred, crucial information safe. But now he was realizing what he was actually dealing with. He'd broken trained torture survivors before. Easily. They always reached their limit eventually. This was different.

"That's right!" She chimed. "You finally got it, darling. I can feel pain but my nervous system doesn't work the same way as yours.. my pain receptors aren't very intense. So you're playing a losing game here. Tell me though, will you give up? Is this it for you, little sadist? Or are you the creative type~?"

He watched her give him a once over, smug expression still plastered to her features as he felt himself essentially being sized up. He wasn't sure how he felt about it other than the fact he didn't like it.. Feitan believed her close observance of him from head to toe was probably a show of her humiliating him. Maybe searching for weaknesses the same way he knew how to do.. and he hated that possibility. Who was she to reflect his behavior? She MUST be thinking up insults about him silently, that he was too short or something.. the very idea made his blood boil.

This infuriating concept made him loom closer to her, his intimidating nature taking over while his eyes bore daggers into hers. Mere inches away from her face, this was how he typically issued a challenge without speaking a word. Most people would fall apart and quiver with terror being subjected to inescapable closeness with him. Yet another unexplainable reaction followed from her instead, and his eyes darted down at the first sight of movement, noticing she was squirming and rubbing her thighs together under his fierce stare. He didn't put two and two together; he just watched, dumbfounded, unsure if maybe she was attempting to break free to no avail.

"There's more than one way to get information out of someone, you know~ but I get the feeling all you know how to do is rip people apart. The easy method. Boring. You want my suggestion-?"

"Shut up," Feitan snarled ferociously, offended and disgusted with both her and the situation, unable to stop himself before he found his hand wrapping tightly around her neck, violent fingers locking over her jaw in a vicious grip. He hated all her irritating chatter, it made his temper flare. But even more than that, although he would never admit it.. he just hated that she could take away what made him feel the most powerful and secure, simply by existing. He wasn't threatening or scary to someone if he couldn't cause them pain. And he struggled to accept that. It didn't fit in place with his comfort zone.

Gurgling, her eyes squinted with pain, but to confirm what she'd just said.. indeed, a normal person would be screaming, and this was bearable for her, even if fairly uncomfortable. His inhuman retractable claws were digging into her soft skin, causing beads of blood to appear beneath five piercing knives. Quickly, the wounds turned into crimson streams. Yet, she wouldn't yield.

Unfortunately, her time spent suffocating in his merciless grasp also gave him enough time in silence to come to another realization. He let go, instantly - watching her drop back down with a hunched head, coughing and spluttering for air.

He could accidentally kill her this way because her body and mind wouldn't be responding with the queues he needed to go by in determining her state of mortality, and likelihood of death. How could he make a judgement call without the signs he was used to expecting? He could tell when someone was close to death, based on indicators of their shock levels.. all a complete circular link between the psychology and physiology of pain.

He was completely seasoned in his job to the fullest degree. But this wasn't a normal situation, not one he'd ever dealt with. She couldn't necessarily tell him or maybe even understand herself if she was dying.

Shit... her body wouldn't freak out or sense danger. It would just remain in a perfectly neutral state. One second she would be breathing and the next her heart might just fail on her. Normally Feitan didn't have any qualms about killing but when it came to interrogations, death meant that the victim's intel died with them. Taken to the grave. To him, that was equivalent to failure.

And so.. the delimma was quickly dawning on him. He could continue, and risk killing her by accident, therefore ensuring the intel he sought was forever out of reach - or, he could stop and suffer the shame of admitting defeat.

Unacceptable... both were unacceptable. He could only stand momentarily and glare at her maliciously for the predicament she was causing him, a sudden stirring feeling of true hatred arising in his chest. Why was it, then, that there was perhaps more of that same respect from earlier appearing simultaneously? Well.. he must be unable to ignore her strength here, and found himself inwardly acknowledging her impossible feat of enduring his trials. No other human being had ever done the same.

"You will tell me. Tell me what Danchou asked for." He was making an attempt to assert his normally compelling willpower, his intimidating aura leaking into his nen which flared along with his irritability. Right now, he was fairly pissed off, the signs beginning to appear around his frame through a visual residue of nen.

"Maybe I will," she purred again towards him. He paused, surprised yet again by her, unsure if she was being serious. He would've easily taken that in as more mockery but just now - she sounded quite sincere. What was he supposed to say? He wasn't going to ask HER what he had to do for it. His pride wouldn't permit that. She needed to play by his rules in his domain.

But as a result of his confusion he was only left with a loss for words, eyes narrowing into slits as he attempted to piece her apart with his mind. Figure out what she was going on about. Nonetheless, she took the silence as opportunity.

"Take me back to your leader and I'll strike a deal with him. He makes deals, doesn't he? I'll tell you everything if he can give me what I want."

Feitan ridiculed her with that same silent stare, making it clear he was displeased with her request. She shouldn't even get the option when nobody else in her shoes ever could. She was just lucky.. just special because of some random offhand ability she either developed over time, or was born with. So why did she deserve special treatment? What, was she going to ask for a red carpet down here next as she was escorted out? He wasn't going to ask about her weird pain tolerance nor did he care. It was just an annoying hurdle he was finding himself truly aggravated with.

"Fine. But Danchou not an idiot. Most likely end up back with me.. will get you to talk. Eventually."

The only reason he agreed to this was because he was legitimately concerned about accidentally killing her. He was known for his brutality, and early on in his little career he had actually sent people into a premature grave through panic induced heart attacks. His torture techniques had to be modified and drawn out, to prolong their time in the chair and eliminate the chance of losing potential classified information. He knew what to look for, to determine when to back off temporarily. He just hadn't seen it from this woman.

Not to mention, he had carved her up pretty good already. Deep, clean slices decorated her skin in vertical designs where he had experimented for quite a while, attempting in his endeavors to find just one place where her pain was significant. Nothing had been found, and as a result, her blood loss was considerable.

Wordlessly, he made his final decision, cutting her loose from her bonds and noticing her give a shudder at the cold blade. Leaning forward towards him, a tension became present now that she was being freed, an absolutely electric presence in the surrounding air. Goosebumps raised beneath where his fingertips smoothed over her wrists, and he raised a brow, assuming it was the discomfort of cold. "Pretty," she hummed in a strangely sweet tone, and he straightened up, staring at her again in a mixture of confusion and exasperation.

"Your hands," she clarified. He just deadpanned at her. A moment passed, and she would only earn a snippy little "tch" from him in response. His eyes flickered back to her face upon hearing her chuff in amusement at his dismissal, and again he realized just how god damn nuts she was. Clearly, not even slightly afraid of him. He frowned, spiteful at the fact.

As if to make a point, his so called "pretty" hands were what he used to harshly yank her out of the chair by the scalp, dragging her across the floor to go speak with Chrollo. How could she even possibly think that about such hands, which were designed to only ever harm and kill? The amount of blood these hands carried upon them.. it could drown a person. Or several. Such a comment like that made him almost concerned for her. Or rather, it would if she was someone he cared for. He did not. Feitan was definitely judging though.

If anything, her delirious behavior was perhaps the only present sign of her being unwell... Maybe this was how the strain on her body was presenting itself even if she couldn't feel pain. That had to be it. Her compliments couldn't be genuine. This was psychosis of some sort.

He was grumbling and growling under his breath as he kept tugging on her to keep up with him. She wasn't heavy by any means but he was annoyed to even be lugging her weight around. She was a tricky bitch in his opinion and he didn't trust her one bit - not even enough to stay put in the damn chair while he went to ask for Chrollo's input. "Stop" he snarled, the second he watched her open her mouth to start speaking. So instead, she just giggled softly, blood smearing all over her legs from being dragged across the stone cold floor.

Despite his warning, she spoke anyway, and he groaned.

"What do you think I'll ask him for? If I won't cave under the torture.. surely you must be wondering what's worth all my fun secrets."

"Don't care," he stated back flatly. He gave a particularly mean tug on her hair this time, knowing the tension against her scalp really wouldn't cause her much distress anyway. He could do what he wanted.

"Oh c'mon, surely you're curious ~" she hummed. He just sighed, refusing to play her game anymore.

It didn't take long to get her back into the entryway of the hideout where the entire Troupe was sitting around idly.. likely waiting for him to finish up. After all, whatever he found out was going to determine what the group did next. It was part of the pressure he was feeling at this time. He felt himself mentally melt away a little bit, consumed by shame as all other pairs of eyes turned to witness him. Him, in his state of failure.

He noticed all at once the individual reactions - Machi's frown of impatience and the confused yet interested tilt of Shalnark's blond head. Chrollo stood up, and approached. His eyes were always empty yet watchful. He could make sense of the situation amidst the silence within mere moments. "Everyone, please give us some privacy for a moment," he called to the others in his usual collected, calm tone. His diction was consistently elegant and composed. Feitan had always admired it.

He was having a hard time coping with embarrassment however, preoccupied with the difficulty of tolerating an emotion that he hated. Being ashamed or feeling bad about anything at all could make him terribly irritable. The others figured it out eventually, but it made him difficult to communicate with at times, on top of the language barrier. They'd just get snippy retorts and the usual scornful glare out of him if they tried to dig at it. Chrollo was the best person to handle this anyway, seeing as he was entirely unphased by Feitan's personality quirks.

Once the others had cleared out with a few grumbles and sighs, deciding not to comment on the abnormal event of Feitan bringing a victim back up with him, he growled and tossed the girl forward at his boss' feet.

"Won't talk. Some kind of weird pain immunity. Can't continue.. could kill her. She want bargain for secret."

His explanation was short, eyes lowering down to glower at her beneath his boot, giving her a solid kick in the back for the hell of it just because he was mad about what he had to do. He was suffering such humiliation because SHE was too stubborn. Anger helped him feel better about admitting defeat to someone he looked up to.

The woman just squirmed under his heated eyes, legs writhing together like they had before in the chair. He still really didn't like those eyes she gave him from beneath half lidded lashes, as it made him nervous. He didn't get why she always looked like she knew something he didn't. Chrollo watched this scene unfold as well, any changes in his expression so subtle that they were hardly noticable, and past any level of observance. Even the slightest glimmer of amusement in his eye was quick to vanish as he easily pieced apart the situation with a few context clues. He spoke quietly and nonchalantly to the girl, calm gaze lowering back down to her level.

"It sounds like we have no choice but to cooperate with her, Feitan. After the extensive damage done to her body, one might even say we're lucky she's willing to compromise."

Don't praise her for such a stupid thing, Feitan nearly hissed out loud, but kept the thought reverberating in his head instead.

The raven watched his leader lower to one knee, observing her, and he then gave her one of his lifeless smiles before asking:

"What do you suggest we should trade, for your precious intel? What do you value?"

He waited, glancing up at Feitan to note how utterly furious his second in command was, the man was practically exuding steam out the ears. Chrollo wasn't upset by any means in this situation, but he could also understand why his counterpart was struggling with it.

The woman straightened herself up, having patted down her hair once Feitan let go, and she gave the Phantom Troupe's leader a coy smirk. She didn't hesitate to respond with a bold demand.

"Let me fuck him,"

"I want him. Your interrogator. Let me do as I please with him for a while, and he'll be my pretty new toy. I promise not to harm him, and he'll be returned to you in the same condition as he is now. If not perhaps a little bit more relaxed."

She lifted her eyes to hungrily drink in the sight of her captor. Chrollo couldn't help but chuckle softly, purposefully taking a moment to witness Feitan's reaction in real time.

He had to admit, this whole ordeal had his full interest now. The leader had already known where this was going the second the girl was dragged in, utterly unapologetic with the squirming and flushing red body every damn time her captor touched her. The look she gave him was one of desire, whenever she basked in his visage. All behavior that Chrollo understood from women, and he knew Feitan did not. In fact he was sure this was a complete blindsighted smack to the face for him.

She gave a little rocking motion of delight at the mere thought, and Chrollo raised a brow, seriously considering her offer. It was a simple one. So, she just wanted sex. But he understood right away that this was out of his hands. He already made a pact with himself long ago that he would never sacrifice the human dignity of his members for personal gain.

Maybe, though.. he could help his friend out with this one and take the bullet. The truth was that Chrollo wouldn't mind at all, he'd utilized his good looks in the past to get what he wanted for his personal goals, and it was really no hindrance to him to do it one more time.

"So you want pleasure? Rather than just him, I can assure you that I'm another willing candidate for you, and with significantly more intimate experience at that. Would you take me instead?"

"No-"

She began. Except, it was two people who spoke at once. The woman was about to completely reject the idea, but Feitan was already shaking his head.

"No, Danchou. You should not take consequence for my failure. My responsibility to fix."

Chrollo sighed, realizing this could now officially go one way and only one way, due to Feitan's stubborn rigidity. Even if he'd be pissed about it for easily a full week. Feitan would rather suffer any other punishment than let down his Troupe. It was connected to his personal pride and priorities. Chrollo knew this, of course.

"Well, Feitan? Do you agree? You won't be allowed to resist or argue, if you do. You would have to allow her to have her way, if we want to complete an exchange."

Poor Feitan however, was not on the same page. In fact, they'd left him behind by a significant few paces, his brain still working in overdrive to process what the fuck she just said a minute ago. What she just asked his boss for. He quite literally couldn't fathom what was happening or why. Who would want him? And no less, why the hell was Chrollo so quick to immediately consider such a bizarre request? There HAD to be more to it. Maybe she was trying to get him into a vulnerable position, to kill him. This couldn't be right.

"Feitan?" Chrollo asked again. The skull crested cowl around his face covered the view of his jaw hanging slightly open in disbelief.. but it certainly couldn't conceal his mortified eyes, round as stoplights.

"......I, I..."

He almost reverted back to his first language in this instance as he failed to find the words. How could he, when presented with such an unbelievable situation? What could he even do.. or say? How did he even feel about it? He wasn't sure. Too much at once.

At least, the woman was actually quiet as he sat there, dumbfounded and flabbergasted. He shuffled uncomfortably, feeling his face quickly heating up into what was probably a jarring bright red flush. His ears felt hot.. his cheeks were burning and his hands went all clammy. He wouldn't say it but he was scared.

Nonetheless, what came out of his mouth after a few agonizing long minutes passed, said differently.

"Fine. Whatever it takes."

"Feitan.. if you don't want to.."

"Stop it. This my job in Troupe. Let me do job."

His fists clenched, and he stuffed them into his pockets as he noticed the girl's clear satisfaction with his answer. He sneered right back at her, after seeing her snicker. He sent Chrollo a glare, truly feeling like his boss was pimping him out in some strange way. Was this even reality?? In what world would this even happen?

"I'll be so good to you~" the girl hummed sweetly, tantalizingly snaking an arm around his leg. Feitan shoved her off, but not before stiffening at her touch in surprise. He didn't know how to accept touch of any kind and he was more afraid of this right now than even something brutal, like her hurting him back. He'd have agreed much easier if she just suggested that instead. At least that was familiar.. whilst this was foreign.

"Alright. The deal is made. But you won't be leaving this place until you fulfill your end of the bargain, Miss, so long as Feitan also follows through. Now, I don't think you intend to cheat... Your interest in my interrogator seems genuine. But if you try to find any loopholes we'll likely kill you for it. Oh. And Feitan reserves the right to step away if you harm him. Understood?"

The girl nodded eagerly, standing up finally on weak knees. "So.. is that your name then beautiful boy? Feitan? What a lovely sounding name." She wobbled, eventually swerving on her right hip to reach for Feitan, arm wrapping around his slender waist to steady herself. Again, he stiffened at her closeness, expression tightening into discomfort. So then, why.. why did he simultaneously experience a sudden stirring in his lower stomach? Hearing her coo his name in such a sugary sweet way was also a completely new sensation. He didn't think anyone had ever spoken it like that before.

His eyes widened slightly in horror at the realization of feeling butterflies and jittery warmth in his stomach. Of course. He couldn't just ignore what was inevitably coming - what terrifying task he had committed himself to all for the sake of preserving his pride. Like one may try and avoid an intrusive thought, he was trying to cast out the idea that he'd.. well.. he'd be feeling inside of her quite soon. He'd never felt a girl like that before.. wrapped around him, and..

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding before and blinked to clear his head.

"What are you looking at" he hissed menacingly at the woman after catching her oggling him again, yanking her up by the forearm to drag her back to the damn basement designated for interrogation. Not to torture her now.. but.. to do whatever unsightly things she demanded. He chose the same room purely because it was designed specifically to block out noise. He didn't know what might happen, but... He didn't want anyone existing in this proximity to have even a slight audible hint of what was happening. This was a secret he was taking to his fucking grave.

Well, he could at least continue to brag about his perfect track record of successful interrogations, even if he was technically doing it the reverse way this time. He would simply have to bare with the constant embarrassment of knowing Chrollo witnessed this happen. Chrollo would know he stooped this low. But at least, he wouldn't have to suffer the constant belittlement and teasing from his allies. They could be brutal about that.. like siblings. Chrollo would likely have the decency to keep this under cover. Between the two of them.

"And don't hurt her either, okay Feitan?" Chrollo called back out to his interrogator as the small but strong raven hauled her away. He didn't respond, he just growled in frustration under his breath, already having assumed that was part of the exchange. No more torture.

He didn't know what he should be prepared for, and to be quite honest he felt almost faint as they entered the cold basement of the abandoned building in tense silence. The woman tried standing again, gripping for his hand as she pulled herself up.

"Unless you want blood all over you, I need to be patched up. And then I want you on the bed. Understood?" She asked.

Feitan gave an exhale, heavier than usual. Now that they were alone again he could ask her about her nonsensical request.

"you.. why would you..."

"Did I say you could ask questions?" She leered. And his gaze immediately hardened into a glare. He said nothing, knowing if he entertained his rage with a response, he'd probably only escalate from there. He was quickly learning he despised being told what to do from someone other than Chrollo.

"Good boy. I hope you know... I'm not intending to make you do everything for me.. I just want to please you, and watch you squirm a bit. That's all."

He was having a difficult time understanding her motives still but it might've been the haze of fog that clouded his mind after her next statement.

"That doesn't sound so bad, right? Sitting back and relaxing while a nice girl rides on you.."

His breath hitched as he felt her arms suddenly wrap around him, pressing herself into him by the hips to overwhelm him with her scent, and her voice.

"I'll make you feel so good that everyone in this building will know what's being done to you~"

And Feitan shuddered. Her whisper made his knees a little bit weak.. but he was also fucking petrified. Women never got this close to him on purpose. He may not be willing to admit it to himself, but for a brief moment at that time, he faltered... Truly terrified indeed that she was right. He just might break.

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way (Dark Ending): Going Under Part 5 (Finale)

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Spotify Playlist

Summery: After you give birth to Ellie in the cabin, Joel fins you and Tommy, besting Tommy in a fight. What happens to you? What happens to Ellie, Tommy, Lorenzo and the rest of the family Little One has acquired? How does Little One learn to cope with her new reality? Does she fall into the darkness that surrounds Joel and all he touches? Can Joel really change for you and your daughter?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING, graphic violence, murder, manipulation, the horrors, Joel being Joel, Tommy being kinda pathetic, Joel's weird sexual fantasies, breeding kink, abuse of power. Just.... all the bad.

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Joel watched the man struggle the chair he was tied to from where he stood in the basement of the stairwell waiting for you. The basement was dark, but a single light shined on the man. Alex was his name, a long term member of his group since years before you had come into his life. 

Earlier today, his wife had come to Tommy with a beaten and bloodied face claiming Alex had beaten her. Tommy spoke to neighbors, one of which had relayed she had heard shouting and Mrs. Cane crying from the house that night. This was enough for Tommy; no woman was beating her own face to falsely accuse her own husband. So, Tommy took him to the basement of his little jailhouse, leaving him in the chair for Joel. Tommy was the sheriff, but Joel dealt out justice. 

Not without your approval, of course.

When he heard the door to the basement open, Joel quickly walked up the 4 short steps to help you down. 9 months pregnant, you were ready to pop any day now with your third child. The day in the alley, the day Joel burned your father alive in front of you and you had allowed him to release inside you, you had conceived your son. He was 5 now, little Ellie dragging him and Able on adventure after adventure (mostly trouble). She was a leader, for sure. The name given to the little boy was what Ellie would have been if she was a boy, Caleb Thomas.

Since then, June had given birth to her and Tommy’s second child, Carly Jade, who was 2 months now; you and her had enjoyed a pregnancy together, taken care of by the two brothers. 

Joel aided you down the stairs, not willing to risk harm from even such a short fall. His protective nature never dwindled, even as you came into your own as the town leader. Things were going well, your little town taking on more and more production from farming and recently had been able to work on making textiles. Joel didn’t understand why you had insisted on spending so much time developing the sheep farm, until you had begun trading wool with other towns. In Wyoming, this was valuable.

 After the town’s people had been taken care of, you had begun facilitating trade outside of town. People were hesitant, of course, giving Joel’s reputation but once they met you, things went better. You were demoure, peaceful, empathetic, and your whole life you had to learn to be what people wanted from you. It was the result of unfathomable trauma, but it came in handy. Make no mistake, you were not going to be taken advantage of, not with Joel or one of his men standing by you at all times. Now that the sheep were going well, the next project was to increase the cattle. Calving this season had gone well and several cows would be ready for slaughter this summer and you wanted to put the cow hyde to use to make leather.

Only problem there was no one knew how to turn cow hide into leather. It was frustrating to say the least. Last year you’d been forced to slaughter a cow that had broken its ankle. It was younger, not quite adult yet and you would have liked to have seen it fed more, but there was nothing to be done at that point and you’d have to make use of what you could. One of the men had attempted to make leather, but it hadn’t gone well at all, the leather not strong enough to make jacket’s and shoes and boots like you had wanted. It was turned into a saddle and a few belts and that was that. Zach would have known, but you never learned that much. Tommy told you what you needed. You needed Jackson. Jackson had been blessed with a leather-maker and a cobbler; someone who could turn that leather into reliable boots. Problem was, Jackson didn’t trade with you. You hoped this would change today. You were meeting Maria today; she had agreed to come out to Jackson with the promise of wool just for meeting, seeing as you couldn’t exactly travel an hour out in your condition.

But first, Alex Cane.

“Hi little one, you look beautiful.” Joel greeted you with a kiss.

“Thank you, Joel.” As you take the last step, you turn on the light.

Alex laughs dryly. “Jesus, of course it’s you two.”

You tsk, tsk, tsk. “I’d like to say I thought better of you, Alex, but… I didn’t. I was wondering when you’d slip, honestly.” Alex was one of the men who had been mean to you at the house, and definitely one who had been prepared to rape you if you hadn’t been saved by Tommy. You had wanted him dead for a while now, but refused to abuse your power. Men like this would always out themselves. 

“I didn’t do shit.”

“Well your wife sure didn’t do that to her face herself.”

“She’s clumsy!”

“Sure.”

Alex turned to Joel “You’ve gone fucking soft, Joel! I’ve been with you for a decade, and now you want me dead just because your bitch-”

Joel stabbed him in the leg. “Don’t fucking talk about her like that!”

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” His laugh was dark and sardonic. “I know I’m already dead. It’s kind hypcrital of you, don’t you think? No rape, no beating women. What do you call what you did to her?” Alex nodded over to where you stood. This wasn’t the first accusation of hypocrisy Joel had gotten, and he did not care. He was Joel fucking Miller, and he did what he wanted. “At least Katie was an a grown ass woman, she was a fucking child when you brought her here, now she’s just as psychotic as you!” Another stab.

“Joooooel” You whine. “You keep at that he’s going to die before the fun begins.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Joel draws you in, taking your mouth in his and wasting no time shoving his tongue down your throat. You can’t help but rub your pelvis against his leg. 

“God I’d suck you off right here if I didn’t have to get to the meeting.”

Joel knew what this did to you. After he killed, he was always rewarded with stellar sex. It turned you on, knowing what’d do for you and your family. Alex continued groaning in pain in th background.

“Mmmmm” he groaned. “C’mon, we don’t need Maria.”

“We do, I can’t keep fixing that hole in your shoe forever.”

Joel grumbled but helped you up the stairs. “So that’s a yes on killing him?”

“That’s a yes, thank you for all you do, baby. I might be a little late tonight. After the meeting I have to make sure Mrs. Cane is settled. Might move her to a different house if she wants, one with fresh memories for her and the kids.”

“Sounds good, I’ll have diner ready. Tommy going with you to see Maria, right?”

He never did trust Maria. Their beef went back further than you, or even Tommy. “Yes, dear. Not in the room, but he’ll be there.”

Joel nodded, giving a deep kiss as he sent you on your way. “I’ll check on the kids after I get cleaned up, don’t worry ‘bout them.” June was in charge of the childcare center. Figuring out a schooling system was proving difficult, but you were working on it. It’s not like the kids really needed to learn about George Washington anymore, but you wanted an educated populace as the town grew. Reading was essential, so you were all starting there, plus numbers. It was better than nothing. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

Joel swatted your butt as you left, and you turn around to see a prominant erection in his pants. Joel always killed more brutally when he was turned on, so you always make sure to work him up nice and good. Joel lets you leave out the door, and you smile at Tommy waiting for you. 

“Ready to see your ex-girlfriend, Tommy?” You tease him.

Tommy groans. “Not really, but if it’ll help Esperanza, I’ll do it.”

Tommy was a key member of keeping this town running. Women and children felt safe with him, his kind eyes easing them they way he always eased you. Tommy was better working with Joel instead of against; they made a good team, and between you and Tommy, you had managed to calm down Joel’s edge. 

Joel hadn’t changed, he’d aged. It had been almost ten years since Joel had taken you; a night that seemed so far away now. In his early 50’s Joel was far from weak. He was brutal, strong, impossing, but his anger had calmed down over the years, especially after Ellie’s birth. There had been a few nights Joel had gotten carried away in bed, days where his anger surged but you refused to allow your life to go back to what it had been. Your knife was on you all day every day; a gift from Joel all those years ago when he swore to you he’d do better. When Joel acted up, you took out your knife and reminded him that you had stabbed him before, way back in the cabin after giving birth to Ellie, and you would stab him again. You reminded him of your children, and now that it wasn’t just your life on the line anymore. You’d fight for your children.

You didn’t want to kill Joel. You could, easily. He slept next you to every night with your knife on the bedside table and it would not be hard to slice his throat… but you didn’t want to. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love him, first and foremost. You did, and you had for a long, long time. You enjoyed his company, he made you laugh, he cared for you when sick or pregnant or tied. You life as a housewife was over; your work was in town, although you certainly still helped run the household. Joel took on more of the childcare and you did more cooking, but that’s beause of your indiviual skills and enjoyments. Joel’s work with Ellie had taken her from a preme to a girl who was reaching physical milestones almost always ahead of time, so you let him take the lead on that. Cooking was your forte and you enjoyed it, so you did the evening cooking. Cleaning and housework was split, although Joel was doing more right now with the pregnancy.

There was also the fact Joel was the father of your children. Ellie and Caleb and now the impending birth of Loretta or Soren (hopfully this week) you wanted them to have a father. Tommy was not an option anymore, and you didn’t want him to be. He and June were very happy together with Able and Carly, and you were happy for them. You loved your niece and nephew very much, and they were under yours and Joel’s protection as much as your children were under theirs.

You knew if something happened to Joel, Tommy would be there for you, but Tommy would never be your husband. Even if Joel and June were out of the picture, you and him had a different bond now. Tommy was your brother, not a lover.

But also, Joel was essential to your town. He still did raiding, but that as slowly fading away in favor of running as a normal town. Of course, the brutal exicutions would never fly in Jackson, but that was the standard that had been set, and you were happy to see the improved enviorment in Esperanza.

Tommy escorted you into the room Maria was in. She was standing, although there were chairs at the table.

Maria greeted you, and then Tommy.

Tommy smiled shyly. “Maria, been a while.” Tommy had not seen Maria since the night he left with you. Being trapped back at the house for months prevented him from going, but he managed to send word out. Tommy was always good at persuading people. 

Maria showed no bitterness. “Sure has, heard you had a few kids of your own now, congratulations.”

“Congratulations on yours too.”

Tommy excused himself and closed the door, although he was behind the two way mirror; Joel’s condition for allowing you to meet alone with Maria.

You spoke first. “Thank you so much for meeting me, Maria.” You attempted to sound as gracious as you could, your social skills having been carefully honed in. Over the years, many people under Joel’s rule hadopted to leave their homes in order to join Esperanza, the community you had built being better than the failing farms. The more people in town the better, and you prided yourself on present a good front in contrast to Joel’s horrors.

“Thank you for having me, but I’m afraid as I’ve said, I have no interest in making deals. It’s not personal, it’s policy. Wool won’t by me out.”

“It’s not to buy you out.” You implure. “It’s for you to hear me out, will you at least do me that?” You implore with her.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying if I don’t agree, you won’t give me the wool?” 

“No.” You were quick to assure. You didn’t not play game, you tried to foster goodwill. “The wool promised should already be loaded on your horse, I won’t take that away. I would like to have a good faith conversation, if possible, but the wool isn’t contingent on that.”

Maria stayed silent for a while, looking at you now and you knew she must be curious to the change that had happened. “Contingent…” she muttered. “Big word.” You are put a little on defense, retorting that you can and do read, but she only watched you before shaking her head. “Jackson doesn’t deal with raiders.”

A little frustrated, placing your hands down on the table and leaning in as you press on. “But I’m trying to move away from that!” Can’t she see your vision? How can you make her understand what you’re trying to do? You had caught her attention.

“What do you mean?”

With vigor, you take the oppritunity to plead your case, to let her in on what you and Tommy had been planning, what everything that had happened since the day Joel promised you a town had been leading to. “I want to end the raiding. It’s slowed significant, you have to have noticed that.”

She had. “You’re telling me that Joel Miller is going to hang up his gang? Not happening.

“Oh god no.” You laughed. “Never. But his focus has shifted. You don’t understand Maria, but he’s my muscle. I’m running the show. This is my town, everything happening here I built. Joel answers to me.”

At the very least, she was listening. That’s what you need, just a window… “And where does Jackson come in?”

“We still have needs. A lot of needs. Things have going well but one harsh winter and everything could fall apart. The more resources we have, the better chance we have of staying standing. I need this leather. I need to be able to use the hydes we have, we need to be able to utalize every single resource we have. We aren’t asking for materials, we’re asking to learn. My hope is within a few years, to pull the last of the focus away from raiding completely and use the man power to our to the ranch. No more raiding.”

Maria watched you. You felt on display but were determined not to crack ands she mauled over her thoughts. “You’ve grown up a lot, you know.”

“I know.” You did. At 28, you were far from the girl you were when Joel took you. 

“It’s impressive, everything you’ve done here. It really is.”

“Thank you. It was all for Ellie.”

“You know… Whenever I hear your name, or get a message from you… I think of that first day…”

You shuffle in your seat a little… you didn’t like thinking about that. “Yeah.”

Maria shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d last a month. You were so young, so fragile…”

“I get it.” 

“Then a year later you show up on my door and you look like you got trampled by a horse.”

“Maria”

“The absolute shit beat out of you and 8 months pregnant and I here you give birth and Joel finds you? I thought there was no way you make it, absolutely no way someone like you-”

“Someone like me?”

“Would make it through someone like Joel.”

“I’m not-”

She leaned in. “What the hell happened?”

You sigh. “Same thing women have done for centuries, Maria. Look, I’m not you. However you got where you are, that’s great, but that has never been my position in life. Joel is crazy, Maria. He still is. I have freedom now but I can’t leave. So I did what women of powerful men have always done. I use sex and charm to manipulate. I had a baby, I gave him his daughter back so I became this saint to him, I brought a miracle, and I still am.” You rub your swollen stomach. “Maybe I’m fragile, maybe I’m weak and I always have been, but I don’t think so. I survived the worst possible things someone can go through, horrible, horrible things that I know damn well you have not experienced, Maria. But I fucking lived. Not just surviving, I lived. I have a good life, I provided a good life for my kids, and I created a world here where women and children do not have to suffer like I have. That’s what I'm trying to do here, and I do not think that is fragile, that’s not weak, and that’s not little.”

Maria just sat there, watching you talk as you asserted yourself. You had a lot of pride for what you’d built here and you did not appreciate her looking at you like a child. “Send word when you’re ready to slaughter, I’ll send out a few men and they’ll teach you” She stood up, making her way to the door. 

You are a little in shock, but scramble to follow after her. “Wait, what do you want in return?”

Tommy catches you as you head towards the stairs, helping you down as Maria get’s to her horse.

Maria climbed on the saddle now loaded with the promised materials. She turned to you. “Just feed the guys, give them lodging. If you wanna give them a thank you that's great but I won't require anything for the town.”

You blink up at her, bewildered. “Wait, really? Why…”

Maria smiled at you. “You’re doing good here. It’s impressive, and I want to see it flourish.” She nodded at Tommy and went on her way.

Tommy put an arm around you and kissed your head as you leaned into him. “Great job, honey. I’m proud.”

“Thank you.” You smiled. You were proud of yourself too.

*

Joel held you in his arms as he always did after a bath. Both of your hands were placed over your stomach as the thunder storm rolled outside. You’d done the unspoken promise, giving him the ride of his life after the kids were put to bed, and it seemed the baby inside you was very active. Joel loved feeling the little kicks, just as he did with Ellie, feeling her very first kick. You and Joel finally had a chance to talk about the day, and you told him that you’d be getting the help from the tradesmen. Joel expressed his pride to you fervently with his mouth, both in words and between your legs.

Joel kissed your neck. “Beautiful mami… can’t believe how much you do while growing another baby.” 

“I couldn’t do it without you, Joel” and you couldn’t. Everything was built with the help of your family, you were just the leader.

An exceptionally loud crack of thunder made you jump, but Joel’s hands steadied you.

 “I got you, little one.”

“You always do.”

You lay your head back on his warm chest, starting to drift off into sleep when the door opens. The door crack revealed Ellie, propositioning Caleb in front of her.

“Caleb’s scared of the thunderstorm.” Another bought of thunder revealed it was Ellie who jumped, not Caleb.

You began to move off Joel’s lap, and he aided you before coaxing the kids over. “Would you guys like to sleep with me and mommy tonight?”

Ellie still tried to put on a brave face. “Um. Maybe for a little bit.” Then quickly added. “Just to make sure Caleb is okay.”

“Sure, baby girl.”

The subsequent lightning saw both children scrambling to their parent’s arms. Ellie situated herself between Joel and you, cuddling up in your arms as Caleb took his place in his fathers arms. 

You think back to all those years ago, those horrible, horrible months after Joel took you back, how you thought Ellie hated you. You were so certain she’d grow up and turn against you, but your daughter adored you. The two of you were very different, that much was obvious. Even in the throws of pregnancy and hard work you preferred to wear dresses. Joel still brought you home nice clothes and still dressed you, although you had to make sure they were practical. Ellie on the other hand was pretty much strictly pants and t-shirts. While Ellie had no interest in cooking, she liked to sit and watch you while the two of you talked. She spent a lot of time with Joel as well. Joel was determined to make sure she could defend herself and taught her how to shoot just as he did with Caleb, but Ellie had more interest. He saw leadership in her he wanted to cultivate. 

Caleb was a lot like Tommy. He was a follower, and would fight for Ellie to the death. He was strong, but was more of a joiner than a leader. That was okay, not everyone could lead, but Caleb was a moral center. He was gentle by nature, and despite being younger than Able he was protective of Able as well. Able often found himself in trouble. Not that he was a bad kid, just adventurous and without Ellie’s forethought. He was a good kid, through and through, and often tried to take the fall for Ellie and Able despite everyone knowing nothing was his idea. He was no coward. You had worried Joel wouldn’t care for son, that he wouldn’t bond, and you were nearly certain if Ellie hadn’t come first, he wouldn’t have felt much of a connection, but because Ellie had fulfilled the role of his lost daughter, there was room now for a son. Joel loved him dearly, even if Caleb didn’t have the same interests Ellie did. Caleb was close with Tommy, and June too, and Tommy often spent time with Caleb when Joel took Ellie and Able to the things they enjoyed. Caleb liked to watch Tommy work, and was June’ biggest helper in school.

As the kids and Joel fell asleep, you stayed up just a little bit longer just to watch them. Years ago, you never thought this life was possible for you. Not even just with Joel, but with long before. Your dads abuse left you feeling like you had little value, like there was little hope for a life outside the abuse. 

But you had found it. You found a family and a community even if it wasn’t exactly Cinderella. Your husband was insane and had done horrible things to you that you could never fully forgive, but really, what did that matter now. He had his outlets now and had provided a life to you that you could not help but be thankful for. You loved him. You couldn’t help it. Not when he was so gentle, so strong, so handsome, so protective…

 You had a strong, powerful daughter that took no shit and was running the world around her. You had a son who was displaying the best and most positive traits of the men in your life. You had a third child on the way that was so far healthy and a niece and nephew you loved so fucking much. You had Tommy, a brother-in-law you could now depend on in a way you hadn’t before. Tommy had been idolized by you, a prince charming that never really delivered. Now, however, Tommy had come into his own. He was no longer under Joel, he prospered as his own husband with his own wife and children. You had June, your lifelong best friend, who was right beside you and was thriving as a teacher and mother.

The only thing missing were your brothers. You missed them, you missed them so fucking much it hurt sometimes and you spent a lot of time at their grave. You hoped every day you made them proud. Zach and Lorenzo’s last words to you had been to take care of Ellie, and god you had tried. You told Maria you had built this town for Ellie, and you had… but always in the back of your mind you had built it for Zach and Lorenzo. It was to honor them. Many times you found yourself at their grave that Joel had moved to Esperanza, you just cried and told them you were sorry. You’d done so much for your family and for your town, but none of it would bring them back.

But there was no time to dwell. Joel and Tommy could not sit and mourn Sarah. Tommy could not sit and mourn Jack and Lorenzo. June could not sit and mourn Zach. You all had a life now, a world, a town, children. Life finds a way. 

So you press on. You cry and then press on. But you never forget any of them. Still, despite all the loss you look at the world in your bed right now, your growing family and your family next door.

Despite the horrors, despite the loss, you had a good life.

Finally, you were happy.

*************************

This really didn't end up as dark an ending as i meant it to be, but i guess it's just the fact joel one. In the canon ending everyone loses, honestly, bt joel reaped the fruits of his bullshit. He lost his wife, child, and brother

plus, zach and lorenzo are ded ;-;

but, honestly, what an improvement for little one and those kids? she's really come into her own and im so proud <3

thank you sooooo much for the support!!! I will be taking quite a break from writing anything in universe, but as always I welcome thoughts in any of the time lines!!!

What am i working on now? My lastest dark joel series is a handmaids tale au, blessed be the fruit.

want dark! reader x dark! joel? try guard dog (more coming soon!)

and a dark!triple frontier fic that may ormay not be gettng a part 2!

@pimosworld @rubyfruitjungle @moriartyyouwhore @k-ra @the-fox-den @jenna-ortega @alwaysmicado @lunar-ghoulie @ladynightingale @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maura-honey @fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @miraclesabound @koshkaj-blog

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

From one of Canada's three major papers

OPINION

Spare me: Prince Harry’s claim of victimhood doesn’t quite fly

PHOEBE MALTZ BOVY

SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL

Copies of Prince Harry's new book Spare at a shop in London, on Jan. 10.CHRIS JACKSON/GETTY IMAGES

348 COMMENTSSHARE

BOOKMARK

Phoebe Maltz Bovy is a contributing columnist for The Globe and Mail.

Some – and I’m among them – argue that rather than being a way to promote social justice, so-called wokeness is about maintaining the status quo. A system of rules and manners that might seem progressive is in fact a cover for material inequality.

One could not design a better example of this than Prince Harry, the world’s premier nepotism baby. In his new memoir, Spare, Harry (he abhors snobbery, so let’s drop the “Prince”), bolstered by therapy, offers himself up as a courageous opponent of stiff-upper-lip upscale Britishness. He’s a modern man, in touch with his feelings. And he’s had it with archaic royal protocol, especially the bit about giving the kingdom to the elder son. Fight the power!

The biggest bombshells coming out of Prince Harry’s memoir, Spare

What Spare seeks to accomplish is to translate the life experience of a Prince who has spent much of his life carousing – a man whose life makes everyday white male privilege seem paltry – into the story of a victim of systemic forces.

When he partied, this was not a prince cavorting. It was a troubled young man finding solace in the bottle, the Ziploc bag.

Apart from the self-medicating, pre-rift Harry was known for having worn a Nazi uniform to a 2005 costume party. Ordinary people have been cancelled for less. But a royal, even a “spare,” is uncancellable. We learn that Prince Charles summonedthe Chief Rabbi of Britain, who told Harry – 20 at the time – what the Holocaust was.

Harry recounts this episode in his usual feelings-speak. The takeaway is not about mankind’s evil depths, but rather about … his own “self-loathing.” And anyway, how contrite did he need to be, given that, in his telling, William and Kate put him up to it?

Indeed, much of the book covers how Harry feels, temperature-wise, while in the army but also in civilian situations. He’s forever either too warm or too cold. (The latter involves a nauseating anecdote about frostbitten nether regions. Harry’s no Gary Shteyngart, and should have left well enough alone.)

He complains that he finds the dining room at Sandringham House “subtropical,” but that the Queen’s corgis objected to open windows (the draft, you see) so footmen would audibly close them. “That loud thump, unavoidable because the windows were so old, always felt like the door of a jail cell being slammed.”

Royalty, for Harry, has been a prison. It’s involved being hounded by paparazzi, and it made his pre-Meghan romantic life a challenge: women were either put off by the lack of privacy, or a little too excited about becoming a princess. That being a royal has also afforded him endless second chances and unfathomable gobs of money eludes him.

The point is not that Harry hasn’t suffered. To lose your mother at 12 is tragic even if you’re a prince. Where things get murky is in Harry’s interpretation of more recent history. Do the grumblings of a second-born royal hold a place in any broader fight for justice? With the exception of the ones specifically about the British tabloid press’s racism against his wife, it’s hard to make that leap. Yes, he moved to California after falling out with his family. But is he right to say he “fled”?

The power that comes with being Prince Harry is his for life, whatever his official role within the Royal Family. Harry claims his father left him “unemployable.” But he canstill do whatever he feels like (such as get a memoir ghostwritten by a fine writer), put a giant “Prince Harry” stamp on it and sell it to rapturous audiences.

The narrative at this point weaves from spring 2020 up to fall 2022. COVID – and the world shutting down – goes unmentioned, except as it affects their travel. A reference to Meghan’s three-bedroom detached property in Toronto as her “little house” offers a subtle reminder of Harry’s perspective. The book is at its strongest when Harry leans into that highly unusual vantage point.

Between the lines, and despite itself, Spare can be a fun, escapist and gossipy read, about a world where homes have 50 bedrooms and young people go on safari with hippos because why not. There’s the thrill of hearing the late Queen Elizabeth referred to as “Granny.” A royal story is worth more than a regular one, a fact that ultimately unites Harry with the tabloid journalists he – understandably – loathes.

On the streetcar home, gripping my copy of Spare, two older women sitting near me discussed the price of cauliflower. Nine dollars. More than these ladies could, uh, spare.

Thanks!

[21stcenturygworl]

A Blank Dance Card

Arthur Morgan x (female) Reader, Regency AU 💕

For the Valentine Gift Exchange by @rdrevents! Written for @starlight-starwrites. Thank you for the great prompts, Star! I hope I did them justice.

This is so extremely campy, but I had great fun writing it. I hope y'all have great fun reading it too!

.✧.

One of the joys of being a debutante on the marriage market is finally, finally being able to indulge in the gossip firsthand. Previous seasons, you had to wring every last drop of information out of your friends, who one by one were swooped off their feet by gentlemen looking to win their hearts. Now, you can huddle together with the other girls, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves as you steal glances at the eligible bachelors at Lady Coulston's ball.

You’re quite some years older than most debutantes of this season. It was your mother’s decision, mostly (your father had just told her, “Yes, dear. As you wish, dear. Anything you want, dear.”). She didn’t want you to be married off too young, instead wanting you to become a well-rounded young lady first through travel and further education. You had protested initially, terrified of ending up a spinster, but your mother had promised that she wouldn’t make you wait that long.

You still feel like a spinster between all the younger girls, though.

The ball hosted by Lady Coulston is a grand affair, with the walls adorned with intricate tapestries and richly painted scenes. The floors are marble (Italian marble, she had pointed out to your mother), polished to a glossy sheen, and the ceiling is painted with beautiful frescoes. Walking across the marble floor already has your heels click with a satisfying sound, and you can only imagine what it would be like to walk through this ballroom by yourself.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding a touch of opulence to the room. Music fills the air, with the strains of a string quartet and a harpsichord playing romantic melodies. Many guests have taken to the dance floor. They twirl across the marble to the melody of the music, the dancers becoming a blur of colours, beautiful fabrics catching the light of the chandeliers above.

Unlike them, however, you have nobody to dance with.

Not a single eligible bachelor has approached you all night. Occasionally one would approach your little group of debutantes, but always to ask one of the other girls to dance, or to make a turn around the room together.

The paper of your dance card is a plain, stark white. Blank.

It’s mortifying, almost. But at least Lady Coulston’s pastry chefs make your attendance worth it. You take solace in the delectable cannolis that nobody else seems to have noticed. Lady Coulston must really like Italy.

.✧.

Arthur doesn’t want to be here.

He hadn’t even wanted to travel across the pond in the first place, and neither did John. But Dutch had insisted that for the adoption process to be finalised, they had to come with him to London. “We’ll head back immediately after,” his now-father promised them.

Apparently in England, “immediately after” means a month or two later.

So here he is, standing in Lady Coulston's ballroom, trying to blend in with the crowd. Arthur had heard stories about the balls, and he’s received countless instructions for how to behave, but he still feels terribly out of place. The grandeur of the room is intimidating and almost suffocating to a young man like Arthur, who spent years sleeping under the stars on windswept prairies.

It’s almost inconceivable to watch Dutch, the same man who had once told Arthur that he was done with the upper class, working his charm on the guests at the ball. It's almost unfathomable that this is the same man who had spent so much of his time in America swindling the wealthy, and yet here he is, a Baron of all things. Arthur is silently hoping that Dutch will turn and give him a sly wink and tell him “It was all just a scheme!”, but it never happens.

Dutch had deemed John too young to attend a ball, meaning Arthur is now stuck by Dutch’s side as he speaks to a Lord and Lady Gardner, who are both hanging onto every word he says as he tells them about his exploits in the American West.

“I will say, I was tempted to stay there,” Dutch says, gesturing vaguely as he speaks. “It’s a very different land from here. A land full of opportunities. The people here in England do not have the spine to take risks the way those in America do.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “And all the unspoiled nature… By God, Lord and Lady Gardner, it was unlike anything I have ever seen before. Beyond beautiful.”

“My, I can hardly imagine it!” Lady Gardner says, wearing a giddy smile. “It all seems so far away. Perhaps we should visit too someday, dear? It would be so nice to travel a little again, just like we used to when we were younger…”

“Perhaps,” Lord Gardner says, smiling a little uncomfortably. “But perhaps we should first make sure our daughter is married before we do.”

Lady Gardner puts a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, dear.” Turning to Dutch and Arthur, she asks, “Have you met our daughter yet? It’s her first season on the marriage market this year. Very exciting.”

Dutch smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Very exciting indeed. I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance yet.”

“Let me see, where is she…” Lady Gardner peers across the ballroom, then lets out a little “Oh!” before she begins calling to her daughter.

.✧.

You whip around from where you stand next to one of the many refreshments tables, halfway stuffing a cannoli in your mouth.

“Dearest!” your mother calls out to you, waving you over with an excited smile. Oh, this is mortifying. You try to swallow the cannoli quickly before other people notice, but it’s already too late. At least you didn’t get any crumbs or cream on your dress this time.

Quickly you compose yourself before striding over to the little gathering, weaving through the crowd. When you reach them, you realise that the men your parents are speaking to are the Baron of Whitchurch, and one of his recently-adopted sons.

Now here is where the gossip comes into play. You had heard many a scandalous story of how Lord Van der Linde (whose family weren’t even English aristocrats to begin with!) had run off to America for nearly a decade. When he finally returned, he brought back two orphans with him who he had adopted and made the heirs to his titles and estates. The legality of it was dubious at best, and immediately a new scandal was born. The future Baron of Whitchurch would be a man with not a single drop of aristocratic blood.

Nobody had told you that the future Baron of Whitchurch was also incredibly handsome.

Your mother is your saving grace, because only when she speaks to introduce you, do you realise that you’ve been staring. You quickly avert your gaze and curtsy with your head inclined. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Straightening out, you remember your manners and ask, “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“We certainly are, thank you kindly for asking,” Lord Van der Linde says. “This is my son, Arthur.”

Arthur. You like that name. It suits him perfectly, highlighting the impressive stature of his broad shoulders and tall frame. Yet, despite the impressive physicality, there is something gentle about him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. After a moment's thought, you realise it’s his eyes; the way they seem to reflect an inner kindness, a beautiful shade of blue.

“This is the first time Arthur is attending a ball,” your mother tells you with a low voice, as if it’s a secret. (It’s really not.) “Why don’t you take him for a turn around the room? I’m sure there’s lots you two can talk about.”

You and Arthur unintentionally share a look, and you seem to reach the same conclusion as him: We have nothing to talk about.

You muster up an almost-convincing smile as you take a step forward. "Shall we take a turn around the room, Mr Van der Linde?" you ask, feeling a bit strange at the formal words coming out of your mouth. Arthur nods, then seems to remember himself and offers you his arm.

.✧.

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments, strolling along the perimeter of the impossibly large ballroom, until Arthur finally speaks. "Erm… Apologies for my lack of conversation skills, Miss Gardner," he says, his voice a bit awkward. He’s suddenly terribly aware of how different his accent is from yours, and the realisation only serves to make him speak quieter. "I… I ain’t used to being at a ball like this, and I'm not sure what to say."

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. Arthur feels his chest tighten. “It’s alright,” you say, your gloved hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must be for you, Mr Van der Linde.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Strange is an understatement.” He pauses, considering his words, and then carefully says, “I… I prefer Mr Morgan, actually. Dutch— I mean, Lord Van der Linde only really became a father figure to me when I was already a young man.”

You nod, seeming to understand his reluctance. Or at least pretend to. "I'm sure that's true for many adopted children," you say, voice gentle and sympathetic. You smile at him in an attempt to offer some levity. "How are you enjoying your time in England so far? It must be very different from what you’re used to. Especially the weather, I would guess.”

Arthur returns the smile as his nerves slip away. You’re trying your best to be warm and welcoming to him. Though it is at the behest of your mother, it’s still more than he can say about the other people at the ball — who have mostly stared at him while whispering amongst themselves. "It is," he says, "The weather too, I s’pose. But mostly the people, and the, uh… way of life.” He looks around the room, taking in the elegant décor and the finely-dressed people. "It's all certainly an experience. I ain’t ever seen anythin’ like this before. I wasn’t… raised in high society."

“Well,” you begin as you mull over his words for a moment. You then flash him a wide smile. “You’re going to have lots to learn and catch up on before you become the Baron of Whitchurch.”

Arthur feels his heart skip a beat, and he swallows thickly. “I’m afraid so,” he says.

“I’m sure you’re up for the task, Mr Morgan. I believe in you.”

Despite the rather disappointing start of the evening, Arthur now suddenly doesn't want it to end anymore. He finds himself liking the way you hold onto his arm, speaking with him and making him feel like he's the most important person in the world right now. You're so, so beautiful, too. Half of your hair is pinned up, the loose sections cascading down your back like a waterfall of silk. The bodice of your dress fits snugly around your chest, the skirts flowing gracefully with every step you take. You feel like someone so far out of reach for him, yet you’re right here next to him.

He blinks when he realises he’s been staring at you. He’s grateful when he sees that you’ve been looking elsewhere — but your expression is wistful. You’re watching the people on the dance floor twirl about and laugh giddily amongst themselves.

“I hope I’m not takin’ up too much of your time, Miss Gardner,” Arthur says, and you look back at him. “I’m sure there’s another gentleman waitin’ for your attention.”

You shake your head, a sad smile gracing your features. “I’m afraid not, Mr Morgan. Nobody’s asked me to dance, tonight.” You show your dance card with your free hand, and Arthur sees that it’s empty. “I fear I may not be as tempting as the younger ladies,” you say with a hollow chuckle. “But it’s alright. I’m enjoying myself here with you.”

Arthur's heart twinges at your words and he finds himself wanting to say something comforting, but he's not sure what. All these fools wouldn’t want to ask a beauty like you to dance with them? Anger bubbles in his chest, but he quickly pushes it down. It’s a completely stupid and hopeless task, but he knows what he has to do. Mustering up every ounce of courage in his body, he clears his throat and then asks, “Miss Gardner, would you do me the honour of dancin’ with me?”

You look up at him, almost as if you can't believe your ears. Your eyes light up and you smile, a brilliant and genuine smile that makes Arthur's heart flutter. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Morgan," you say, before curtsying gracefully.

He takes your hand in his and leads you to the dance floor as the music changes, and the musicians begin to play a waltz. Arthur holds you — as he learned during his lessons — and though his steps are a little awkward and stiff, you’re most certainly dancing together. As you start twirling around the room, Arthur finds himself mesmerised by you. He had thought you beautiful before, but now, as he watches you spin around and laugh with him, he's certain that you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

How tempted he is to lean forward and kiss you.

It’s not the right way to do things, though. Not here, not now. Not with a woman of your standing. So he spends the rest of the night with you. Dancing, talking, and even laughing together. And when the evening draws to a close, and your parents have called you to tell you that it’s time to take the carriage home, Arthur takes your hand and presses a kiss to your gloved fingers.

“Miss Gardner, before you go,” he begins. He straightens out, still holding your hand. “May I… may I call on you tomorrow afternoon?” he asks, stumbling over his words a little.

You look at him adoringly, cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as you smile and nod. “Yes. Yes, you may.” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giddy smile. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr Morgan. Good night.”

[stackslip]

chainsaw man 112 thoughts below cut bc there is so much to unpack here

asa is so sad about the broken sword/uniform.... baby i’m so sorry :((((

“i don’t know who that woman is” YORU YOU ARE EITHER DUMBER THAN I THOUGHT OR A LIAR SHE HAS YOUR EYESSSSS

student council slash devil hunting club DMLXDS i lvoe the ongoing animanga tradition of student councils being obscenely powerful

it is EXTREMELY funny of fujimoto to drop a hell of a mystery last chapter, leading to a week of speculation and despair and everyone thinking it’ll be the main mystery fr this part, only to be like “oh yeah the imposter is this random dude who just like openly calls himself chainsaw man”. king of anticlimax. love it

i mean i suspect there are like ten imposters running around thanks to the powers of justice and/or coolgirl right there (famine? who is also justice?) but still. extremely funny

g-d asa looks so tired of yoru’s loser shtick this is so funny i love their relationship. pathetic loser teenage girl and an even more pathetic devil possessing her

“as long as you’re inside me, not only will i be miserable but the people around me will be too” sobs cries owwww i get a feeling that the day they do separate it’s gonna hurt like hell even tho rn asa hates her (understandably)

HAHAHAHAHA THIS FACE SHE IS SOOOOOO

the chicken stomping thing...... my heart hurts. g-d everyone is gonna end up miserable and making terrible choices and doing terrible things. i love it

“i’d rather kill a human than a cat” 1) parallels, again 2) that’s fair and also v funny

the fact that creating a weapon involves guilt is so cool bc it’s the contrary of what justice has been doing--granting powers in exchange for the students/hosts believing their every action is utterly righteous. to become stronger asa has to understand that she is doing something heinous and cruel and choose to do it anyway. and she decides to do it.......... rhghhhhhhhh

obsessed with this set of panels and the cat LITERALLY being larger/more important in asa’s vision than the ant-like humans below her....... g-d i hope fujimoto sticks to giving her a villain arc bc it’s genuinely fasctinating stuff

asa seeing denji and immediately going “yeah he sounds good to kill. he’s an idiot and a loser but he sounds like a good person.” augh.

AND THEN IT TURNS OUT DENJI HAS BEEN SCAMMING HOMELESS PEOPLE FOR MONEY FJKSDXDKQLZKLX DENJIIIIIII i love my asshole son

but also............. why aren’t people at school allowed to take on part-time jobs when half of them are orphans and can’t provide for themselves. what the fuck. and denji has to take care of a little sister AND like eight dogs and a cat too??

asa’s self deprecation is so delicious i love a self hating pathetic loser who’s also really tragic and sad and clearly on a terrible terrible path

denji is catching all the cat comparison nows. did fujimoto get a cat and say dog people are out cats are IN

[cowboy AHHHHHHH dot mp4]

literal devil on her shoulder........... and thinking of yuko..................... augh

AHHHH THE FACT THAT THEYRE BOTH IN SHADOW AND SHE CATCHES HIM RIGHT AS HES ABOUT TO STEP IN LIGHT AND THE WHOLE CONVO TAKES PLACE IN THAT SHADOW RIGHT BEFORE THE LIGHT oh fujimoto is gonna go for tragedy alright

in general i’m really loving the way the conversation is framed i love how awkward this is how harrowing it is from asa how denji softens i love this so much i love that both protags are traumatized loser teens who have lived unfathomably tragic lives and it’s gonna get so much worse and they don’t understand one another but they are SO similar too.....

UGHHHH ASA IS FEELING REAL GUILT AT THIS AND THINKING SHES GONNA KILL A SAD LOSER TEEN............... 

and like. oh man someone earlier said that denji points her out as the girl who hates chainsaw man. and here she is coming up to it asking him out on a date. a girl who hates CHAINSAW MAN but wants to ask HIM out. it’s like. everything he’d hoped and wanted. someone who wants him and sees him and not chainsaw man. and yet he responds in such a shy way when in part 1 he’d have been ecstatic........ genuinely shocked that it would happen at all

sadder still is that she really isn’t seeing him as a person at all and is just aiming for chainsaw man augh. ow.

and really what asa is seeing is a way out of this entire nightmare a way to save yuko (WHOS ALREADY DEAD AAHHHHHHHHHHH) a way to end this entire pantomime and attempt to reclaim a normal life all for the cost of this one loser kid whose name she doesn’t even know but who is so much like her and yuko and augh. augh AUGH

g-d it’s like twenty pages and there is so much to unpack here

[ivaspinoza]

Sensitive Abstractions I don't really like

to write

poems like this.

Threatening spaces like enormous mouths eating words, and they vanish, their consequences and repercussions erased - a lethal vacuum.

Silence is scarcely tolerable for a modern man.

I am not a modern man.

But I accumulate words feelings images sounds scars garments of distant dreams and certainties of tomorrow, just as I do with myself: I accumulate myself before hitting the next 'enter,' and thus avoid dissolving.

Diluted in others' rivers.

In another strange, bordering current: two waters meet and we have another river.

But I sail in abstract waters and drink from a river that cannot be stained.

Yet, I can feel like a hiccup, an interrupted sigh—my outlines fade, I am a soundless explosion.

A mixture of dust that was already here before, light, plasma, blood, bones, eyes, very silent; a supernova screaming in space.

How nice would it be if my contours only mimicked yours, eternal star.

My burden is to seek the record of the unfathomable in such simple forms of expression, so here I am, biting the bars of this flesh's cage, and I see: I am too free, too free to live without colossal, overwhelming yearnings.

I am a shipwrecked child, a piece of wood floating in the open sea.

Hypersensitive are my edges, especially the sharp ones—lend me your sandpaper, the coarsest, the stupidest, to compete on equal terms with my stupidity.

Hypersensitive are my gills; I suspect I should live underwater since in this time of ours the air and the earth are like smoke in my eyes and soot, so much sad-gray concrete.

Hypersensitive are my pages, each word like a prick of a sharp needle, each needle like a world of pains, each pain like people looking at me, hungry for justice, and I don't even know their names.

Hypersensitive in the memory of being found by a certain pair of eyes, two celestial flames that would melt the whole world with a glance; in their gaze, a precise arrow that doesn't miss the target, only in a blink

of an eye.

My heart was pierced and will forever bleed.

I wait contemplating the bottom of your sea, painted with diamonds shining for me, every night—my certainty: you'll come.

You will.

The colors are hypersensitive, the patterns on the tiles, the desires and cries for help, I write all this somewhere, you say things I can't understand and smile with my childish magnifying glass, like a kid with a binocular that is actually just a toy.

Hypersensitive, throbbing, I run and run, and search and knock on the door, not so gently because I am too desperate for that, I want to dissect existence and at the same time preserve its untouched mystery because in trying to explore it too much I know I would lose myself.

My taste is hypersensitive too, as are my eyes that absorb everything, and my ears that listen too much.

Hypersensitive is my tough skin that is thin, and seems like it will tear with the weight of empty words, vulgar laughter, eyes that should be luminous, and useless information, because they buy and sell and eat and give themselves as they please, and don't even look up.

Hypersensitive in crowded places where many destinies intersect and my eyes need to flee to the clouds, the only destination that matters.

Hypersensitive enough to live a farewell that already brings tears ten years before it happens.

Hypersensitive is missing the taste of touching the earth from the top of the mountain and the claws of the owl that never landed on my shoulders, the gallop I didn't hear, the places I never stepped on and the wind I never breathed in and perhaps never will.

My erased abstract lines let me wander around. I go up and down like an unregulated gauge according to the standards stipulated by the century of madness.

And I just need to walk on that path, so hold my hand, and hypersensitive I go up, dancing over the auroras, drinking from the source at the extreme north-south-east-west, and going up, I dissolve, in greater sensitive abstractions. Ivanna

(originally written in portuguese)

[liliallowed]

I crave some princess monoke rn. ..

it's hitting me harder than it should...

"eyes unclouded by hatred"

fucking...

why is this ghibli film so mature...

like like like... HOW DUDE!? YOU REALLY THINK PEACE IS A PIECE OF CAKE!?

man Missed a lot from this movie as a kid...

well when it comes to war or heartless massacres.. both sides have clouded and biased judgement.

maybe we should be more like ashitaka.

it's easy to jump on one side where the other is OBVIOUSLY more evil. but this movie tells me that thinking about being on the "right side of history" is childish...

while having people held accountable and not turning a blind eye to their misdeeds... talking isn't the answer, violence will only make them justify it...

so like what to do DO with these people?

KILLING innocent civilians is bad. war crimes are unforgivable... it's so EASY to go and hate the opposing forces. but instead of punishment should we be looking for solutions to make them understand their wrongdoing?

...

that's too friking optimistic and people just don't change...

honestly ashitaka? you suck in some aspects.

but also you're right because killing only makes things worse AAAAAA.

WHAT SO YOU DO!? do you like... it's not like...

FUCKING STOP THE WAR. THAT'S MY ANSWER.

I don't give a damn about who gets punished or if justice is even real STOP KILLING INNOCENT LIVES.

I can't be like ashitaka. I can't have my eyes unclouded by hatred... but maybe I can TRY.

violence doesn't justify more violence.

the issue is something beyond me. but I was Gaza to be free.

I hate Israel but maybe that's my biased skewed perspective.

like... yes they're clearly unfathomably just fucking... apathetic and detached...

it's hard to see them as human... it's so EASY to hate them...

isn't that what they feel aswell?

I feel like I'll never be on the "right side"

there shouldn't be sides. there shouldn't be war...

idk...

[pinkmirth]

hi hi moni !! 5, 10, & 27 for the ask game 🎀

lexi :) hey friend! 💕🫶🏾

(5) — Name a movie that makes you genuinely laugh.

I’m gonna go with “Teen Titans Vs. The Justice League.” The movie itself isn’t necessarily a comedy, but Robin (Damian Wayne) and his dialogue is just so fucking unhinged. His behavior? Wild. The things he says?! Unfathomable. Batman betta come get his son!!! That boy is disrespectful to the end, and I can’t help but giggle 🤭

(10) — What is something (or someone) you're in love with?

I know y’all have had it up to here of me talking about this man… but I’m disgustingly in love with reiner fuckin’ braun. I don’t even like blondes like that! but for rei-rei, I’ll make an exception! he got me in a big fat chokehold that I never wanna escape from!!! I just love everything about him. His selflessness and reliability make me wanna give him the nastiest kiss. I could look at his nose for hours. Hell, I even love that lil arch in his eyebrows. I am shamelessly, downright obsessed with him!

(27) — Have you ever written a love letter?

Yes, but no? I’m not sure how to put it… I must admit, I’ve written a heartfelt message to my boyfriend via Google docs (very cheesy, I know!) It isn’t the traditional form of pouring out your feelings onto a piece of paper and letting a bird carry it to your lover 😭 it was kinda like a modern-day love letter that I whipped up on my laptop, so I guess that means I’d have to say yes!

[skippyv20]

If not already posted…this is from one of the Canadian papers…Globe and Mail.

OPINION

Spare me: Prince Harry’s claim of victimhood doesn’t quite fly​

PHOEBE MALTZ BOVY

Some – and I’m among them – argue that rather than being a way to promote social justice, so-called wokeness is about maintaining the status quo. A system of rules and manners that might seem progressive is in fact a cover for material inequality.

One could not design a better example of this than Prince Harry, the world’s premier 

nepotism baby

. In his new memoir, Spare, Harry (he abhors snobbery, so let’s drop the “Prince”), bolstered by therapy, offers himself up as a courageous opponent of stiff-upper-lip upscale Britishness. He’s a modern man, in touch with his feelings. And he’s had it with archaic royal protocol, especially the bit about giving the kingdom to the elder son. Fight the power!

What Spare seeks to accomplish is to translate the life experience of a Prince who has spent much of his life carousing – a man whose life makes everyday white male privilege seem paltry – into the story of a victim of systemic forces.

When he partied, this was not a prince cavorting. It was a troubled young man finding solace in the bottle, the Ziploc bag.

Apart from the self-medicating, pre-rift Harry was known for having worn a Nazi uniform to a 2005 costume party. Ordinary people have been cancelled for less. But a royal, even a “spare,” is uncancellable. We learn that Prince Charles summonedthe Chief Rabbi of Britain, who told Harry – 20 at the time – what the Holocaust was.

Harry recounts this episode in his usual feelings-speak. The takeaway is not about mankind’s evil depths, but rather about … his own “self-loathing.” And anyway, how contrite did he need to be, given that, in his telling, William and Kate put him up to it?

Indeed, much of the book covers how Harry feels, temperature-wise, while in the army but also in civilian situations. He’s forever either too warm or too cold. (The latter involves a nauseating anecdote about frostbitten nether regions. Harry’s no 

Gary Shteyngart

, and should have left well enough alone.)

He complains that he finds the dining room at Sandringham House “subtropical,” but that the Queen’s corgis objected to open windows (the draft, you see) so footmen would audibly close them. “That loud thump, unavoidable because the windows were so old, always felt like the door of a jail cell being slammed.”

Royalty, for Harry, has been a prison. It’s involved being hounded by paparazzi, and it made his pre-Meghan romantic life a challenge: women were either put off by the lack of privacy, or a little too excited about becoming a princess. That being a royal has also afforded him endless second chances and unfathomable gobs of money eludes him.

The point is not that Harry hasn’t suffered. To lose your mother at 12 is tragic even if you’re a prince. Where things get murky is in Harry’s interpretation of more recent history. Do the grumblings of a second-born royal hold a place in any broader fight for justice? With the exception of the ones specifically about the British tabloid press’s racism against his wife, it’s hard to make that leap. Yes, he moved to California after falling out with his family. But is he right to say he “fled”?

The power that comes with being Prince Harry is his for life, whatever his official role within the Royal Family. Harry claims his father left him “unemployable.” But he canstill do whatever he feels like (such as get a memoir 

ghostwritten

 by a fine writer), put a giant “Prince Harry” stamp on it and sell it to rapturous audiences.

The narrative at this point weaves from spring 2020 up to fall 2022. COVID – and the world shutting down – goes unmentioned, except as it affects their travel. A reference to Meghan’s 

three-bedroom detached

 property in Toronto as her “little house” offers a subtle reminder of Harry’s perspective. The book is at its strongest when Harry leans into that highly unusual vantage point.

Between the lines, and despite itself, Spare can be a fun, escapist and gossipy read, about a world where homes have 50 bedrooms and young people go on safari with hippos because why not. There’s the thrill of hearing the late Queen Elizabeth referred to as “Granny.” A royal story is worth more than a regular one, a fact that ultimately unites Harry with the tabloid journalists he – understandably – loathes.

On the streetcar home, gripping my copy of Spare, two older women sitting near me discussed the price of cauliflower. Nine dollars. More than these ladies could, uh, spare

Great article!  Thank you❤️

[justanothergaymess]

What I am thinking: All of these mechanisms of violence are interlinked on such an unfathomably grand level. Modernity, the era of western imperialist hegemony, has lasted for twenty of my lifetimes, and its roots reach deep into the centuries before. All of this affluence and abundance of the west was and is maintained by carving flesh and spilling blood; Black and Indigenous lives destroyed for generations, annihilation of millions upon millions, again and again and again. And the empire needs soldiers, and it needs workers, all to build and maintain that great maw destroying humanity; the empire needs to maintain a steady stream of bodies, and therefore needs to control reproduction to serve that purpose. The patriarchy inextricably derives from said need for material and ideological control of reproduction. I see the ocean of the tears of its victims, and all I manage with the totality of energy left in these bones of mine is to dry a cup or two. For a hydra so gargantuan, so many-headed, so old, you would think its evil would show itself in grand ways; but it is the mundanity of its evil that exhausts me the most. Its benificiaries are solipsistic and self-centred to an infuriating degree. I see it every time I have to teach my nieces not to let men talk to them like that, and my nephews to behave with more compassion. I see it when I visit that colleague again, seeing her husband lounge on the sofa, watching football, while she works deep into the night again to maintain the household and make enough money for rent. He does not know, he does not want to know, about the blood spilled for the cables in his screen, nor does he ponder how many had to suffer for the oil that fuels the plane he takes to the next summer vacation destination. She tells me that it is okay. She tells me that I should take off the mask, we are all friends here. You are victim and perpetrator of violence so small, so vast. I get claustrophobic from this mundanity. Another woman calls me, an old friend from school; apparently I have gotten a reputation for listening to them vent about how heartless their boyfriends have become. No one at the gay party is wearing a mask, and everyone is swooning for some average white tme person. Where is the reprieve? Where is the bonfire in which I can mend my broken heart? I pray to the Goddess of Justice again; please let my sister and her children survive in Gaza. She videocalled me the other day, and her face looks even more sunken than last time. Another man catcalled me on the way to get overpriced groceries; another man screamed at me for wearing a mask on the way back. Good thing none of them realized I am trans. I went to a birthday party recently, and I noticed the women put so much more effort into every word, every movement, every aspect of their appearance, than any of the men. You inherited an empire, why do you act innocent, why do you not see your own evil? I pray. Make it make sense. I pray. Give me clarity, strength. I pray. Let me help as many and as much as I can before I inevitably perish.

What I am saying: lol i kind of hate white men. can they just shut up. if i see another white man on my dash or in front of my window again i will blow up the sun.

[theprayerfulword]

March 31

James 1:12 KJV Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love Him.

Colossians 4:2 NIV Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.

Proverbs 3:31-32 NIV Do not envy a violent man or choose any of his ways, 32 for the LORD detests a perverse man but takes the upright into His confidence.

John 7:38 NASB He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, 'From his innermost being shall flow rivers of living water.'

Matthew 16:24 KJV If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.

Luke 19:10 NASB For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.

May the Lord your God bless you in all your harvest, and in all the work of your hands, so that your joy will be complete. Deuteronomy 16

May you bring before the Lord your freely-given gift of glad praise and joyous worship, according to the abundance of the Lord's blessings upon you, remembering those around you through humble service to them, that they may have praise to offer to God, as well. Deuteronomy 16

May you recognize the bribes which come from the world, appealing to the lusts of the flesh, the lusts of the eyes, and the pride of life, and refuse to accept any form or fashion of what is offered, for thereby are the eyes of wisdom blinded and the words of righteousness twisted, causing justice to be perverted when partiality is shown. Deuteronomy 16

May you ever honor God as the highest authority, and honor those whom He brings you as teachers and mentors; when you are assigned by God to pour yourself into the lives of others, may you carefully guard yourself from and avoid each thing that would distract you from God and the duties you receive, focusing gladly on His Word, walking joyfully in His Spirit, and serving humbly before His Body. Deuteronomy 17

Seek Me, My child, as for a vital, precious item which you cannot imagine living a day in your life without. Look for Me, My love, as though for that which will safeguard you through the dangers of a battlefield. Pursue Me, My precious one, as if all the riches and treasure required to provide you and those you love a secure and comfortable life was waiting for your arrival. Search for Me, My worth-while one, as if acknowledging your lack and poverty, your need and desire, your shortfall and requirement, for those who are hungry shall be filled, and those who are thirsty may buy and drink without cost; those who are persecuted shall receive justice and those who have no hope shall be placed in a family and provided a defender and encourager. If you are rich with this world's goods and feel no lack, I have nothing I can give you. If you are secure in this world's society and feel no pain, I have nothing to offer you. If you are strong in this world's authority and know no fear, I can only promise you destruction. Only if you know you are sick will you accept what the Physician offers – otherwise His cure will be distasteful. Acknowledge your need and My Father will supply all you require according to His unfathomable riches. As you seek, first, the kingdom of God in the midst of your poverty of spirit, and His righteousness in the weakness of your flesh, you will find that all which you need will be added to you. If My Father was willing to deliver Me, His Beloved, over for your needs, how will He not also, through Me, freely give you all things? Do not boast of who you are or what you have, My poor one, but glory in your weakness which brings My strength into your life. Boast of your poverty which brings My treasure into the world through you. Rejoice in your solitary loneliness, My orphaned one, for you are brought before the King of kings and made His ward, even more, His adopted child and given the love that was for so long denied you. Seek Me, My love, as though you needed Me, for surely you will find Me.

May you give to all whom the Lord brings you food to satisfy their spiritual hunger, for as you look up to heaven and give thanks to the Father, He will multiply what is broken, so yield to the dealings of the Spirit in your heart. Luke 9

May you deny yourself and take up your cross daily and follow the Lord, losing your life for Him, for He will save it. Luke 9

May the Lord deliver the needy who cry out and the afflicted who have no one to help, taking pity on the weak and the needy, and save the needy from death, rescuing them from oppression and violence, for precious is their blood in His sight. Psalm 72

[ursbearhug]

THAT ONE MOTHERFUCKING TIME I *DON'T* NEED TO GO INTO THE OFFICE NUMBER 7 THERE IS NO MOTHERFUCKING QUEUE TO IT! Are you FUCKING kidding me?

Also I want to somehow ramble about that stupid clown class we have, for some godsforsaken reason, on classical studies of all places; social campaigns.

To pass the class we have to prepare an entire campaign, down to a t, with all the stupid ass details, like cost, where, when, what form et cetera. So in the fit of rage, since this class is blatant and outrageous waste of my time and braincells, I made almost finished plan (without the cringe details, because literally nobody gives a shit) about teaching boys how to sew. This alluding to this one tweet where a guy jokes about girls learning how to do make up rather than cook - since he can't or won't eat foundation - and getting clapped by a girlie wishing death upon mankind when they die out of starvation because they refuse to use their own two hands to prepare their own meal. Though the focus was on boys mainly, I wouldn't turn down other interested. As this thing is also a group project that part of it has been lost in the translation.

I personally think her social justice warrior brain would overheat, combust and explode if I as much as suggest that men are fucking stupid and treated like children, no matter their age, status or occupation; and should not be spoonfed and treated extra nicely till the heat death of the universe. Sitting through most if not all of her lectures truly feels like Virtue Signaling up to whazoo. I don't know. I don't feel the need to brag about how good of a person I am if it brings nothing to the conversation. I fail to see these as example either, since example is meant to show correlation or similarity between situations.

But she also called this project 'repetetive' because somebody else in other group had similar one. Okay, and? Ever heard about panantropolic ideas? And even if, I was on this turf first because these kids are 18. So if somebody's supposed to adapt to others, then it's not going to be me. I will be cringe boomer in this case. And also also literally who the fuck cares? I'm trying to pass this class in as little effort and as quickly as humanly possible. Miss me with your originality complex, I'm classical student, I've never heard of it. Take your cringe ass romantic (the period, not the quality) ideas out of my face, you fucking cringe normie.

Cringe ass subject for cringe people. You can't change my mind.

One hour update;

You'd think, or at least assume, that with how 'progressive' today's society is, talking to children wouldn't be such a forgein concept and "ugh so 2016". But it seems like talking to children is still as unattainable and unfathomable as it used to. Maybe instead of forcing your child off of the door frame and have them screem their lungs off in horror, sit down with them and talk about their feelings and fears. Hospital can be scary but doesn't have to be. Talk with them about the procedure. A lot of our fears are really blown out by unknowable and inexperience. For instance; needles don't hurt nearly as much as people make it out to hurt, but that doesn't make them painless either. Yes doing certain thing hurts or is really uncomfortable, but it can get worse untreated. Children are really smart and they can understand human speech, so maybe utilize it and talk with your kids about whatever and everything. Hospital visit really doesn't have to be nightmare fuel.

I don't know the time update:

I think more people, who are not cis men, could use some of the delusion and audacity of most generic white man. "Oh nobody would date me". Believe im yourself sweetcakes. There are like at least 10 alpha males for every shy beans like you, that never have and never will satisfy a woman, let alone be able to form normal, healthy and flourishing relationship with anybody. And also remember that endgame is either; crush your enemies, watch them tremble and hear the lamentations of their widows or having a family. It's pretty much the same.

I have finished my healing process. With the stamp and all. I guess I just have to learn to live with the massive scar it has left.

[writingsnippetsthatneverupdate]

WORD COUNT: 610; Legacy Mark AU

SNIPPET

BATMAN

Contrary to popular belief, Bruce Wayne hadn’t been entirely oblivious to the potential effects Batman would have on people’s lives. Granted, he hadn’t quite realized the scale that Batman would one day operate on, but he’d known he was starting something.

He’d known that he was creating a Legacy. Bruce Wayne had just thought Batman would die with him, an unrealized, quiet one that lived only in his heart. (More the fool him, scoff his children, years and years into the future. Then, it seemed unfathomable that Batman had started as nothing more than a butler’s careful handiwork and one man’s quest for justice.)

As Batman stalked the streets of Gotham, tales of the caped crusader grew until he became more than a man. He became a thing of shadows and nightmares and, for some, a beacon of safety.

The day a jet-black bat materialized starkly on his pale wrist, Bruce Wayne didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. He stared at it until the Batsignal went off, and then there was no time for either.

Would his parents be proud of him? Would Batman save another little boy’s parents, trapped in an alleyway, at the mercy of a man with a gun?

It was the start of a Legacy. (It was the end of a childhood.)

~

BATGIRL

Like her predecessor, (not a mentor, never a mentor), Barbara Gordon had never set out to create a Legacy. She had set out to do good, to tap into that ‘potential’ so many teachers raved about and set it towards something useful. She knew what Gotham was like – having the Police Commissioner for a father would do that to a girl – and she wanted, more than anything, to create change.

And she did. 

For eight years, Batgirl flew about the city with her red hair streaming behind her, a shining light of hope and optimism. Despite it all, despite the corrupt cops and the Arkham break-outs and the pressing, draining misery of Gotham City, Batgirl remained.

REMAINING OUTLINE

The legacy becomes cemented when the mark appears on the wrist of another person -- the legacy-starter's successor. The mark only disappears when there's a possibility of retirement in the legacy-starter's future.

When Bruce first adopted Dick, the mark appeared on his wrist for the first few days, until Dick chose to become Robin. Then, Dick got a legacy mark of his own.

Applying this to Batgirls, for the event -- this can create a very interesting situation where Babs's mark disappears right before Joker paralyzes her, and it reappears on Stephanie's wrist. This may lead to Stephanie being more stand-offish with the Bats, since she's afraid that she's "cursed" the other Batgirl, or "stolen" her identity, since in the wake of tragedy she gained something.

Also, Steph and Cass can share the Batgirl mark once Babs passes on the mantle to Cass and then Cass gives it to Steph -- she isn't necessarily retiring as Batgirl, so they can share the mark. As a treat! <3

Also also, once Marinette or Adrien appears in Gotham, we could have the mark on Cass's and Steph's wrist flicker/fade/disappear, and reappear on Marinette's wrist. Unsure if this will be permanent or not -- depends on how Marinette reacts to the idea of being Batgirl! :P I just think that legacy marks are really interesting, since they're more created than destined, and there is an aspect of choice in things! Legacy marks aren't set in stone, and people's decisions can absolutely change whether or not they get a legacy mark. I think there's also power in being able to create a mark, and to create change.

@maribat-get-in