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garthcelyn · 2 years

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Original Thieves chapter 2: Featuring a fun mention of Atlas(Dogteeth)'s ex girlfriend, Marlowe. Dogteeth really is just a reference to unfinished projects huh?

TW for slight body horror in this, it's not major, but it's there.

4217 Words

Dorothy Marlowe had been missing for weeks. She was a woman that Blue had served many times over the years at his father’s tailor shop. He sold her rolls upon rolls of deep blue yarn every few months, a detail that had lived in his mind since they had met. And now she was missing, suspected dead. Blue had the honour of working with the suspected culprit. Dougall, the self-proclaimed charmer of the Ivory Rose, who used her boyish good looks to gain whatever it was she needed. Or so she said. Blue had yet to see it work, as they now sat outside a museum where they had been tossed after Dougall’s failed attempt at seducing a guard. Dougall kicked rocks along the pavement, scaring away the doves that pecked happily at scraps that had been thrown for them. She bristled against the wind in her deep blue knitted jumper, tugging its sleeves over her hands as she refused to look upon the newcomer to the team. He was now a member of The Ivory Rose, an organised crime unit who famously stole the Crown jewels and had yet to be caught. A group made up of unidentified, disgruntled mages of varying Mabrisian origins, who had several bones to pick with the justice system and the monarchy. That Ivory Rose had also stolen Blue’s memories in what he’d consider being an ever greater heist. That is whose home Blue had fucked his way into. That is who had him shot on sight and promptly recruited purely to spite Dougall. He had never regretted a one-night stand more.

Dougall shot him one last glare before she set off down the street. He kept hot on her heels, eager to keep his mentor in his sights. She hadn’t looked like much, in fact, she had barely looked as charming as she seemed to believe, and had the personality to match. She looked closer to a weasel, her face pointing in a long point to the ground. Gaunt cheeks and ashen skin, as if she had been deprived of basic necessities such as sleep and water, paired with her shadowed blue eyes. She barely seemed alive. He watched as she sucked down one cigarette after another, barely slowing her movements. Not even his customer service smiles and demeanour had broken through to the woman.

His trial assignment had been to break into the Museum of Arts undetected and steal a painting by Rennyn Navarre. It was simple, according to the Ivory Rose ringleader who simply went by J. However, it seemed impossible. Dougall huffed yet again, tossing her stub to the ground and letting it fizzle out.

“Alright, your turn,” she growled, “see if you can do any better.”

He pointed at himself, scowling. “Aren’t you supposed to be the expert? You know what happened back there.”

Dougall grunted. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the woman who had ordered his memories to be erased. Her brother was far nicer, despite him being the reason why he was in the situation in the first place. Blue fought back the urge to roll his eyes at the display.

“Alright,” he sighed, annoyance seeping into his tone. “I’ll try again when they swap shifts.”

Dougall had actually rolled her eyes, much like a petulant child not getting her way. She couldn’t have been much younger than him, at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Her attitude was one of a grouchy teen, and yet she looked far older in a way that her brother Ezra didn’t, despite them being identical. Her brother held himself with his head high, energised by his sheer excitement for life. Dougall, not so much.

Blue sat on a park bench, overlooking the fountain at the centre of the square. He idly picked at his sandwich that he had bought from a vendor, overfilled and dripping shredded lettuce over his lap. Dougall sucked through her pack of cigarettes early on and had been drumming her fingers against the wooden seat for a lack of a better thing to do. Blue glanced at her now and again, watching how she did everything in her power to escape a conversation. He tore off half of his sandwich and handed it to her, gaining a suspicious glance.

It had relieved him when the hour had been up. Surely stealing a painting would be far easier than dealing with the young woman. His joints cracked as he stood, stretching and popping his back. He looked towards Dougall for guidance; any hints or tricks she found useful over her years as a thief. He wasn’t sure what he had expected but wasn’t surprised when she stared back at him in silent loathing.

“What? Nothing?” he asked in a jeer, crossing his arms and staring at the mess of a woman before him. “You’re supposed to help me, J said -”

“J says a lot of things,” she mirrored his stance with a look of sheer apathy, “she’s still the newest to the team, besides you. She needs to earn my respect.”

“I’m sure your respect means a lot,” he muttered, “whatever, let’s get this done so we can go back, and I can keep my memory this time.”

Dougall barked out a laugh. “You’re still hung up on that?”

Blue didn’t dignify her with a response.

The museum hid in the back alleys of the major city, overshadowed by tall homes of the rich, the manors that they buried themselves away in. It had been sponsored by Earl Henry Douglas of Greyhaven and had was used as a boast of his wealth. It was his collection on display, after all. Things he had imported from Shales and hid, or outright stolen. For that reason alone, Blue was happy that it was the Douglas Museum Of Arts that they had sent him to pilfer, not that he had a choice in the matter.

He wandered in through the large wooden doors, taking in the scenery as if he were just any other visitor. The inside was built like a cathedral, which shouldn’t have phased him too much since it had been built in the hollowed-out carcass of the Temple of Omos. The Queen had refused the Temples their right to exist upon her coronation - an action that hadn’t won her any favour. Its corpse was now the home of the Douglas family’s stolen artefacts. A fitting end, he supposed.

The rows of art and sculpture lead all the way to the back of the building and branched off into what used to be the military barracks. Blue couldn’t help but stand in awe, despite himself and his situation. The collection was impressive after all, despite their origins. Unfortunately, the large space had also been full of visitors gaping at the displays, and guards. Blue could count at least a dozen, and that had only been close to the entrance. Beside him, Dougall tensed yet again, seemingly uncomfortable with being in the museum despite her dubious occupation. Blue couldn’t spend too much time thinking about her. His memories were on the line after all.

He meandered through the rows of paintings, just as any regular visitor would. Looking, before moving on with the crowd. He picked up a leaflet, flicking through as he went, looking for a glimpse of where the painting the Rose wanted could be. The portrait of Sheridan Sørensen, the last wolf of Bannaheimr. He wasn’t into art, not truly, but even he knew the stories behind it. How she gave up everything to chase a woman across Kirus. He didn’t like the story very much.

He had found the partner painting, that of the husband, Maxwell Waverley, and yet the painting he needed was nowhere in sight. He huffed and turned to Dougall, who had been busy picking at her fingernails and avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone.

“What now?” he asked, “it’s not on display. Do they have storage? Restoration facilities?”

Dougall shrugged. “I heard they have a warehouse which is almost impossible to break into.”

“Almost impossible?”

“There’s a reason I’m here and not the entire team, and it’s not just for punishment.”

She left it at that, beckoning him to follow with no further explanation.

Dougall swiftly led him back outside, eyeing him curiously as she grabbed him by the arm and steered him away from the museum and down the street. He looked at her bewildered but decided against asking what the hell she was doing until she offered the information up herself. She kept walking, half dragging him down the street to Daver Lane.

Daver Lane was a quiet street, mostly populated by the elderly and not much else. Corner shops sold their necessary wares, the local newspaper set up their office for easy access to their larger client base, and the smell of grease and oil-polluted the area from the abundance of takeaways. Daver Lane - a perfectly mediocre street. Dougall pulled Blue around the corner, bodies mostly hidden by the Farspeech Box.

“Are you going to help?” he asked in a low hiss. Not that the grand majority of the street could overhear, let alone care about what two young adults pressed into a corner could say. Quite the opposite, in fact. No matter how uncomfortable Blue was with the situation, they’d be safe from prying eyes. At the very least none would suspect anything other than two idiots in lust having a private moment, and not the two thieves’ nefarious planning.

Dougall smiled sardonically, baring her teeth. Her left canine broken, levelling it out to the same height as the rest of her teeth. “You really want my help?”

“As much as I despise having to ask help from some fucking alleged murderer,” he groaned. Dougall stopped smiling. Whatever act she had disappeared, replaced by a look of sheer hurt. “yes, I want your help. Where’s this warehouse?”

An old woman toddled down the pavement, walking frame clicking against the ground before her with each movement. Dougall made a sour face and pressed herself into Blue. He let out a sigh and hid his face near her shoulder.

“Do you know where the warehouse is?” he whispered, hoping to sell the act that Dougall had unfortunately cast upon him.

“It’s at Lakeside,” she whispered back, “Y’know, close to the Douglas Lake house in Greyhaven.”

She spat out the name as if it were poison on her tongue. There must have been an old grudge there somewhere, but Blue didn’t want to ask aloud. Not when he seemed so close to getting this errand accomplished.

“Then… we’ll drive over?” he asked, “do you guys even have a car?”

Dougall shook her head. “Do you?”

“Well,” Blue tilted his head to one side in hesitation, “yes. It’s my father’s. He needs it for work.”

“Then we steal it for the night, it’s fine.”

“Oh, it’s not fine.”

Blue drove into Lakeside in the car that he had borrowed from his father. His father, who had voluntarily handed him the keys to their “Carlisle & Son” branded van for him to ‘show his girlfriend a good time’. He had fought back the urge to gag and gladly took the keys before fleeing the establishment. It had been bad enough that the man he had met up with, so to speak, was Dougall’s identical twin brother. He would prefer it if he would never be involved with both siblings. Makes for an awkward family reunion.

He pulled into an alleyway, just wide enough for them both to open their doors a crack to slink out, and thin enough to obscure his name that was blatantly painted on the sides.

“So, Jake,” said Dougall with a grin. He regretted letting her inside his house, letting her meet his father even more so, “what do you want to do now?”

“Don’t call me that,” he said sternly. Little Jake Carlisle Jr may as well have been dead for years. The name of the father who’d never understand, who was never there. “It’s Blue. Now, where’s this warehouse?”

“You’re a shit boyfriend,” she joked. It had been the most he’d seen her smile since meeting her this time around. “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Blue massaged at his temples. “Please, just answer the question.”

“It’s close to here.”

Blue nodded, ushering her to lead the way.

The founders had built the town around a lake, much like the name suggested. The buildings followed the curvature of the water, overlooking the boats that bobbed along its surface. Nice buildings, unlike the outskirts of Kingshill. Tall, white and gleaming leading into the more rustic cabin-style houses. Night had begun to fall, the twin moons reflecting in broken semi circles over the ripples in the lake.

It was peaceful.

The perfect night for a break-in.

The warehouse sat barely hidden in the residential area. A wide building compared to its counterparts and teeming with guards. Blue swallowed hard and looked to Dougall for advice.

“So you said there were other reasons for you to be here-”

Dougall sighed. “I’m what most would call a dark mage, my magic is siphon based.”

“Which means?”

“I can copy or steal other’s magic. I’m basically a jack of all trades.”

“Good to know.”

The two crouched in the shadows of a cabin-house, watching the guards do their patrol like hawks. Blue tensed, Dougall grabbed his arm to keep him steady. He nodded a thanks, hoping that she knew what he meant by the gesture. She grunted and gave him a thumbs up.

“So, dark mage, you got anything up your sleeve?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

Dougall threw her hands up in an overdramatic shrug. “I… can mess with their memories a bit? Got that off of Remy.”

“Will it hurt them?”

“Has it hurt you?”

He tilted his head in a half shrugging gesture, “no, I guess not. Can it buy us a few minutes to get a better look at the place?”

“Thinking like a true thief, perhaps you’re one of us after all.”

“Can you get on with it?”

Dougall let out a low chuckle and flashed a grin. This was her element, and she made sure to show it. With one last glance, she moved, going as fast as she could while sticking close to the ground. Blue deflated, watching her go, debating his next move. The guards looked heavily armed, and he was not looking forward to another gun in his face that day. One had been too many.

Dougall stood once she had crossed the road, waving a hand in greeting. The guards shifted, pointing their drawn weapons at the young woman. Blue moved to follow, to get her out of trouble, or do anything, but Dougall held up a finger in a stopping motion. Whatever she had planned, she seemed confident that she would not fail. Her hands seeped a glittering grey mist that slowly thickened to dense fog. Her skin seemed to crystallise, turning to glass with her movements until Blue could see all the nerves and veins and bone. He almost recoiled, but felt drawn to the sight at the same moment. He had never seen magic so close, only in tricks, and even then the mages used staffs to protect themselves - to funnel away any damage that they could do to flesh.

In a quick burst, she threw her arms forward, the fog that she had accumulated shooting forward in two quick shots. One guard fired, but if it had hit, Dougall showed no reaction.

“You’re on a break,” she yelled at the guards, “go on, get.”

The guards looked at each other in confusion, then back at Dougall. She shook her head.

“You know who I am, don’t make me tell you again.” she held herself tall and proud, staring down the two guards. They hesitantly nodded and left the door clear for the two to run in. Blue stared up at her, curious how much had been the magic and how much had relied on her reputation.

“Impressive,” he said, standing and making his way to her side, “did they hit you?”

Dougall looked at him, confused, then patted herself down. Once satisfied, she gave him a thumbs up and a forced smile, which he returned.

Time to get the job done.

Regardless of having to deal with two fewer guards, the two made their way over as silently as possible, cracking open the large wooden doors of the warehouse.

Blue held back a cough as he entered. The interior was brimming with dust and the smell of oil and rust. Boxes and crates stacked high to the ceiling, likely having never disturbed or seen in years. The sight alone made his blood boil. Earl Douglas was a wealthy old bastard who kept culture in boxes to fade away to nothing. People had fought and died to keep their rights to their own history, and yet here it was. Collecting dust, mingling with other stolen artefacts, to be forgotten by the gentry that cared not for its own people, let alone foreign rights.

“We’re never going to be able to shift through all of this,” he groaned, “Creator, I hope it’s not boxed up.”

“It’s disgusting,” agreed Dougall, a sneer pulling at her rough features. “come on, best crack on. We don’t have long and I’d rather make the most of my time, don’t you?”

Blue nodded and rolled his shoulders. He dreaded what had come of his weekend. Dougall blew on her transparent fingers, rubbing heat into them and shoving them into the pockets of her dark leather jacket, setting off towards the back of the warehouse, her form disappearing into the darkness. Blue sighed and closed the door behind them, hoping to look as inconspicuous as possible, and hopefully buying the budding thieves more time to search for their needle in a haystack.

He climbed on top of one box, ripping off the lid of a taller crate with a pop. The motion caused him to sway backwards, but he caught himself before he could topple onto the ground and cause harm to himself or draw attention. Placing the lid to lean against the taller crate, he rifled through what he could see. Pots, mainly, hidden haphazardly in loose hay. There were onto jewels that cost more than his entire worth, but not what they had asked him to acquire. The night was still young, he figured, and he had plenty more crates to keep him occupied for weeks.

He cracked open a few more crates to no avail. More pots and vases, and some shiny jewels he pocketed so at the least he wouldn’t return empty-handed. Dougall had yet to return from the blackened void that was the back of the warehouse. He had heard nothing at all from the woman since she sauntered off and feared the worse. They couldn’t have had much time left, surely. He hopped off of the crate with a grunt, knees popping.

He wandered the darkening maze, hoping to at least find his mentor and partner in crime. He pulled a lighter from his trouser pocket, flicking it once, twice, three times for the spark to catch. The soft glow illuminated next to nothing, but Blue pressed on, hoping to find his partner safe. He wasn’t sure how he’d ever explain that she got hurt or worse on his watch.

Running his fingers across wood and metal, subconsciously counting how many boxes deep he had gone. He counted eighteen long, and the warehouse’s end was nowhere in sight. He had gone too far in, the light from the entrance no longer guiding him. A soft breeze threatened his tiny flame, he quickly cupped his spare hand around it to keep it alight, to the loss of counting each crate. He’d just have to rely on his footsteps now.

Two voices muttered words that Blue couldn’t pick up. A tangled mess of hushed words and garbled tongues. He walked softer now, hoping to get a glimpse before he scared them off, or worse, startled an attack. He took his thumb off his lighter, extinguishing the flame. He plunged into darkness, hobbling along the best he could.

The voices grew louder, more heated as he got closer. Blue hesitated, waiting around a corner to not be caught by the flickering light that hovered in between two people. One was definitely a guard, clean suit and armed to the teeth, her hair tugged back tightly out of her face. Yet he couldn’t catch a glimpse of the other, but it was definitely a woman speaking.

“You can’t keep doing this,” said the guards woman, an exasperated tone that one might use on a younger family member trying to break into the snack cupboard.

“He doesn’t own me,” hissed the other woman, the voice he could now recognise as Dougall. “He never has. I don’t owe him anything.”

“This isn’t a matter of owing, Dot. He’s your-”

“I know who he is,” Dougall snarled, the air seemingly growing colder as the seconds ticked by, “now let me go. I have my own business to attend to. That’s an order.”

Dougall brushed past where he hid, storming down the aisle of crates. Blue let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He could hear a door squeak open and closed, presumably from the guard exiting the building.

He stood slowly, careful not to knock over any of the boxes as he went, flicking his lighter yet again. The soft yellow light barely lighting his way, but it was enough to make his way back the way he came. To pretend not to have heard whatever had transpired. He wasn’t a true member of The Ivory Rose, not yet. As much as the situation had been against his will, he refused to mess up his chance at a life of adventure just yet. It was in his blood after all. If he could not follow his mother, to travel across the seas, this was the next best thing.

He reached the end with little trouble, standing before the double doors of the warehouse. Returning to his crates, rifling through them again in case Dougall found him. He’d at least have plausible deniability in case questioned.

Dougall sauntered over from the left of the warehouse, letting out a single sharp whistle to get his attention. He looked over, almost dropping the vase he had found. There, in her hands, was the large framed painting of the one and only Sheridan Sørensen. The professional thief grinned, carefree and proud. Blue looked at the painting then slowly back at her in distrust. If she caught any of his doubt, she didn’t waver.

“Time to go,” she grinned, tossing him the painting - which he barely caught - and running out the door. He huffed and chased after her, feet pounding against the dense earth floor. Blue couldn’t be sure why they were running, what with the sudden lack of guards. Dougall’s order seemed to have worked, for whatever reason.

Blue parked the car in front of the Den, after an underwhelming drive back to the capital. He unbelted the painting from where it lay in the back of the van, following Dougall back inside. Dougall, who yelled at the top of her lungs the very second she entered despite the late hour.

“We’re back!” she whooped, sauntering into the living room, where the gaggle of women sat around; exhausted from waiting.

J, the team leader, rolled her eyes.“What do you want, a medal?”

Blue stepped in cautiously, painting held in front of him as if it could shield him from the many pairs of judging eyes of women he knew no name.

“Ey, he did it!” grinned one, a tall woman with purple ribbons braided into her hair, from where she sat cross-legged in front of the fire.

“Took longer than it should have - but yes, I suppose he did. Congratulations, Mr Blue.”

“You really can just call me Blue,” he said sheepishly, carefully setting the painting up against the wall. Sheridan Sørensen’s piercing gaze glared over the room as if her ghost lived on within the oil paint.

With a pop of a bottle and a thump on the door, the group froze. They stared warily towards the front door, looking amongst themselves as if daring someone to move. Blue braced himself, opting to take initiative, hoping that it would gain favour with the women.

He crept to the passageway, peaking out through the frosted glass panes that bordered the door, no matter how unhelpful they proved to be. A blur of black and silver stood swaying, moving forward to rap at the knocker again. Blue bit his lip, taking in a deep breath, and opened the door. Two of the Kingshill guards, pistols drawn, pushed past him into the house, no matter Blue’s yelps of discouragement.

They filed into the living room where the crew sat like statues, the froth from the popped alcohol dripping languidly down the side of the glass untouched.

“Dorothy Douglas,” boomed the male guard, pistol pointing towards Dougall’s face. Dougall hardly looked surprised, much less interested. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Dorothy Marlowe.”

#WIP: Thieves and Necromancy #kd writes #writing #WIP: Let Us Live #Wip: Let Us Live; For We Must Die

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antiquitiesandlabyrinths · 3 years

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The Impact of Religion and the Mother Goddess on Human Culture

Notes: This essay is compiled from a number of sources ranging from books, university publications, youtube videos, and museum articles. This essay is also not just about Egypt, like the rest of this blog is––it concerns early civilizations ranging from Britains to Harappans.

As we all know, religion inhabits much of our daily life in modern times, and even more so in ancient times. The origins of our existence have been explained many times over with many different ideas––how these ideas are presented to the world and the common man influences the actions of the people and government who follow that religion.

The oldest religions in the world tend to worship a Mother Goddess––a feminine figure that represents the ability to create life which, for a while, was confined entirely to the efforts of women and the miracle of childbirth. We know very little about these people beyond what the archaeological record can tell, as there is no written language for pre-history hominids who created the first works of art; women, with full hips and breasts, carved into wood and stone. What we do know about them is that they had forms of empathy––healed femur bones from old, preserved skeletons reveal that people healed from grievous injuries that, in many other species, would mark death. Jaws, hunched in like the pursed lips of old men, were also found without their teeth, but still living to an impressive age of around 80. Someone had to physically chew this person's food, and they did, for what could've been decades. This shows that same pattern; a tribe that fed, clothed, and took care of someone who otherwise would not have survived on their own.

All of this points not only to intelligence in early hominids, but also a form of empathy that some people even today lack in our society––a society that doesn't worship a Mother Goddess, whose origins in humanity are entirely different from the beliefs of the first humans.

The Sumerian civilization is among the oldest, including the four civilizations birthed in cradles of humanity––the Harappan civilization along the Indus Valley river, Mesopotamian culture along the Euphrates––or the fertile crescent––, as well as Egypt along the Nile and the rivers in China. This topic of Sumerian religion, the changes it went through, and the effect that had on its' people, are discussed in great detail in the book 'The Alphabet Versus the Goddess' by Leonard Shlain, but I will attempt to summarize the religious history of Sumeria and Mesopotamia.

When the first towns and cities began to prop up around the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, the people who lived there worshipped a wide pantheon of Gods like many of the other first civilizations. Their creation myth involves the work of a primeval mother Goddess named Namma, who created humanity. These people who lived under this creation myth, this belief that they were created out of nothing and out of love, allowed for times of relative peace, as well as a rapid growth in art, structure, and other such refinements of city life. Later on, however, this idea was obstructed by a rising Babylonian culture coming into the fertile crescent. These people believed in a much more gruesome birth of humanity, and is a strikingly, and horrifying, difference from the myths of early Sumerians.

The Babylonian creation myth was written or told as a way of confirming Marduk as the main God of the world. This story is called Enuma Elish, and acted as a way to legitimize Marduk replacing Enlil, the previous God King. The telling of it occurred during the Kassite inhabitation of Babylon.

Tiamat, the Goddess of the Sea (salty water) mated with her husband Apsu, a God who represented fresh water. From this several Gods emerged in couplets. Most were boisterous and loud, as young children are, producing so much noise that Apsu was incensed to destroy them. He was stopped soon by his wife, Tiamat, who urged him to exhibit more patience; a request he did not heed. Their sons soon heard of this danger and, in fear of death, called upon the god Ea to help them. Ea was an incredibly resourceful God, and put the angered Apsu to sleep with a spell. They killed the sleeping God and stole his vizier, Mummu. After this, Ea birthed his own child with his consort, Damkina. This is the origin of Marduk.

Marduk was the tallest and the mightiest of all the Gods, who held power to control the four winds, a power given by the God Anu. Anu told him to let the winds whirl; it created a storm that picked up dust from the earth, the winds roaring loud enough to antagonize the usually patient Tiamat. Other Gods faced this same irritation and urged Tiamat to take action––to slay down the God, Marduk.

Another telling of this story has a slightly different timeline, that tells a significantly different story––instead of Ea and lesser Gods killing Apsu, Apsu is killed by Marduk, which directs Tiamat's anger more reasonably to Marduk.

When she comes to face Marduk on the battlefield, she has with her eleven monsters created by the Mother Goddess for this quest. While Ea tries to find a way to end this confrontation with magic spells, he is eventually told that it isn't exactly possible, and thus Marduk puts forth an offer that the other Gods take. He will face the Goddess Tiamat, and if he should win, he would be the King of all Gods. This battle is long and difficult, but eventually Marduk does win in a horrifying way. He blows massive gusts of wind down Tiamat's mouth, swelling her stomach and abdomen so massively she appears to be a woman in the final stages of pregnancy. While she is thoroughly and painfully stretched with Marduk's wind, he slays her with an arrow down her gullet, killing a woman who had the image of the feminine creation of life, an ending violently estranged from the myth of a mother Goddess creating things by her own magic, and not the death of others.

Once Tiamat is slain, her corpse is large, and Marduk puts it to use. He stretches her skin out to become the sky. Her pierced eyes, heavy with tears, are the origins of the Euphrates and the Tigris, flooded with her crying. Her tail is made into the Milky Way. Her split head, torn by the heavy club of Marduk, is used to make the mountains, and her body created the earth. He pricked her breasts in many places for the tributaries of the rivers. From her blood Marduk creates humans in a disturbingly dark way, a stark difference––humans made by magic, versus humans made by the murder of a Goddess mirroring the image of a pregnant woman.

As God-King, Marduk received complaints from lesser Gods that they had to toil on the earth themselves to create their own tributes, taken care of by worshippers. To remedy this, Marduk decides to create humans. He singled out Tiamat's favorite son, Kingu, who ruled with her after her husband's death, and accused him of instigating Tiamat's rage. He placed all blame on this one God, freeing everyone else of the blame but Kingu. Marduk then ordered his father, Ea, to knead the flesh and blood of Kingu's executed form, this sacrifice, molding it like clay in his hands. After the images of many humans were created, Marduk sentenced them to toil on Tiamat's corpse for all their lives in order to create offerings and worship for the Gods.

This violent origin creates a culture indebted to its' gods, forever attempting to repent from the sins of their past, the gruesomeness of their creation, to make up for Kingu's sacrifice. Compared to the simple origins of the mother Goddess Nammu, the people who worshipped her in Sumer didn't have this responsibility––they were created of love. But Babylonians lived forever attempting to make up for their own creations, a theme that is reflected clearly in Christianity. A savior, and worshippers forever trying to repent for their own existence.

This story also reflects the growth of monetary gain in a society. For example, the Indus Valley civilization on the Indus river had no such array of Gods that required tributes so often like that. It is hard to say what exactly the people of Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro truly believed in, as we have yet to decipher their written language, but archaeological evidence shows no presence of temples for Gods in any of the cities. Instead, the cities are laid out in a straight, clearly preplanned manner that allowed wind to channel through the streets like air conditioning. There were no ways for these city-states to hold immense power over the people, as there was no reason that would excuse the abuse put upon lower-class citizens; there were no violent 'Gods' to which such offerings were necessary, meaning the class system most likely worked in a very different way to that of Babylonia, who had massive temples. The creation and building of these temples fuelled the Mesopotamian economy greatly, as money that was collected in taxes was actually put to use, not stored up and saved like what can happen in a capitalistic society. It's the difference between a city built for its' people or a city built for its' gods, and, in extension, the god-Kings that ruled on earth. Something interesting to note as well, is that the Indus Valley civilization didn't have any weapons or mass wars––as far as we know––in its' history from 5,000 BC to 1500 BC. There could be other reasons for this, but I believe it may have something to do with the feminine cult religion and the absence of temples.

There is a similar theme in Egyptian culture, surprisingly. Egypt is known as an ancient civilization that had forward-thinking rights for women and men, including divorce proceedings and the ability to hold a job and property. Like Sumer, its original creation myth dealt mainly with the creative, coming-together of powerful forces; this time two women, something that very rarely happens in religion. There are no male Gods that inspire or order the two Goddesses––they act alone, and of their own volition. This tale is one of the oldest creation myths we've found yet in Egypt, dating all the way back to the Early Dynastic Period of the Old Kingdom.

Nekhbet was the Goddess of Upper Egypt, a vulture Goddess (whose imagery and meaning we will discuss later). Wadjet was the serpent Goddess of Lower Egypt. These two Goddesses were primordial deities, existing before the creation of earth. They emerged from the waters of chaos, which was thought to be all that the world was back then, bringing with them land and air, and eventually the loving creations of humans. Like cobras that twist around each other into a double helix, the Egyptians were intrinsically entwined with the Nile, an image that is reflected even in modern times, with the symbol of two entwined snakes being the symbol for healing, often displayed in hospitals, and the formation of DNA in its ladder-like structure.

It may seem a little strange that the two Goddesses who created the earth––in this Divine Feminine mythology––are represented by a cobra and a vulture, but in Egyptian society, that was simply what they were.

In hieroglyphics, vultures denote a woman. They are in the spelling of mother, of daughter, of wife, and of Goddesses. In fact, the word mother is written the exact same way as vulture. These birds appeared to have foresight to the Egyptians as well––they circled their prey before a meal was assured, remarking a sort of prophecy. They also denoted a divine manifestation of death, an important trait to share with the goddess Nekhbet, who carried exceptional power.

The snake was also a feminine symbol, though strangely explained by the Egyptians, whose ideas on life differ greatly from the modern, more monotheistic view (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism). The sinuous like movements of its' 'step' mimicked the swaying of a woman's hips in a dance, evocative and nubile, and her movements in the throes of passion mimicked a similar serpentine state. Snakes resembled the meandering shapes of rivers, the roots of trees and plants, and the umbilical cord of mammalians. They live deep within the earth, making their home within the Great Mother, and they appeared to live forever, shedding their skin whenever renewal was required. This specifically was a trait revered by Egyptians, who had a great love and zest for life, and wished to live forever. Renewal connected snakes to the Nile's inundation and the sun's revival every morning after its' death the night before. Hieroglyphs come into play with snakes, as well––the hieroglyphs for serpent are the same as the hieroglyphs for Goddess.

It can be difficult to say how exactly this myth was thought of during the Old Kingdom. This is an incredibly old myth, and by the time writing started to really take hold of the country, the myth was replaced with a new, more masculine one. While it wasn't as violent as the Babylonian creation myth, it contained an incredible amount of masculine energy. Female goddesses faded from the light as a particular two Gods shot up in popularity––Amun and Ra, or Amun-Re (there are many different spellings, including Atum, Re, Aten, etc.).

There is an incredibly theory put forth in the previously mentioned book "The Alphabet Versus the Goddess" that inspired me to truly think about the connection between religion and society, as well as the impact of writing on the ideas of feminine and masculine energies within that society. Leonard Shlain, the author of the book, posits that "... any written method of communication skews society toward masculine vales."

The new, masculine myth that took the place of the Goddesses Nekhbet and Wadjet was a little more simple––Atum stood on a mound of earth, surrounded by the primordial sea. Atum masturbated, and from his seed sprouted the Ennead––nine deities making up a family of powerful Gods and Goddesses. This story was found to have its origins nearly 1500 years after the myth of Nekhbet and Wadjet.

So how did this change in mythology reflect in society?

Again, it is hard to say. In the Old Kingdom, Pharaohs tended to their people, and their was a feudal-type system ruled by an all-powerful King. Art flourished in the time, and even today many people claim that the art of Egypt peaked in the Old/Middle Kingdom and fizzled out during the New Kingdom. Another notable change is after the invasion of the Hyksos––and an occupation that lasted only a little over a century, one that was despised heavily––Egypt began to take on a new sort of mindset. Pharaohs now went out beyond the borders of Egypt, even up into Canaan and completing quests of great magnitude, erecting monuments in honor of their victory. Such behavior is found more in violent, masculine-powered societies than anywhere else.

Viking and Medieval UK faced this same problem––women were hardly considered people during this age, unable to own their own land or divorce. This was a masculine honoring society, praising the violence of colonizing and shunning empathy. There was a need within the people to 'spread their greatness' to others, but in reality, the greatness was nothing more than violence; a theme also seen in the Avatar: The Last Airbender, as the Fire nation brainwashed its' child citizens to believe the Fire Nation had a right to the rest of the world. I'm afraid I have little else to say on the topic of Europe because that is not my area of study, but the similarities are easy to draw.

Our society today is, despite our best efforts, a masculine-drawn society. Our God is chiefly referred to as 'He' and representation in our media for women is scant beyond superficial characters, as men, who rule most of the business in the world, can have trouble seeing women as something more than a pretty, talking toy. This, of course, isn't universal, but it is incredibly common and would be more so if women weren't trying to make a stand. Like Babylonians, Christians are born with innate guilt, attempting to make up and repent for the sacrifice of their savior, another masculine form of a deity. Like Atum-worshipping Egyptians, our world was created alone at the hands of an all powerful male God.

But, unlike Sumerians, we never had a Mother Goddess. Unlike the earliest myths of Egypt, the world was not birthed at the hands of a fertile woman. And, unlike early Egypt, we are not happy. Our 'life after death' is somewhere unlike Earth, somewhere that is perfect, unlike earth. But for Egyptians? Life after death was earth, just another form of it, and life in that afterlife was just the same as life during life. Whether or not that has anything to do with our method of governing, our economy, or our massive differences in religion––there is no evidence. It is a simple outlook on life that is only translated in holy texts and the remains of dead people, and dead people very rarely talk.

Like most things, religion isn't contained to a Sunday every week or to Muslim prayer mats every day––such things spread into our food, our way of life, our infrastructure, how we respect and treat each other, and how we treat the Earth. I believe it is important to remember that the oldest Gods are things seen every day––the water, the earth, the sky, the sun, and the stars. These are what influenced the first humans, the first beings to care for one another in old age, to heal what was thought to be forever broken, and to take up the mantle of kindness for each other without the threat of a violent God condemning them. Many modern people base their ethics on the threat of punishment from God(s), in which case we can all learn from atheists, who continue to do good without threat, simply because they believe it is right to help others, just as our ancestors did.

#ancient religion #ancient history #egyptian mythology #ancient sumeria #sumerian mythology #babylonian mythology #indus valley civilization #divine feminine #divine masculine

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

tolerate it

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, harassing

a/n: at this point do i know how many parts this is gonna have? no i’m expecting there to be at least two more, who knows tbh. this part was originally supposed to be champagne problems but i decided to change it to tolerate it and champagne problems will MOST LIKELY be the next one followed by tis the damn season. “tolerate it” the song is from bucky’s point of view and not y/n.

INIVISIBLE STRINGS - CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

If it's all in my head tell me now, tell me I've got it wrong somehow ...

- We need to talk. - her father stood in front of the door, his police hat hanging from his head. - The chief wants to put someone else on the field.

- Why? - her stomach dropped and she felt sick. Why did she felt sick? Someone else on the field would make her job easier, safer. But her job wasn’t dangerous or it hadn’t been dangerous so far. Bucky hadn’t been rude, harmful or anything of the sort. He’d protect her even and cared for her his own way. Last thing she needed was one of her father’s colleagues following her around as if she were a child. She had gotten the name of his enemy ... although she had little to no will of revelling it.

- Catherine’s son. You remember him. He’s fresh out of the police academy and you two used to be great friends when you were kids. Already got some info on the mob upstate and he could help speed things up.

- Edward was an asshole and the reason why he got info on the mob upstate was because he stole it from his partner. - she crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t the best undercover agent in the world, maybe because she wasn’t an agent at all but it had been their choice to put her alone on the field. A second person would only mean that any slip from them would lead to her getting offed. At least if she was alone, she could blame herself for any harm that came her way. - Shouldn’t I have been consulted when you made that decision?

- You’re not part of the force, Y/N. Besides, the sooner this is over, the sooner you can return to your life. What are you wearing anyway?

- I ...

- Y/N, thank god you’re home. - Wanda rushed into the living room, crying. Her senses were immediately heightened and the fact her father held no confidence in her whatsover no longer mattered. Wanda did. - Patrick broke up with me.

- Patrick? - who the hell was Patrick? She remembered Johan and to some extent Ben could be considered an ex-boyfriend but Patrick? Who the heck was he? Before she could question her about it, Wanda was already hugging her side, forehead pressed against her covered.

- Well, I see you’re busy. I’ll speak with you later, Y/N. - her eyes remained on the ground as the sound of his heavy uniform boots registered past her, opening the once closed door and returning it with a closed bang to its latches. The defeating sound of silence haunted both of them as Wanda stepped away, cleaning the tears of her cheeks.

- I was seeing he’d never leave. You’re lucky you have a very good actress for a friend.

- Thank you, Wanda. I’m sorry I’m this late. - she pulled Bucky’s jacket which was still laying atop her shoulders. - So, is Patrick a fake person?

- Don’t change the subject. Whose jacket is that? I called the bar and they said you weren’t there. I was worried, Y/N!

- I was with Mr. Barnes. - she held the jacket against her chest, the scent of his expensive cologne somehow calming her down. Wanda was right to scold her, she wasn’t thinking straight or safe but yet again she didn’t feel in danger when he was near her so why did it matter?

It clearly mattered to Wanda. She knew danger and she knew what they were capable off, being herself a fan of true crime. Last thing she wanted was for Y/N to suffer an accident or suddenly have an overdose or go into alcohol coma. Yet Y/N couldn’t help but stream into the unknown that was so addictive, the warm blanket of safety that he gave her. She was dumb enough to have gotten into the job so she would see it through.

The brunette of course knew why she was so sweet on this safety. She had known Y/N since the two were babies and there was no lie or hiding when she was intrigued by someone. It had happened two times in her whole life - with Chris when she was 5 and with Joshua when she was 18. There was this twinkle in her eye, that walk of pure calmness as if there was no problem in life. This, this definitely was another time that Wanda would even regret seeing or love to talk about during ringing bells’ celebrations.

- You’re a smart girl, please tell me you know the game you’re playing.

- I do. - she walked out without any more words. She knew if they were to come out she would merely wound herself and what was the use in wounding herself and holding the mirror of truth up to her face if not to drown in her own sea of insecurities?

She sat on her own bed, swallowed by the covers and blankets, shoes thrown aside and earrings in her hands. What was she doing? What was she feeling? Was it even a good idea to think about what she was feeling or even put it into thoughts? No, it wasn’t because a deep and dark part of her knew what it was and the one who wanted to do good, the one who always did good, perfect A’s, perfect assignments refuse to look at. It was best to sleep, nothing good would come out of her if she were tired and so she decided to sleep.

Morning came like a bad memory and she was up and at those classroom halls in what seemed like minutes. Things went by slowly and she found herself falling asleep on the top of her hand more than usual and she probably would’ve slept throughout her whole anatomy lesson had it not been for the girls sat on the row above her chatting in a very annoying tone. Usually Y/N would’ve just ignored it and razor focus on the lecturer but today all she wanted was to do was to ignore what he was saying. She found herself eavesdropping on their conversation; apparently there had been some confusion on the city centre deriving to some violence which also in a regular day wouldn’t have caught her attention had it not been for the mention of the mob. Her senses perked up and she started tapping her foot against the hardwood of the ground until the clock finally hit finishing time and she was out of the classroom in a rush.

Y/N held the books tight against her chest as she ran down the street, wind penetrating through the knitting holes of her cardigan as shivering her skin as she continued to run on loose and broken cobblestones not exactly knowing why and where she was running to. Well, she knew where to, she just thought better to tell herself she knew where not to.

The unlit lights of the bar/club came into view and she rushed through the door and straight to the back and to the door she was told never to open. Her hand grasped the handle and pushed it open hoping to not see it empty.

- What the ... - Mr. Barnes turned around on his chair, expecting to yell at whomever of him clumsy workers had walked in without the decency of knocking only to see his own clumsy bartender. - Looking for tutoring, petal?

- What? - she questioned before looking at the books she was holding. - Oh, no I was just ... I heard, I saw ...

- Good that means your ears and eyes work properly.

- I heard there was a commotion in the centre and that the mob was involved and I ...

- You thought to check on me? - he gave her a toothy grin, hands placed on his desk as he rose from his chair. - I’m flattered, petal.

- No, I ... I ... - she looked down at her shoes, feeling his presence as he approached her. - I thought my shift would’ve been cancelled if you or anyone else had been harmed.

- No. - he hooked a finger under her chin, gently pushing it upwards. - I’m afraid you’ll still have to work.

- Ahh ... good. - she felt her mouth dry up as she stared at him. No, you can’t do this anymore, Y/N. You’ve been compromised, go away, give up, quit, say you don’t want to work here anymore. - I have to tell you something.

No, shit. Don’t blow your own cover, what are you doing? Her inner voice yelled at her.

- I’m all ears.

- I ... - she was parched, world spinning around yet for some unholy reason she was gonna come clean and maybe eventually end tied to bricks at the end of the river. Why was she coming clean? What are you doing, Y/N? - I’m ...

- Mr. Barnes? - a third voice shattered everything, making both the mob boss and the bartender look to the owner of said third voice. Edward. - Oh, hey Y/N, I didn’t know you worked here.

- You know each other? - James’ hands were immediately on his pockets as he took a step in front of the bartender. Had she not known any better, she would’ve assumed it was a protective stance.

- We used to date each other back in prep school.

The answer knocked the two of them back. Y/N mostly because she would never in a million years dated someone like Edward as one he was the son of one of her father’s ex-girlfriend and two she barely could stand him. James, on the other hand, seemingly couldn’t see his bartender, his very clumsy bartender who enjoyed to pretend to be Betty Draper on auctions, dating the newest bar’s cleaning boy, one whom he particularly disliked.

- I see. Well, you ought to know I don’t accept work relationships. If that’s all, I was having a conversation with Y/N.

- No, it’s fine Mr. Barnes. I need to speak with Edward myself. - she punctuated the last word as if it spewed poison. Bucky looked at her, hands in fists as she walked out with the cleaning boy by the hand as if she herself hand a place in the mob herself.

She wanted to throw him to the floor once they were out of sight and had it not been for the fact he was taller and physically stronger than her so instead she shoved him against one of the walls.

- What the hell, Edward? Your ex-girlfriend?! - she whispered-shouted at him.

- It’s a reason for us to be close so instantly. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.

- Stay the fuck away from me and don’t you talk to me. - she pointed at him before storming out but not before realising she had left her books, her library borrowed books, on Mr. Barnes’ office.

She turned around out of anger, not really knowing what she was mad about. It wasn’t like she was expecting her father to pay any homage to her wishes of not having Edward around. It didn’t matter really except of course it did but she would never dare to say anything about it. She knocked on the office’s door this time, one which was opened by a very surprised James as if he expected the two ex lovers to be behind his bar reminding themselves of what love feels like.

- Forgot something, petal?

- My books. - she pointed at them laying on top of one of his chairs. - I ... they’re from the library, I need them.

- Of course. - he handed them to her as if it weighed nothing. - Anything else I can do for you, petal?

- Oh yes, sorry I forgot. - she opened her bag rummaging through it to find the box of incredibly expensive earrings she had been nervous about carrying with herself the whole day, afraid of being robbed. The bartender handed him the box, receiving a mere eyebrow raise from him. - It’s an incredible gift, Mr. Barnes but I couldn’t possibly accept it.

- Why not?

- It’s too expensive.

- It’s nothing compared to what I have.

- Well ... I’d have nowhere to wear it.

- You should wear them here.

- I don’t ... I’m not the type of woman who wears things like these.

- Come with me. - he took the box from her, moving away from where he was standing and out of the office. As if she were attached to him by some invisible string, she followed straight away, wondering where they were going. He wouldn’t kill her here, and to be honest she started to wonder if he ever would.

He stopped in front of the bathroom’s, opening the door for her and standing near it. She looked at him in confusion, not entirely knowing what he wanted to do in the bathroom or why he wanted her in the bathroom. Was he going to kill her in the bathroom? She stood on her two feet still for a few seconds before going inside still wary of his intentions, whatever they were.

She could hear the sound of her ballerina slips as she entered the tilled dark decorated bathroom which was cleaner than it did during the night. His hand stood in the small of her back leading it against the black marbled counter connected to the mirrored wall.

- May I? - he opened the box and she nodded, looking at herself in the mirror. She stood there, motionless yet with feelings heightened as he pushed her hair away from her ears to put the earrings on her. They were slightly heavy, a sign of their value and her mind couldn’t wrap around the fact such expensive jewellery was hanging from her ear lobes. - You look exactly like the type of woman who wears things like those, petal.

- You flatter me.

- I think you just don’t flatter yourself enough. - she turned her head to face him. She could feel his breathe against her forehead. All she could sense was that, his breathe, the smell of his cologne and the sound of silence. Looking up to him, he could see her own reflection, the reflection of her earrings glistening on his baby blue eyes. She didn’t know what to say, eyes glued to his as they both got close to each other until each other’s lips were touching, melting in want.

The silence seemed to burst into fireworks of each other’s heartbeats as his hands held her waist close to him. They were too lost on each other, both forgetting for a moment who each was to give way to their own choices.

- Mr. Barnes? - someone knocked on the door, that invisible string pulling them together breaking as they stopped kissing and stepped away from each other.

- I’m busy. - he yelled out.

- Mr. Barnes there’s someone here for you.

- I said I’m busy.

- No, it’s fine. - she rushed her fingers through her hair, one hand against the counter holding her up. What had she done? - You should go.

- Petal.

- It’s fine. - both hands now held the counter, eyes shut. - You should go.

I sit and watch you ...

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner @tcc-gizmachine @saiyanprincessswanie

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jewishjon · 3 years

Text

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself.

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something.

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’”

Kill. Kill Wylan.

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks.

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night.

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life.

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom.

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow.

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son.

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome.

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down.

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again.

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist.

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #ck #soc #the grishaverse #shadow and bone #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper #gvbb21 #gvbbfic21 #kuwei yul bo #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #netflix #jan van eck #fanfic

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Fast and Furious Timeline Explained (Including F9)

https://ift.tt/35RIciY

When the Fast and Furious franchise started in 2001, it’s doubtful anyone working on it expected they were launching a mythology so trenchant it’d still be going 20 years later in a film with the words “Fast Saga” in its full title. But here we are on the opening weekend of F9: The Fast Saga, and the series is so beloved it’s expected to resurrect the theatergoing box office once more. And you know? Thank goodness, mi familia.

Sometimes there’s nothing nicer than spending your summer situated around a grill with a couple of cold ones, reminiscing about old times with loved ones. And if we ever spent a full day at one of the Toretto clan’s barbecues, we’d likely hear a lot more exciting tales that begin with “remember that time…” After all, what other family can talk about that time they stole a literal vault out of Rio de Janeiro? Or that other time Luke Hobbs caught a torpedo with his bare hands; and Trej and Roman over there, they launched a Pontiac into space! With them in it!

There have been some crazy times with this group. Hence we’ve created this handy-dandy timeline for those who are struggling to remember when and where things went down…

* Editor’s Note: After Fast & Furious (2009), the franchise gets intentionally vague and fuzzy about the time and years between events, so exact dates are left somewhat up to interpretation.

1989

Dominic and Jakob Toretto work as mechanics on their father Jack Toretto’s professional stock car. During the last race of the season, Jack asks Jakob to help him throw the race, but Jack is killed in the sabotaged accident. Dom thinks Jakob murdered their father. (F9)

Dom beats another pro driver named Kenny Linder near to death with a wrench, as he is at least partially responsible for the carnage of Jack’s crash. Dom is sentenced to prison for five years. (The Fast and the Furious, F9)

1991

Dominic Toretto is released from prison after two years. The first thing he does when he gets out is challenge Jakob to a street race. If Dom wins, Jakob will leave Los Angeles and never return. He’ll also shut off all communication with Dom and their sister Mia. Jakob loses. (F9)

2001

Dominic Toretto alongside his ride or die lover, Letty Ortiz, and childhood friend Vince form an illegal crew of big rig hijackers, stealing DVD players and digital cameras. (The Fast and the Furious)

Brian O’Conner volunteers to go undercover for the LAPD and FBI, infiltrating Toretto’s crew and the world of illegal street racing. But he soon comes to idolize Dom and fall in love with his little sister, Mia Toretto. Brian ultimately helps Dom escape the Feds. (The Fast and the Furious)

2002

Gifted Asian American student Han Lue graduates rom petty crimes to participating with his cousin and two other friends in a cheat sheet racket at their prestigious high school. The group makes a small fortune, but after things get out of hand, they wind up murdering another student. Han’s cousin who helped in the deed kills himself, and a mourning Han drifts further into the underworld. (Better Luck Tomorrow)

2003

Years after fleeing California and prosecution, Brian winds up in Miami where he’s still a hotshot street racer who hangs with his mechanic buddy Tej Parker. After their operation is pinched, Brian is given an offer by the FBI to go undercover again and root out a violent Argentinian drug cartel operating out of Miami. He does so alongside childhood pal Roman Pearce. (2 Fast 2 Furious)

2005

Dom and Letty are secretly married while living as fugitives outside the U.S. (Furious 7)

2006

Dom Toretto now runs a hijacking crew out of the Dominican Republic, alongside Letty and new bestie Han Lue. After a near death experience, they disband. Han says he’ll go to Tokyo, and Dom leaves Letty behind. (Fast & Furious)

Letty goes to Brian O’Conner, who is now an FBI agent. She attempts to clear her and Dom’s records by infiltrating a Mexican drug cartel run by Arturo Braga. Unfortunately, Arturo figures out Letty’s deception and runs her off the road, blowing up her car, which leads everyone to think she died (including Brian and Dom). In truth, she was saved from the wreckage by Gisele Yashar, a secret CIA operative who also infiltrated the Braga cartel. She takes Letty to the hospital. (Fast & Furious, Fast & Furious 6, Furious 7)

At the hospital, Letty awakens with amnesia and is recruited into a crew run by Owen Shaw, who has power over the Braga organization. (Fast & Furious 6)

2007

Dom returns to Los Angeles with Mia to avenge Letty’s apparent murder. He buries the hatchet with Brian as they destroy Braga’s cartel. Dom is supposed to have his name cleared in the process, but the FBI betrays him and he’s sentenced to 25 years in prison. Brian and Mia hijack Dom’s prison transport, freeing him and becoming fugitives themselves. (Fast & Furious)

After freeing Dom, the trio flee to Rio Janeiro where they hope to stay incognito. Old friend Vince recruits them for a job to steal three cars, but mid-mission the threesome learn they’re stealing from the DEA, including a vehicle with a computer chip that details the financials of a Brazilian crime lord. (Fast Five)

Dom and Brian recruit an international crew to steal $100 million from the crime lord, including Roman Pearce, Trej Parker, Han Jue, and Gisele Yashar. The Family is reborn. Brian and Mia also learn they’re pregnant. The crew ultimately steals the money and even gains assistance from ruthless DSS agent Luke Hobbs after the super-cop’s team is murdered by local gangsters. (Fast Five)

Hobbs discovers Letty is still alive. (Fast Five)

2008

Brian and Mia give birth to their son Jack. (Fast & Furious 6)

Hobbs tracks Dom down, discovering Dom is now in a serious relationship with Hobbs’ former Brazilian liaison, Elena Neves. Dom is told Letty is alive and working for British criminal mastermind Owen Shaw. (Fast & Furious 6)

Dom and the Family are able to rescue Letty from her manipulative boss, even though she still doesn’t remember who she is. Dom leaves Elena for her. In the fight to save Letty, Gisele is killed and Owen is left in a coma. Han, who was dating Gisele, decides to go to Tokyo. (Fast & Furious 6)

Elena discovers she is pregnant with Dom’s child and decides not to tell him. (The Fate of the Furious)

2009

Elena gives birth to Dom’s son, whom Don is unaware of. (The Fate of the Furious)

Han is recruited by CIA mystery man Mr. Nobody, who reveals Gisele was a CIA agent the whole time. Han picks up where Gisele left off, ultimately saving an orphaned Japanese child named Elle, whose parents encrypted her blood with the key codes to a doomsday device called Ares. (F9)

Han continues illegal street racing in Tokyo where “drifting” is what the cool kids do. He even takes American teenager Sean Boswell under his wing after Sean is banished by his mother to live in Japan with his Army father. Han teaches Sean to drift. (The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift)

Deckard Shaw, Owen Shaw’s older brother, breaks into Owen’s hospital and, after killing his doctors, promises to avenge little bro by getting the Toretto family! He begins by nearly killing Luke Hobbs and Elena, who is now working full-time with the big guy. (Furious 7)

Dom takes Letty to Race Wars in order to jog her memory. She gets fragments back but decides the old Letty is dead and drives off, leaving Dom. (Furious 7)

Dom returns to his family home in Los Angeles where Mia tells him that she and Brian are expecting their second child and she’s afraid to tell him because he’s addicted to an adventurous lifestyle. Dom agrees to talk to Brian. Only then does he receive an ominous phone call about… (Furious 7)

… How during Sean and Han’s exploits ,they offend the Yakuza. This leads to Sean and Han being chased by gangsters. In the chaos, Han is T-boned and seemingly killed in an explosion. The other driver is Deckard Shaw, who is here to kill Han in order to send Dom Toretto a message: he’s coming for the Family. He calls Dom to taunt him as he thinks Han burns. But in a twist on a twist, it turns out Han and Mr. Nobody knew Deckard was coming and used this as an opportunity to fake Han’s death so as to better protect Elle! (The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, Fast & Furious 6, Furious 7, F9)

After receiving Deckard’s phone call, a letter bomb goes off in the Toretto family home, nearly killing Dom and Mia. Dom and the Family are recruited by CIA weirdo Mr. Nobody into stopping Deckard from obtaining an all-powerful MacGuffin. Nobody gives them unlimited resources and also brings Letty back into the fold. She inexplicably gets her memories back after remembering she and Dom were secretly married. (Furious 7)

Sean ultimately becomes the Drift King of Tokyo (The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift)

The heroes save hacker Ramsey from Deckard and she joins the Family. Together they stop Deckard by causing a parking garage to literally fall on his head. Shaw goes to prison, and Dom and Letty get back together. Brian agrees to retire for the sake of his two kids but not before one last angelic ride along next to Dom. (Furious 7)

Movies

Hollywood Execs Are Crediting Fast and Furious with Growing Embrace of Diversity

By David Crow

Movies

F9 Ending Is a Game Changer

By David Crow

2010

Dom and Letty’s overdue Cuban honeymoon is interrupted when Dom is blackmailed into working for evil genius terrorist Cipher. It turns out Cipher has kidnapped Elena and their still-an-infant son to coerce Dom into being her wheelman. (The Fate of the Furious)

Luke Hobbs approaches the family to do an illegal mission, but in the getaway Dom betrays them at Cipher’s behest, leading Luke Hobbs to be disgraced and sent to prison. He gets a cell right next to Deckard Shaw, and the two develop a frenemy banter. They’re freed by Mr. Nobody to help the CIA track Cipher. (The Fate of the Furious)

Cipher kills Elena after she lets Dom name their son (many months after his birth) Brian. During a mission to steal a nuclear submarine, Dom is freed from Cipher’s control after Deckard hijacks Cipher’s plane and saves wee little baby Brian. Dom helps the Family stop the nuclear sub. Deckard Shaw becomes part of the Family while Dom and Letty adopt baby Brian. (The Fate of the Furious)

2012

The CIA pressures Hobbs and Shaw to join forces after MI6 agent Hattie Shaw, Deckard and Owen’s little sister, is targeted by cyber-enhanced super soldiers who want the superpower-giving virus she’s hidden in her bloodstream. Hobbs and Shaw reluctantly work together, save Hattie, and ultimately travel to Hobbs’ family home in Samoa. (Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs And Shaw)

2013

Sean and buddies Twinkie and Earl Hu begin experimenting with a Pontiac Fiero that they’ll attach a rocket to with the aim of one day shooting it into space. (F9)

2014

Dom is living peacefully with Letty and his three or four-year-old son when he’s told Cipher has resurfaced and shot down Mr. Nobody’s plane. He reluctantly joins the Family to try and rescue Mr. Nobody, and they discover Dom’s long lost little brother, Jakob (now big and swole), is involved after going rogue as a secret agent. (F9)

Letty and Mia go to Tokyo to find out what Jakob is after and discover Han is alive, reuniting him, plus his ward Elle, with the Family. (F9)

Trej and Roman work with Sean and friends on the Fiero, eventually “driving” it into space to stop Jakob (and later Cipher) from essentially taking over the world. Jakob helps Dom stop Cipher and is pseudo-redeemed. (F9)

Back from the dead, Han decides to confront Deckard Shaw… (F9)

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96thdayofrage · 3 years

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The Original Karens: From Emmett Till’s Accuser To The White Woman Who Sparked The Tulsa Massacre

Written by Clay Cane

In this current climate of protests and demands for justice, the entitled and indignant white women known as “Karens” appear to be falling apart.

From Amy Cooper, whose over dramatic 911 call on a birdwatching Black man blew up in her face, to Lisa Alexander, who was shocked to discover that no one needs her permission to write “Black Lives Matter” in chalk on their own property, Karens are in a rage. Not even a camera in their face will stop their toxic entitlement, which has led to a string of viral sensations.

When thinking of the country’s experiences with white supremacist violence, the discussions are typically centered around men. However, white women have historically been at the helm of this terror, using their tears and imaginary delicateness as ammunition for victim hood and ultimately destroying lives or at its worst, taking one.

Once upon a time, even the slightest hint that white womanhood may be in danger resulted in the lynching of Black children or a thriving town full of Black families being burned to the ground.

Here are some of the most horrific stories of Karens going wild before the term came into existence.

Sarah Page

There has been a lot of talk around Tulsa, Oklahoma due to this month's 99th anniversary of the tragic race massacre that took place there in 1921. Many people may not know the race massacre began with a 17-year-old named Sarah Page.

Page was an elevator operator in what was called the Drexel Building in downtown Tulsa. On May 30, 1921, reportedly, Dick Rowland, a 19-year-old Black shoe shiner, was getting on the elevator to use a segregated bathroom on a higher floor. He allegedly tripped when entering the elevator, accidentally grabbed Page's arm and she reacted by screaming. Rowland fled but the police were called. The next day, Rowland was arrested and word spread that a Black man assaulted a white woman.

According to the 2001 Tulsa Race Riot Commission Report via The Washington Post, Rowland was accused of assaulting Page “on a public elevator in broad daylight."

Within 18 hours, the Greenwood district of Tulsa, also known as Black Wall Street, was annihilated. In 1921, The New York Times described the massacre as “one of the most disastrous race wars ever visited upon an American city.”

No one knows what happened to Sarah Page or Dick Rowland after the massacre.

Fannie Taylor

On January 1, 1923, 22-year-old Fannie Taylor began screaming outside of her home. A neighbor rushed to the distressed white woman only to find her beaten and bruised, yelling for her baby. Miss Fannie claimed a Black man broke into her home and attacked her. The neighbor searched her house to find the baby safe and no signs of a break in.

Rumors quickly spread that Taylor was raped and robbed by a Black man. Taylor’s husband, James Taylor, gathered a group of men to find the imaginary criminal, even calling on the Klu Klux Klan for assistance.

A pack of 400 terrorists headed to the neighboring area, an affluent Black town in Rosewood, Florida, accusing any Black man they could of the crime. Fannie’s fraudulent tears was the excuse these envious hellions needed to purge out their rage.

Their first victim was Sam Carter, a local blacksmith, who was tortured and hung. They eventually began looking for a man named Jesse Hunter, who they claimed was an escaped convict.

The Black residents of Rosewood fought back but there were many casualties, including Sarah Carrier, a woman who did Fannie Taylor’s laundry. She was shot in the head, according to History.com. Her son Sylvester Carrier was also fatally shot.

The race massacre lasted for a week, burning Rosewood to the ground and killing countless Black people.

As for Fannie Taylor, she reportedly had an affair with a white man who beat her, which is why she had been found abused that night. She thought it was better to accuse a Black man of assault then to take accountability for her own actions.

The 1997 film Rosewood, directed by the late John Singleton, depicted the massacre.

See the clip below of actress Catherine Kellner as Fannie Taylor.

Eleanor Strubing

In December of 1940, Eleanor Strubing, a wealthy white woman in Connecticut accused her 31-year-old Black chauffeur, Joseph Spell, of raping her four times and throwing her into a river. Spell was arrested within hours and immediately sent to jail to wait for trial.

The New York Times famously ran a story with the headline, "Mrs. J.K. Strubing Is Kidnapped And Hurled Off Bridge by Butler; WOMAN KIDNAPPED; HURLED OFF BRIDGE." The article claimed he “confessed after 16 hours" of questioning.

Spell was facing 30 years in prison.

Thankfully, the NAACP Legal Defense Fund and its head lawyer, Thurgood Marshall, represented Spell. Marshall and his co-counsel proved evidence that Strubing lied. She, in fact, had consensual sex with Spell and jumped in the river because she was terrified that she might become pregnant from their affair. In her mind, the only option was to accuse Spell of rape in order to justify a possible pregnancy.

An all-white jury found Joseph Spell not guilty, which was shocking for the time. Nonetheless, if this accusation would have been made in the South, Joseph Spell certainly would have died by public lynching.

Wil Haygood, the author of Showdown: Thurgood Marshall and the Supreme Court Nomination That Changed America, wrote about the ruling, "It was a miracle. But Thurgood Marshall trafficked in miracles.”

Strubing, whose father was an investment banker and the former governor of the Philadelphia Stock Exchange, suffered no punishment for lying under oath. Her husband, John K. Strubing, died in 1961 and she remarried to John W. Barclay. Stribing died at 92 years old in 2000.

Joseph Spell moved to East Orange, New Jersey after the trial. It’s not clear when he passed away.

The 2017 movie Thurgood was based on the Joseph Spell trial. See the clip below of Kate Hudson as Eleanor Strubing.

Carolyn Bryant

In August of 1955, 21-year-old Carolyn Bryant accused 14-year-old Emmett Till of touching her and whistling at her in a store (he reportedly had a lisp and was unable to whistle.) Till, who was visiting from Chicago, was in Mississippi for the summer spending time with family. Within hours, he was kidnapped from his uncle’s home. The child was tortured, mutilated and thrown into the Tallahatchie River. His naked body was weighed down with a fan blade.

Carolyn’s husband, Roy Bryant and her brother-in-law J.W. Milam, the terrorists who lynched Till, were found not guilty by an all-white jury.

In the 2017 book The Blood of Emmett Till by Timothy Tyson, Carolyn Bryant admitted to lying and claimed that she actually didn’t remember what happened that day in the store.

She is still alive today, living in Mississippi at 86 years old. Emmett Till would have been 79 years old on July 25 if it wasn’t for Carolyn Bryant.

The 65th anniversary of his death is August 28.

Victoria Price and Ruby Bates

Before The Central Park Five in 1989, which would become the Exonerated Five in 2002, there was the Scottsboro Boys in 1932.

On Mach 25, 1931, a group of Black and white teenagers were riding freight trains looking for work, which was common during the Great Depression. The white teens wanted the Black teens off the train and a fight broke out. The white teens attempted to forcibly throw the Black teens from the train. In defending themselves, the Black teenagers instead kicked the white teens off the locomotive.

The angry white teens went to a local sheriff who demanded the train be stopped.

Nine Black teens were removed, ages 13 to 19. However, two white women, Victoria Price and Ruby Bates, were also on the train and spent their time wrongfully accusing several of the Black boys of rape.

Similar to the Exonerated Five, that one accusation stole the innocence of nine Black children.

The teens were jailed in Scottsboro, Alabama: Haywood Patterson, 18; Clarence Norris, 19: Charlie Weems, 19; brothers Andy Wright, 19 and Leroy Wright, 13; Olin Montgomery, who was nearly blind, 17; Ozie Powell, 16; Eugene Williams, 13, and Willie Roberson, 16, who could barely walk due to severe syphilis.

The all-white and all-male jury trial was over in a matter of days and all of them — except 13-year-old Leroy Wright — were found guilty of rape and given the death penalty. There was no evidence of course since Bates couldn’t identify the men she claimed raped her.

The NAACP and the International Labor Defense (ILD), the legal wing of the American Communist Party, joined the case. By November 1932, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the Scottsboro defendants had been denied the right to counsel. Shortly after, Ruby Bates admitted she lied.

Nonetheless, the back and forth with the courts continued for years.

By 1936, Haywood Patterson was convicted of rape and sentenced to 75 years. In 1948, he escaped from prison and made it to Michigan. The governor refused to extradite him to Alabama. By 1951, Patterson was convicted of manslaughter after a barroom brawl. In 1952, he died of cancer. He was 39 years old.

In July of 1937, Clarence Norris was eventually convicted of rape and sentenced to life in prison. He was paroled in 1946 and moved north, where he married and had children. His autobiography, The Last of the Scottsboro Boys was released in 1979. He passed away in 1989 at 76 years old.

In July of 1937, Andrew Wright was convicted of rape and sentenced to 99 years. He was released in 1950 at 38 years old. Charlie Weems was also convicted of rape and paroled in 1943. He spent the rest of his life in Atlanta. It’s not clear when or if Wright and Weems have passed away.

Ozie Powell’s rape charges were dropped but he pled guilty to assaulting a deputy, which happened while in custody. He was released from prison in 1946. After spending four years on death row as adults, all charges against Willie Roberson, Olen Montgomery, Eugene Williams, and Leroy Wright were dropped.

It is not known how or when Willie Roberson, Olen Montgomery, Eugene Williams, or Ozie Powell died.

After being released, Leroy Wright, the youngest, went on a national lecture tour and then joined the Army. In 1959, according to PBS, Wright accused his wife of having an affair, fatally shot her and then committed suicide. He was 41 years old.

As for Victoria Price and Ruby Bates, Price never recanted her testimony and died in 1982 at 77 years old. Bates had the privilege of going on a speaking tour, bizarrely, for the International Labor Defense (ILD), which defended the Scottboro Boys. She claimed to have lied because she was "excited and frightened by the ruling class of Scottsboro." Bates died in 1976.

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wreckofawriter · 4 years

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Can't Forget, Won't Forgive

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader [post war]

Word Count: 3,420 (nice)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, mentions of depression and anxiety, slight PTSD, a bit angst with fluffy ending

Request: @perfectlyimperfectcrystal: Can you make Draco x oc post war fic?

Summary: Four years after a war that she believed ruined her life reader is forced to reenter her past for a party with an unexpected guest [Reader is abt 22, 23 Draco is 21]

A/n: I ligit re wrote this three time, I could not figure out what to do and eveything I wrote was cringy as fuck, I'm so sorry this took forever, I'm hopping to finish up a few old requests soon. Love u all <3

Your heart seized in your chest. Everything in you was begging your legs to turn and run. You bit harshly on your lip, this was a bad idea, teeth sunk into flesh and you tasted blood. A really bad idea. The grip on your small gift bag tightened. You could turn around right now and no one would know. You felt like throwing up, were you panicking again? You couldn't tell your chest felt too tight. You could text Harry and tell him you were sick. It would be fine. You don’t have to.

You turned on your heels, tears nearly springing into your eyes as you opened the door to your car. You slammed it shut gripping the steering wheel and leaning your forehead on its center. Sobs stung your eyes as your knuckles went white. You felt so weak, this wasn't you, you had fought death eaters, saved hundreds, survived torture, killed people. Now you were crying in a 1998 Corolla because you were too scared to go into a house full of nothing but old friends? It was pathetic.

Your teeth found your already raw bottom lip, you sucked in a breath and released it. You could do this. You snatched the paper bag beside, left the safety of your car, sprinted up the porch steps and knocked three times before you could change your own mind.

You could hear shuffling inside before the door was flung open and you were greeted by a freckled red-head.

“Y/N!” George shouted, “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t show!”

“I guess I’m fashionably late.” You laughed awkwardly cringing at your own words.

The twin just chuckled, “Come in, we’ve got tons of food and even more alcohol because ya know were actually old enough to drink now.” He laughed dragging you inside.

You giggled your heartbeat slowing, “I missed you, George.”

“I missed you too kitty.” He answered by pulling you into a hug. You welcomed it, heart throbbing at the nickname his late brother had given you.

You followed the man into the house which was already crowded with people. What else could you expect of an engagement party of the Boy Who Lived? Although you were sure Hermione planned it. You ran into Ginny and made small talk, looking at the ring and congratulating her on her wins in quidditch. Harry then stole her away after a quick greeting explaining something about Seamus breaking a pool cue.

You were suddenly left alone, you took a deep breath. You decide a drink would be best, a beer or two would do miracles for your nerves. You found the kitchen surprisingly empty, you opened the fridge grabbing a beer. You glanced around for an opener but opted for a small knife in the block to your left. You popped it open and took a sip, the cold liquid giving you a warm sensation.

You hopped up onto the counter glancing out of the door and watching as George arm-wrestled Ron over a coffee table.

You snorted as the elder smashed the others arm down leaping to his feet and letting out a cry of victory. It still hurt a bit to look at him. Fred was so similar. But you would never let him know that you were sure he knew well enough himself.

You turned as you heard footsteps approach and your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes locked with deep grey as your heart stopped beating.

"Oh um hey y/n.," Draco spoke his hand scratching at the back of his neck.

You had heard that your life flashed before your eyes when you were about to die. You thought it couldn't be much different than the memories you had worked very hard to bury that flashed through you as you stared at the platinum blonde in front of you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You hissed your jaw clamped shut as you felt hot tears rise to your eyes.

"Oh, I was invited." His laughter was empty and suffocating at the same time.

Your eyes stung. You lept from the counter slamming the beer in your hand down so hard you heard it crack. Draco flinched.

"Y/n I-," The man rushed towards you grabbing your wrist.

Without a second of hesitation, your other hand shot up and you slapped him clean across the face. The sound your hand made on his pale cheek was loud, the smack gaining the attention of a few who sat in the living room.

"Stay the fuck away from me." You seethed stepping away from him.

"Y/n?" You turned to see Luna, her pale blue eyes wide. You couldn't even offer a smile as you turned, sprinting to the door.

You made it into the cold November air and realized it had gotten dark out. The light filtering from the house paired with the few buzzing street lamps cast a yellow filter over your surroundings. You fumbled with your keys as you made your way towards your car. You were leaving this time, that was non-negotiable.

“Y/n!” A small voice yelled from the porch.

You didn’t want to look up but you did. Your keys slid into the door and you twisted click, your it was unlocked.

“Y/n, please, I just want to talk to you,” Luna begged from the steps. You bit on your lip again, it stung harshly.

Turning you fought back tears as you pulled your keys from your door and stepped away from the car. Luna smiled softly at you. “It's good to see you, Luna.”

“It's great to see you y/n. I was quite disappointed when we lost contact.” She explained aloof as ever. “But guess you blocked us all out on purpose.” Blunt as ever as well.

You swallowed thickly not sure how to respond, she was right after all.

“It’s alright, no one blames you. You went through a lot. We were all very surprised to see you here today. George has missed you dreadfully.” She hummed leading you back inside where you could no longer see your breath. “I’m happy you came too. I always liked talking with you.” She continued up some stairs stopping midway and sitting down, patting the spot next to her which you took.

It was quiet for a while, you could hear laughter and music, a loud gasp followed by more laughter. You wondered if they were still arm wrestling. Tears clung to your eyes, you swallowed them but the world remained blurry.

“I can’t be around him, Luna.” You choked out, “Not after what he did to us.”

“He didn’t do anything to us.” She shrugged playing with her large necklace.

Your brows furrowed, “How can you say that? How can you say that after those months Luna?”

“He didn’t do anything, his father did.” She explained her eyes now trained on you.

“And where is he?” You spat, “In his mansion with zero consequences.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She mumbled, “But it does no good to take it out on Draco he didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the issue Luna,” You hissed, “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything as we were locked in his basement.”

She hummed, “He couldn’t do anything.” You wished you could disagree, “He’s quite nice you know. It was a bit awkward at first but he’s quite nice now, he's going to be one of Harry’s groomsmen I believe.”

“What?!” You exclaimed.

“They are good friends now, he is quite nice like I said.” She had begun to fiddle with the ends of your hair, “He asks about you a lot. Always wondering how you are now and if you are going to come to parties and such.”

“He shouldn’t ask.” You huffed, “I don’t know why he does.”

“I think I do.” She hummed, you waited for her to explain but she didn’t. “He was just a child back then, he was a scared kid, we can’t blame what he did on him. He thought he had to.”

Anger fought through you taking your mind hostage. You could feel your face flush, eyes narrow, expression darkening, “You know what, I was a scared kid too, I was fucking horrified. He may get a free pass from the rest of you but he won't from me. I won’t forget what he did.” You seethed standing and walking down four steps.

“You wish you could forget though. I know you do. That's why you don’t return our calls or come to birthday parties. You want to forget yet you refuse to. You confuse me y/n.” Luna claimed. She didn’t stop you as you left the house, refusing to look back. You peeled out of the driveway less than a minute later tears of anger and frustration streaming down your face.

You got home and swore, finding the only liquor in the house to be rose strawberry tequila, something you had bought, opened and hated. You drank it anyway plopping down on the couch with cold pizza from the night before and turning on the TV to see an episode of some anime you couldn’t keep track of. The main character yelled too much and the main girl was obsessed with a boy. It pissed you off, a fuckin pushover.

You were about an episode in, swearing as a character whose name you couldn’t remember was flung from a rooftop. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, you flipped it open struggling to read the small writing on the greenish background. You gave up closing it and chucking it across the room as the boy stood back up blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. You cheered.

Draco isn’t sure what prompted him to show up at your doorstep at 2:32 in the morning. Maybe it was the constant nagging from Ginny or maybe the fact that you had seen but had not replied to his text or maybe it was the fact that he had been in love with you since he was 13, never had the guts to tell you, was forced into letting some fucked up things happen to you and now you wouldn’t even look at him. Or maybe it was simply because he was hammered. In all honesty, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was now banging on your apartment door.

You weren't quite sure if you were imagining it or not as you jumped from your sleep. The loud banging continued as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, brushing your hair out of your face. You stood up head aching slightly as you felt a hangover in the near future. You stumbled towards the door swearing as you tripped over a chair leg.

“Jesus what!?” You shouted flinging opening the door. In seconds someone came stumbling at you. A body collided with yours at a fighting force knocking you straight to the ground. You shrieked feeling your lower back ram into your hardwood floor.

“Fuck sorry.” The body mumbled propping himself up straddling your waist, his hands on either side of your head. Draco soaked in your image, your cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips pursed. “God you’re so fuckin beautiful,” he mumbled one of his hands moving to stroke your ruffled hair.

You slapped his hand away, jaw clenched, “Get off of me!” you yelled lifting your knee and connecting it with his stomach.

He wheezed face contorting in pain as you rolled him off of you standing up, “What the hell are you doing here Malfoy?” You spat his name like poison.

Draco now lay on his back staring up at your ceiling he groaned running his hand through his hair, “I missed you.” he mumbled upwards, “I missed you so fucking much.” his words broke.

“Oh my god, you’re drunk.” You groaned slamming the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“I'm not drunk.” He fought back sitting up quickly.

“Oh yeah?” You asked, “What's 2 plus 3?”

He furrowed his brows in thought, “23.” he replied about twenty seconds later.

“You’re definitely drunk.” You sighed.

“I just wanted to talk y/n and you wouldn’t answer my texts so I had to come here so we could talk.” His words were slurred and hard to understand.

“We have nothing to talk about.” You sneered, “Now get out of my house.”

“Please y/n, just for a few minutes.” He begged, getting to his feet and grabbing your wrists pulling you towards him, his breath was warm and smelled of beer as it wafted over your face.

You pushed him off cringing, “If I let you talk, will you leave?” You bargained not really caring where the drunk ended up.

He nodded vigorously, stumbling into your house a little ways before sitting back down, back against the small island in the middle of your kitchen. You slid down the fridge sitting across from him. For a second you thought he had fallen asleep, his head lolled to one side, his right leg stuck out straight, the other bent towards him. But he snapped to attention looking at you with wide eyes.

“Well?” You asked.

“Oh yeah.” He mumbled taking a deep breath, “I did miss you ya know. I always did. When we were in school you wouldn’t even talk to me unless you were yelling insults and god I wanted you to talk to me sooo bad. I was so fuckin in love with you.” He was interrupted by a hiccup, “And then everything started falling apart and my parents got mad and wanted me to kill people and I was so scared.” Tears welled into the blonde's eyes. His voice straining against him, “And then they caught you because of your dad, and- and I-” More hiccups, tears sliding down his cheeks, “I just wanted to help you and I couldn’t I was such a fucking coward. And I'm sorry y/n/n.” your nickname rolled off his tongue, “I so so fucking sorry.”

The kitchen was silent for a long time. The soft sound of sniffing and the drip of tears on tile. The hum of the refrigerator providing a background for the nothingness. Darkness almost seems to muffle everything, the only light coming from the time displayed on the microwave and the moonlight filtering through your few windows.

“Fuck Draco,” You cussed, “This is not how I wanted my night to go.” your voice wavered. You could feel tears sliding down your cheeks cooling in the dark air. You sniffed wiping your face. “Well I guess since your drunk as fuck and won’t remember anything anyway I might as well get some things off my chest.”

Draco gazed up at you his eyes rimmed with red, his pale cheeks blossoming with beer thirsted roses. He looked so fragile, like a glass figurine or a dried flower.

“I’m kind of a shit person.” You chuckled sadly, “I mean I try to blame it on my parents and their nuclear marriage, which was dead long before I was in the world, but they kept mercilessly reincarnating it like some sort of monster from an old movie. They yelled more than they should have, my dad especially, he had anger issues he blew up easily and never got help for it.” You had tears pouring so thickly from your eyes you could hardly see.

“I was messed up in the head, I was rarely happy and when I was it was only for a few seconds, I got panic attacks and I-” Your voice broke with a sob, “I never really dealt with it and you always managed to piss me off. Maybe it was the fact that you seemed to get everything you wanted or maybe that I always thought you were so cute despite the fact that you were a complete asshole. Hell, I had a stupid school girl crush on you from the minute I laid eyes on you and I hated it so much.

“And I don’t know, I pushed people away, fuck I broke up with Fred three months before he died because I was scared when he said he wanted me to meet his parents.” Your voice broke and you whimpered, “And then I got locked in your house because of my shit father and since then I’ve been avoiding everyone and everything hoping that I can just forget it all but being too stubborn to forgive it so I’m just stuck and it sucks.” You were sobbing now, “It sucks so fucking bad.”

Draco turned around and pushed himself towards you. He put his arm around your shoulders and tucked his head into your neck, inhaling your scent and mumbling something you couldn’t make out over the strength of your cries.

You woke up the next morning head pounding, eyes stinging as you opened them. You were sprawled on your kitchen floor, your lower back aching with pain. Your head rested on Draco’s chest, his legs tangled with yours, arm around your waist as yours rested around his neck. You groaned carefully sliding from his grasp, this was not how things were supposed to go. You were not supposed to be blushing because of Draco Malfoy. You huffed heading to the bathroom and taking a quick shower before changing into a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. You walked into the kitchen crouching next to the man on your floor and poking his cheek. He didn’t even budge. You sighed stepping over him to your coffee maker.

Two hours later as you sat on your couch with a book in your lap you heard a loud groan from your kitchen. Rolling your eyes you stood up and made your way towards the newly awakened blonde who cussed as he attempted to get to his feet. His eyes locked with yours and widened, “Y-y/n?” he sounded mortified.

You smirked, “Good afternoon Draco.”

His cheeks blossomed with color as he ran his hands through his hair nervously, “Um what am I doing here?”

“Well, you showed up here at two in the morning drunk as fuck and proclaiming your love for me.” You explained.

He paled eyes getting impossibly wider, he slumped against your counter burying his face in his hands. “Oh, Merlin y/n I’m so sorry.”

You sighed biting your abused lip, “Look Draco, it’s not that big of a deal.”

He looked up at you, visibly confused.

“You said some crazy shit last night but so did I and I-” You sighed again swallowing harshly, “I would actually like to take up your offer on dinner, ya know the one you probably don’t remember texting me. We need to talk, like when one of us isn’t wasted and the other isn’t an emotional wreck.”

“Really?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” You confirmed, “Can you pick me up at seven tonight?”

“Umm yeah.” He said not really remembering if he could but also not really caring, he would anyway.

You took a step towards him standing on your toes and placing a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you Draco.”

The man shook his head, “You did it wrong.” he whispered.

“What?” You asked, suddenly feeling his hands on your hips pulling you closer.

“I said you did it wrong.” He repeated.

“I know what you said, I just-” Your sentence fell short as he bent forward his lips inches from your own.

“Can I kiss you y/n?” He asked so quietly if you were any further apart you wouldn’t have heard it.

Your mind reeled but before you could really think about it you were nodding and his lips were on yours. He pulled you flush against him, you could feel his heart hammering in his chest, or maybe it was your own. His tongue swiped the seam of your lips and you opened them allowing him to deepen the kiss, he still tasted of beer and tears for the night before.

You broke away panting lightly staring up at his icy grey eyes. “You taste like shit.” You whispered.

Draco broke into a barking laugh, “You really know how to kill a mood.”

You shrugged, “You better brush your teeth before tonight.”

He smiled his heart still beating erratically, you looked so pretty with swollen lips, “Does that mean we are going to be kissing more?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged again smiling, “Now get out of my house Draco.”

“Of course.”

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

Masterlist

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #slytherin #harry potter fanfiction #post war #harry potter fanfic rec #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom

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jaydicksummerexchange · 4 years

Text

JAYDICK EXCHANGE: SEPTEMBER 1

[ ❤ Works posted so far! ❤ ]

Apologies for the delay. It was something of a busy day in modland. Here are Tuesday’s fanworks! Please leave a comment and kudos for the author if you enjoy their work. Authors/artists will be revealed September 3rd...ISH!

WE’RE AT 105 EXCHANGE WORKS FOR 2020 WILL IT EVER STOP! All signs point to not anytime soon. Keep them coming folks!

Take your share of buckshot by anonymous for GavotteAndGigue [FIC, Teen, Major Character Death, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: justice league - Freeform, Eldritch, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Time Travel, Gift Fic, Brief and Abridged Batfam

Summary: In which Dick and Jason must relive the worst day of Jason's history to reset the balance of his cosmically perceived unnatural existence.

The Gate Below Gotham by anonymous for stevieraebarnes [FIC, Mature, No Warnings Apply, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood Loss, Missions Gone Wrong, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Emotional Baggage, Feelings Realization, Developing Relationship, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fanart, Digital Art, JayDick Summer Exchange

Summary: Dick wakes in a cold sweat. No, not sweat. Water. It surges around his limp, aching legs—swelling, rising—and soaks the fabric of his uniform. The water is a frothy grey, smelling of storms and asphalt.

His first thought is: Jason.

Perks by anonymous for pastelfeathers and Lolistar92. [FIC, Explicit, No Warnings, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard, NO CAPES, Friends With Benefits, Feelings Realization, Jealousy, Get Together, Smut, Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, JayDick Summer Exchange

Summary: "Let's go dooo somethiiing," Dick whines like a small child, shaking Jason's arm.

"We have to stay here until the end of the gala," Jason tells him firmly. He's used to putting up with Dick's whining. It's about ninety percent of his job after all. The other ten percent is trying to keep Dick Grayson out of trouble. Neither aspect of his job is enjoyable.

"Well I saw a closet in the hallway on our way in. We could just disappear for a little break…"

Dick's hands sneak up Jason's arm as he speaks, fingers tightening around firm muscle, and Jason suddenly finds his charge much closer, breath caressing Jason's cheek. Despite the challenges, there were some unexpected perks to this job. Unfortunately on this occasion Dick is just becoming another challenge.

Being a bodyguard for the son of a billionaire is challenging, even if it does come with the added benefit of occasionally getting to tap the best ass in Gotham. What is a poor bodyguard to do when he realizes his affections for his charge go beyond the professional or the physical? Especially when it seems Dick Grayson has tried to duck away from Jason's watch yet again, this time with another man in tow...

Trip Me Headfirst into Freedom by anonymous for Lolistar92 [ART, Teen, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Steampunk Pirates!, Gen or Pre-Slash, BAMF Jason Todd, He's the civilian but gets more action than Dick, hahaha, Civilian Jason Todd, Pirate Dick Grayson, Mercenary Dick Grayson, FanartComic, JayDick Summer Exchange, Treat

Summary: Jason Wayne, son of Lord Wayne, does not, in fact, want to inherit his father's House. Or his trading empire.

Brother, don’t go by anonymous for GavotteAndGigue [FIC, Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Bat Family, Brotherly Love, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, Dark, Angst, Violence, Graphic Threats, Non-Consensual Drug Use, drug use happens off screen, the Joker doing Joker-esque things, See End Notes for Trigger Warning Tags that could be potential spoilers, tags are subject to change

Summary: Someone's dying tonight, the only question is who.

(moon is out) we can dance amidst the silence by anonymous for GavotteAndGigue [ART, Teen, No Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Ballroom Dancing, Tango, Top Dick Grayson, Bottom Jason Todd, Fanart

Summary: Dick and Jason tango. They're very, very good at it.

No one has ever seen Jason dance in public. Wayne family members - who are either clueless or annoyingly cryptic - are consulted, articles are written, conspiracy theories are posted, and Gotham Twitter is abuzz with the newest topic. The general consensus is that he must be terrible at it. Finally fed up with all the ribbing he's been getting, Jason sets out to prove them wrong. Dick helps.

Dolce Vita by anonymous for BehindTheRobinsMask [FIC, Teen, No Warnings, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Honeymoon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life, Sightseeing, Set in Rome, Italy, JayDick Summer Exchange, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, no beta we die like men

Summary: Red Hood put down his guns and Nightwing shelved his escrima sticks, as Jason and Dick stole away for their belated honeymoon in the Eternal City.

JayDick sightseeing Rome. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Genre-Savvy: A Novel by Jane Pyne by anonymous for solomanara [General Audiences, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/ Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Author Jason Todd, Cover Art, for one of Jason's novels, Jason is a Rom-Com Author, He writes under a pseudonym, Jason Todd is Jane Pyne, Secret Identity, Identity Porn, Fanart

Summary: Jason is a master at juggling multiple identities. There's Jay, the street rat; Jason Todd-Wayne, the (dead) adopted son of Bruce Wayne; Robin, the (dead) Good Soldier (TM); Jason of the League of Assassins; Jason of the All-Caste; Red Hood (2.0), also known as Jason Todd; and... Jane Pyne, moderately successful rom-com novelist whose latest novel just hit the New York Times' best selling list?

This is the cover of that novel.

(you'd think) sure, he's got everything by anonymous for 3isme [ART, Teen, No Warnings Apply, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Underwater, Jason Todd Has Amnesia, mermaid jason todd, Mermaids, Gen or Pre-Slash, Mostly Gen, Fanart

Summary: Prompt from 3isme:

"Humanity escaped to settlements in the bottom of the sea after the world's skies were filled with acid rain. Humans live in clear, underwater domes connected by tunnels that can be sealed off when the ocean breaks in and floods the lives of survivors. Dick spends most of his sparse free time staring out into the ocean, wishing he was as free as the beautiful sea creatures that swim by. One of those creatures swims right up to him, separated by only the pane of the dome. To Dick's astonishment, it has the same face as Jason, someone he thought had drowned four years ago in the flood that destroyed his home."t.

Written In The Stars by anonymous for elwon [Fic, General Audiences, No Warnings Apply, JayDick]

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle Fusion, Magic, Dimension Travel, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Build, Wish Fulfillment, Secrets

Summary: Dick Grayson, the wizard of Gotham city, has his fair share of secrets to keep, the biggest one being his reason for running away from his own home, his own family. Jason Todd, the only male warrior of Themyscria, only ever wanted to be by his queen's side and become the strongest warrior in his world. That was until he was sent away. Now, as the paths of these two strangers collide, one desperate to keep running and the other trying to find his way back home, the only way for their wishes to come true is if they help the wayward children, Kon-El and Timothy, in their journey

#2020 jaydick exchange #jaydick exchange #jaydick summer blues #jaydick #dickjay #dick grayson & jason todd

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part nine Word count: ±3300 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part nine summary: After splitting up, each hunter has their own part to play in order to solve the case. But when Sam has a vision, things go south real quick. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Bored out of her skull, Zoë flips the page of her newspaper for the third time, pretending to read it. She found a good spot on the terrace of a Pizza Hut restaurant. Traffic drives by on Highway 412 constantly, but from her table she has a clear view of a house on Magnolia Drive. Taylor Dawlson, Laura’s former teacher, lives in the suburban home.

It’s 14:30 and Zoë has been guarding the Dawlson residence for over an hour now, but nothing has happened so far. She hasn’t had a call from the boys yet either, so she presumes everything is quiet at the Shire place, and Dean is probably talking to doctor Hughes.

Taylor Dawlson is home, busy maintaining the household while keeping her daughter entertained. The husband, whose name is Jeff, is working the lawn at the moment, a sprinkler system watering the pink magnolias by the white wooden fence. On the table in front of her, next to the slice of pepperoni pizza, Zoë installed her Macbook, which shows some information about the Dawlson family, just so that she knows who she’s dealing with. Taylor is a teacher at the Woodrow Wilson Elementary School, Jeff is into sportswear and merchandise. They’ve been married for seven years and have a three year old daughter named Lesley. No criminal records on the parents, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a happy family, living in a normal neighborhood, right next to a church. One thing doesn’t show up on her screen, though, and it’s something the huntress knows for a fact; the mother happened to be in one of her flashbacks.

She lets out a bored sigh and takes another bite of her pizza, but then feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. Quickly, she takes out her Nokia and checks the screen; it’s Sam. “What’s up?” She yawns. “Your stake out is that exciting, huh?” Sam responds sarcastically.

Sam is comfortable in the driver’s seat of the Chevrolet Impala, which he parked across the street of the Shire residence, located on Reynolds Park Road. He has the window rolled down and rests his elbow on the door as he holds his phone to his ear. The streets are almost empty in this neighborhood just outside the downtown area of Paragould. A beautiful house by the lake seems like a fairytale to live in, and yet this place was the setting for violence and abuse for many years.

“It’s like watching a documentary on snails,” she comments, after which she bites off a piece of pizza. Sam can hear her chewing food and furrows his brow. “Are you eating again?” “Dude, you sound like my dietician,” Zoë responds with her mouth full. Sam chuckles and realizes how stern he must have sounded. “Burgers again?” “No, I like a bit of variation in my cuisine,” she claims, putting up a snooty voice. “I’m having Italian right now.” “Let me guess: pizza?” Zoë laughs. “Pizza Hut to be precise.”

“How do you do it?” Sam wonders, still chuckling. “Do what?” “Eat so much, without… well, you know--” he starts carefully, instantly regretting it. He’s on thin ice. Zoë can’t help but grin, deciding to mess with him. “- getting big? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? Someone who had a long term relationship should know this; clothes, weight and age are the forbidden subjects.” Quickly, Sam sets things straight. “I’m sorry, I just think it’s extraordinary.” “What? The weirdness of women or the fact that I eat so much?” she jokes.

Sam chuckles, now that he can detect the trace of mockery in her voice. “Seriously, though. How can you consume so much food and still look - you know - like you do?” “Because I kick ass,” she answers, sassy. Her response might have come out rapidly, for a brief moment there, Zoë analyzed that sentence. Was Sam’s remark a compliment or a flirt? She’s not sure what to think of it, but presumes the flirtation wasn’t intentional, considering he’s clearly still struggling to deal with his ex-girlfriend’s death. And come on, she has given him a pretty hard time; she’s been anything but charming.

Zoë changes the subject before an awkward silence follows. “How’s it going over there?” Sam glances through his windshield at the two individuals up at the house. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Shire seems to mourn by cleaning up the entire house and her son is sitting by the lake, just staring out over the water,” Sam describes. “The guy was an asshole, but he was still their family,” she realizes, after which a beep sounds in her ear; she has a different call coming in. “Gonna put you on hold for a sec, Sam,” she notifies the hunter, and pushes the green button on her phone. “Sullivan.”

“Doc ain’t talking.” Dean walks down the stairs of the Arkansas Methodist Medical Center. He unbuttons his blazer and loosens his tie. Zoë narrows her eyes, even though the recipient on the other end of the line can’t see it. “What do you mean, he isn’t talking?” “He got all nervous when I started asking questions. There’s no way I can get a word out of his mouth. But he does know something, alright,” Dean explains.

“Did you try everything?” she checks, questioning Dean’s interrogation skills. “Well, I didn’t torture him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t tell him the truth either,” he admits. Zoë realizes it’s a good thing he didn’t reveal his true identity. If Dean starts talking about killer ghosts and the guy freaks out, they might have a serious problem, considering that they are identified as FBI. A call to their chief at the Bureau will ultimately result in a blown cover, which will not make solving any future case any easier.

“You have the death report, right?” she threatens with a tone. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Of course I have the death report,” Dean ensures cockily, as he takes out the report from his inside pocket. “Stole it from his file case. Piece of cake.” Zoë doesn’t bother to compliment him for his deed. “Anything interesting in there?” “Not really,” Dean presses his phone between his ear and shoulder and leafs through the pages, which contain a lot of medical talk that he doesn’t understand one bit. “It says that Laura Shire was brought in by her father around 11 PM, yada yada. Cause of death…” Dean pauses as he reads the line again and halts. “Didn’t you say that both dear daddy and Van Dyke broke their neck?” he recalls, looking up from the file. “Yeah.” “Laura broke hers too. Robert Shire claimed she fell down the stairs.” Zoë scoffs. “Well that’s complete utter bullshit.”

“One other thing,” he points out as he continues his way down the street. “Shire wasn’t just a colleague, he was his boss. Guess who the second signature on Laura’s death report belongs to.” “Shire himself?” she assumes, stunned. “The one and only.” “But he’s a family member of the victim, he should have been excluded from the examination!” Zoë exclaims in disbelief. “That’s why he got Hughes to do the autopsy. All they needed was his signature as Chief of Staff.” The huntress gets the point now and rolls her eyes skyward. “Which makes the report valid.” “So, what now?” Dean questions, his current mission having been completed. “Hughes played a part in this cover up, so he might be her next candidate,” Zoë ponders, glancing at the Dawlson residence, where it’s still quiet. “There is no way you can keep an eye on him in that hospital, is there?” “We don’t need to. Laura only attacks when her victim is alone, right?” Dean mentions.

Zoë thinks about that for a second, her mind going over the first two murders. She didn’t notice it before, but he’s right. There were people in the house when Shire and Van Dyke were killed, but never in the same room. “Now that you mention it. As long as the doc stays amongst people, he’ll be safe. When does he get off?” “Already checked that; not until 6 PM,” Dean informs. “Good, so we don’t have to worry about him until six,” she concludes, trying to think of a plan. “Everything nice and quiet over there?” Dean wonders. “I’m wasting my time. I’m not sure if Laura would target her anyhow.” Dean walks into the parking lot of the Kentucky Fried Chicken only blocks away from the hospital. “And Sam?” “Do I look like a fucking mailman to you? Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she returns annoyed.

He enters the KFC and takes a look at the menu, even though he always goes for the classic. When Dean ignores her remark, the silence however ignites a reaction from the huntress nonetheless. “You two had a fight or somethin’?” “Sort of,” he admits with a mutter. “Ah, brotherly love. What did you fight about?” Zoë asks nosy. “That’s none of your business,” Dean returns defensive, stunned by her boldness. “Damn, you’re not curious at all, are you?” “I’m not curious. I just want to know everything.” She shrugs, her correction sassy. “C’mon, spill it.”

Dean sighs somewhat agitated. He doesn’t owe her an explanation, but he figures that once she knows, she might stop poking him. He keeps it as short as possible, though. “It was about Dad. Sam and I have different ideas on how to find him.”

Surprisingly, there’s no smart counter that follows up his words. Instead, Zoë swallows back a mean remark and decides not to respond for their own good. They are finally having a conversation without yelling at each other, and although the fighting doesn’t bother her since she has no interest in becoming friends with the older Winchester, she’d rather keep it civil. Like it or not, she can use their help, so now would not be the best time to counter the hunter.

Dean breaks the deadly silence. “Still there?” Zoë clears her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Got distracted.” “Want some chicken?” he jokes, as if he could teleport it to her place. She laughs, guessing where he is. “Where are you? KFC?” “Ahuh,” he confirms, and turns to the guy behind the counter. “One bucket of chicken wings, please.” “Is that all?” Zoë comments. “You’re right,” he agrees, looking back at the restaurant worker. “Could you add a Crispy Colonel Sandwich and a coke?”

He pays for his second lunch of the day and tells the employee to keep the change. “Did you eat?” Dean asks Zoë, as he walks out to the terrace and settles down in the sun. She smiles at her phone. Apparently they have found common grounds. “Yeah, pizza,” she mentions. “Which reminds me, I still have Sam on hold. If you wanna crash some place, feel free to break into my motel room.” “Alrighty, you didn’t boobytrap it, did ya?” he checks first. “Unless you’re a demon or a ghost you’re free to waltz in,” Zoë replies, referring to the demon trapping pentagram under the doormat and the salt lines in the windowsills. “Room number?” “Seventeen. Don’t break anything.”

With those words, she disconnected her call with Dean and returns to Sam. “I’m back,” she lets him know. But there’s not a sound on the other line. He didn’t hang up on her, she can still hear static. “Sam? You there?” Then she hears Sam’s voice, but it’s not comforting. A painful moan sounds from the other side of the line. “Sam, answer me! What’s going on?” Zoë calls out, sensing something is wrong. Sam groans. “I’m here.”

He has the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead, eyes shut firmly. He doesn’t know what just happened to him, but a stabbing pain in his head almost knocks him out cold. The images that flashed before his eyes a moment ago remain on display, but he cannot place any of them. Visions in his sleep are one thing, but he has never experienced them during the day before. “What’s happening?” He hears Zoë’s voice and presses his Blackberry against his ear. “I - I think I just had a vision.” Zoë’s eyes grow large. It has started. “What did you see?” Sam looks up, stunned. By the sound of her words, she experienced this too. “You had one of those while awake?” “That’s not important right now. What did you see?” she repeats firmly. Sam thinks back, trying to recover the recollections behind closed eyes. “I saw a house, white woodwork,” he remembers. “A woman inside is terrified, screaming, and I heard a child’s voice, saying ‘You didn’t stop it’.”

Zoë’s eyes drift from her laptop screen to the house across the street; the Dawlson home has white woodwork. Her eyes widen as she realizes what might be going on. “It’s Laura. What else did you see, Sam?!” she pressures while getting up so abruptly, that her chair tumbles over. “A guy mowing the lawn, sprinklers... and a church, right next to the house,” he recalls, concentrating on possible clues.

Zoë’s runs down the terrace, leaving her Macbook behind on the table. As fast as she can she crosses the street and is barely missed by a car, but she doesn’t have eyes for it. Her eyes are fixated on the front door and she knows; Laura is here. “Get to Magnolia Drive, now!” she orders Sam, putting away her phone right after. Adrenaline rushes through her body as she grabs the doorknob, but the door seems to be jammed. She pulls as hard as she can, but there’s no movement whatsoever.

“Hey! What do you think you are doing?” Jeff Dawlson exclaims at the intruder. He left his lawnmower on the grass and now approaches her with large steps. “Your wife’s in danger! We need to get inside the house,” she tells the man straight forward. The facial expression of the tall man changes from mad to worried, his gaze shifting to his home. “Who are you?” “Jeff, I don’t have time to explain! We need to get in the house!” Zoë cries out, losing her cool.

She puts her shoulder into it and tries to lift the door from his hinges, but it won’t budge. Frustrated, she looks around for another way in. Jeff hastens to the back door, but returns soon after, panicking. “I can’t get the back door to open! My daughter is in there too!” The huntress curses, ramming into the door again. Laura is doing this, she’s shutting them out so that she can work over her victim without being interrupted. It’s amazing how fast this little ten year old developed into the monster she is now. This isn’t a ghost problem anymore, this is a poltergeist. Without hesitation, Zoë draws her gun from behind her waistband and aims for the kitchen window. She pulls the trigger, but instead of breaking the glass, the shell flings back as if it just hit bullet proof glass.

“Taylor!” Jeff calls his wife's name, desperately. But they don’t hear a sound, not even a horrific scream and Zoë wonders if that is a good sign. Not willing to give up, she creates some distance between her and the door and drives her shoulder into the wood again and again, until she feels sore to the bone. “Goddamnit! Let us in!” she yells, furiously.

In the meantime, Jeff got his hands on a shovel and starts hitting the windows, but none of them break. While he keeps calling out for his wife and daughter, Zoë hears the roar of a V8 engine coming around the corner. With screeching tires Sam stops the car and jumps out, rushing for the trunk. Without pausing her efforts to get in, Zoë calls out. “You better have a bright idea, Sam!” With two loaded shotguns in his hands he runs up the lawn, but stops in his tracks when he glances at the window. “Zoë?”

She looks over her shoulder and sees the staggered expression on his face, triggering her to back up glances at the second story. In front of the window stands a young girl, but the sight is anything but endearing. This time she isn’t the sad little innocent kid, she looks terrifying. Here eyes seem to have sunken deep into their sockets, blood and bruises cover her pale body. Her head is tilted to the right in an unnatural way, twisted at the base. The image distorts, then she disappears.

The next moment, they hear the sound of shattering glass. The hunters’ attention is drawn to the kitchen window; Jeff managed to break it. Hastily Zoë rushes for the door, knowing it’s unlocked now and enters the house. Sam is right behind her and hands her the shotgun in the hallway, just in case. She looks at the gun for a moment. “This isn’t gonna help.” “Loaded with rock salt,” Sam elaborates. Her eyes dart to the rifle again, this time appreciating the weapon. She heard of many ways to fight ghosts, but this is a new technique. It must be a Winchester invention, seems like those lumberjacks aren’t that stupid afterall. “You get their daughter,” she orders. They split up and when Sam glances into the living room, he sees Jeff's and Taylor’s little girl. She doesn’t seem to realize what is going on, apparently she didn’t hear a thing. The child is playing with her dolls, as her mother told her to.

While Sam picks up Lesley and takes her outside, Zoë rushes to the second floor. Quickly she climbs the stairs, her shotgun ready to fire. Alert, she scans the corridor; all clear. Knowing Laura might still be inside, she takes a deep breath and busts the door to what she assumes to be one of the bedrooms. What the huntress sees inside makes her stomach turn, even though she has seen her fair share of blood and violence.

What she feared the most has happened. Laura made her teacher die an even more horrible death than her own. Taylor has collapsed against the wall, her eyes stare at the ground, as if she was unpleasantly surprised by her attacker. But she doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch; she’s dead. Her arms and neck seem to be broken, a bad head injury that cracked her skull giving Zoë a glimpse of her brain. Blood prints of her head and hands are smeared over the pink wall paper of her daughter’s room. Crimson stains the carpet, the teddy bears on Lesley’s bed, the covers, even the ceiling. “Damnit, Laura,” Zoë says, breathlessly.

Footsteps echo from the staircase behind her. She looks back and sees Jeff, running onto the corridor. “You don’t wanna see this,” she warns, trying to keep him from the doorway. But as she would have done, he steps inside anyway. As soon as his eye catches the sight of his wife in the state that she is, he freezes. Unable to say anything, unable to move like a deer in headlights, he looks down at her dead body as tears well up in his eyes. Zoë watches him, but she can’t get a word out of her mouth. After she swallows apprehensively, she averts her eyes away from the heart wrenching scene.

“Taylor…” Jeff whispers as tears run down his face. The cry that follows gives Zoë chills. “Taylor!” In a blink of an eye this family’s life has changed forever. The woman Jeff loves dearly, the mother of his child, just got ripped away from them, murdered, and there is nothing he can do to reverse that. Zoë knows the feeling, she knows it way too well. He falls down on his knees in her blood, but he doesn’t hit the floor. He hits rock bottom.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter ten here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #SPN #Supernatural #STSS #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

Text

Will You Help Me, Marinette?

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

Halfway into her walk to work, Marinette’s phone chimed. An amused smile tugged at her lips. A new record. Usually, he’d text her first thing upon waking up. Had been for years. She was already starting to suspect something had happened.

Adrien: Help!

She rolled her eyes. If it were anyone else, she’d panic. But it was Adrien, an overgrown man-child to whose overly dramatic, exaggerated ways she was used to by now.

Marinette: I’m bringing you croissants. Don’t worry.

Adrien: U rock!

Adrien: But that’s not it. Can I ask you for a favour?

She stopped at the lights, looking around for cars and quickly ran across the street.

Marinette: Coffee? I’m about to walk by our café.

Adrien: Thanks, but not today. My photoshoot relocated at the last moment, so I won’t be in until much later in the day.

Adrien: I’ll still meet you at our cafe for lunch. Don’t order without me.

Marinette: :thumbs-up:

One end of her scarf got loose and seeing as Adrien was still typing, Marinette stole a moment to fix it, swaddling her neck away from the crispiness of cool air on the early April morning.

Adrien: Marinette, you’re my best friend and the luckiest girl I know, and you’re super smart and creative, so if anyone, you’d know what to do, and I really can use help now in something super important.

Adrien::puppy eyes: Please?

She didn’t bother suppressing a giggle, attracting a few glances from a morning crowd around her. Turning the corner, Marinette inhaled a warm aroma of fresh baked goods from a nearby café. She grew up and still lived in a bakery. She should've been used to this kind of thing. Yet this one was special. It was close to Gabriel’s office, and Adrien and she loved to frequent it during their lunches.

One of the servers waved at her, wishing her a good day. Marinette waved back, asking how their new kitten was adjusting. A brief exchange later, she walked on, a buzzing device in her hand reminding her of an unintentionally abandoned friend.

Adrien: T_T

Adrien: Are you ignoring me?

Adrien: Five minutes had passed. No answer. :sobbing:

Adrien: I thought we were friends? Friends help each other.

Adrien: …

Adrien: You do still like me, right?

She couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Such a drama queen and an incorrigible dork. Though, no one would ever believe her if she’d say that out loud that because in the public eye a supermodel, part-time CEO of a fashion empire Adrien Agreste was perfect in every sense of this word. Only his closest friends knew better.

Marinette: I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness. I was distracted by Pierre. How can I help you?

Adrien: :D You like me after all!

Marinette: I wouldn’t put up with your insufferable antics otherwise. Now, spill because I’m about to walk into the office and you’ll lose me five minutes after that.

Adrien: Okay.

Adrien: So…

Adrien: I’ve decided…

Adrien: To confess to the love of my life.

Marinette froze in her path, her heart sinking. Tightening her grip on her cellphone, she stared at the screen in shock. Adrien was in love with someone? Why didn’t she know about that? They’ve been friends for years, so how did she miss that the love of her life was in love with someone else? Her quickening-its-pace heart ached as Adrien continued to type.

Adrien: I tried to confess to her on my own many times but chickened out every single one of them because I’m terrified of ruining what we already have if she doesn’t feel the same for it’s amazing and wonderful and absolutely beautiful, but I’m also at a point where I NEED more. It’s getting too hard to be just a friend.

Adrien: So, I’m risking it and I need you to help me. As my oldest and best-est friend ever you must help me. Please, say you’ll help me?

A knife Adrien didn’t know he’d stuck into her heart twisted, ripping through tender flesh. Marinette bit on her tongue and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She needed a moment before she could reply, so walking into Gabriel’s building, she proceeded to the elevator and didn’t check her phone until she was safely in her office, settled in her chair.

Adrien: Marinette?

Adrien: I hope I didn’t ask for too much. You’re the only one I can trust with this.

Adrien: If you’d rather not, though, it’s fine. I’ll figure this out somehow.

Adrien: Are you upset with me? I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would be a big deal.

Adrien: … Please, say something.

Marinette read over the messages a few more times before dropping her head in her hands, propped on the table. This hurt. It ripped and crushed and devastated her, but as much as she’d love to run away and scream her pain out right now, Adrien was her friend first of all, and as his friend, she’d be supportive of him even if it hurt her.

Marinette: Sorry. I got distracted on my way. In my office now, so you have my full attention.

Adrien: T_T Don’t scare me like this. I already thought you hated me.

Marinette: Why would I hate you?

Adrien: Idk. Just a thought. So, you’re in?

Marinette: Are you sure you want me involved? Love confessions are kind of personal.

Adrien: Mari, please. I’m twenty-three. I don’t want to die an old maiden because I’m too chicken to confess to the most amazing, gorgeous girl around.

Marinette stared at the phone. She was also twenty-three, and ten of those years, she’d spent loving Adrien. All in vain, it seemed now. And yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret a single moment because Adrien had been brightening her days ever since their mothers became friends at a random book club meeting all those years back. She couldn’t desert him now, even if she wanted to.

Swearing under her breath, she cursed her inability to say No to him once again and typed.

Marinette: Alright. Let’s start with the name of the lucky lady.

Adrien: Can’t tell you.

Marinette: Seriously?

Adrien: Yes.

Marinette: How can I help you if I don’t know who she is?

Adrien: Keep me accountable. Bug me until I confess. Remind me every freaking minute that I can do it. Idk, threaten me or something. We’ve been friends for what? Almost fifteen years now? You know how I work and how to make me do things. That’s why I’m begging you and not Nino.

Marinette wished he’d asked Nino instead because helping Adrien confess to some girl was the least of Marinette’s desires.

Marinette: It’s going to be hard to suggest anything specific if I don’t know who she is, but fine. We’ll think of something. I get the front row seat at the wedding, though.

She wanted nothing less but Adrien couldn’t know that.

Adrien: Thank you! I’ll save you the best seat in the house… IF she accepts.

Marinette: Oh, please! You’ve got looks and money. Who would refuse you?

Adrien: See, that’s the issue: she knows me too well. She won’t be swayed by my looks or money. T_T Why do you think I’ve been stalling?

Marinette: Your dorkiness is finally catching up with you?

Adrien: Meanie.

Marinette: :P I’m sure everything will be fine. Now, is there anything you can tell me about her?

Adrien: She works at Gabriel.

Marinette tried to swallow the knot in her throat. Of course. Adrien must be in love with one of the models. He worked amongst the most beautiful girls in France every day, and who was Marinette? A junior designer in his father’s company? Not ugly or a failure per se but she was nothing to be proud of also. Marinette was just a girl whom he’d known her for most of his life and whose every fault he’d witness more than she’d like to admit. Nothing new and exciting to catch his attention. She was an idiot to ever dare to dream of him.

Yet, gritting her teeth together and pushing the thought aside, Marinette typed a response because he was her friend and he needed her help.

Marinette: You can ask her out to lunch for starters? Take her to our cafe. I’m sure she’d love it there.

Adrien: …

Adrien: But we always have our lunches together. I can’t betray you like that.

Marinette: I’ll be fine. I have a few designs I need to finish today, so I’ll eat at the work cafeteria.

Adrien: They don’t have your favourite.

Marinette: I can survive one lunch without an eclair. Or I can call Alya and meet up with her.

Adrien: Shoot. Gtg. Ttyl.

Marinette: Good luck.

Adrien: <3

Marinette put the phone away. dropping her head onto the table. They’ve been so close for years. How could she have missed that Adrien was in love with someone? Was she that blinded by her own feelings for him? If she wasn’t, maybe then she would’ve noticed and could’ve prepared herself and not feel this excruciating pain in her chest now.

Her phone chimed again. This time it was Alya, reminding her of their Friday night plans. Marinette briefly responded, not paying close attention to what she was saying, adding an invitation for lunch at the end. Not that she was eager to be in anybody’s company today, but it was better than sitting alone and obsessing over who Adrien’s lady-love was. She knew herself and right now she needed a distraction not to fall apart. So, pushing misery aside, Marinette pulled her work files and started on finalizing her sketches due by the end of the day.

Closer to noon, Adrien texted again. As he always did.

Adrien: Guess who’s all done and who’s so nervous about today, it showed in pictures and drove my photographer insane?

She bitterly chuckled. Classic Adrien.

Marinette: Nothing to be bragging about. I thought you were a professional?

Adrien: I am. That’s why I’m done already. All you have to do is to imagine spaghetti. :3

Marinette: Dork.

Adrien: Proudly so.

Adrien: Marinette, thank you. I REALLY appreciate you being with me on this one. Honestly, I just can’t do this alone, and I wanted to do this for so long now, I’m desperate. So, your help means a lot.

I don’t want to help you, Marinette grumbled to herself.

That’s what friends are for, right? she wrote instead.

Adrien: She’s just so amazing, it terrifies me to lose her, but I can’t imagine myself being with anyone else. We’re perfect for each other. I hope you’ll agree with me once you’ll see who I’m talking about.

Adrien: Okay, I’m downstairs. I’ll drop by after I see Father.

Marinette: Cool. See you soon.

She put her phone on the desk, pushing her designs away. Tears, successfully withheld by the distraction of work, surfaced at the corners of her eyes, as the reality of what was going on hit again. Adrien was in love with someone and that person wasn’t her despite Marinette’s most daring hopes because otherwise, Adrien wouldn’t be asking her for help.

Someone opened the door, walking in without an invitation. Marinette quickly wiped away the lingering moisture in her eyes. Adrien couldn’t see her crying or he’d know she was less than happy about this confession of his. She was heartbroken, but for his sake, she'd keep a brave face and smile until the end.

“Lila?”

“Didn’t except me?” The woman walked closer and settled in a chair opposite Marinette, a mug of coffee in her hand.

“Not really,” Marinette replied coldly. She hated Lila for lies and manipulations. Why M Agreste hired her as a model was beyond her. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to warn you,” Lila said, ceremonially checking her nails.

Marinette quirked an eyebrow. “About what?”

Lila smirked, putting her mug down on a table. “Adrien and I are going public today, and we’d like you to stay out of it.”

Marinette inwardly growled. There was no way that could’ve been true! Yes, Lila was not so subtly trying to get Adrien’s attention for a while now, but as far as Marinette knew, Adrien was tolerating her antics only out of innate politeness and kindness of his heart, not affection.

“You’re lying,” she seethed. “Adrien had never mentioned—”

“That’s because he knew you don’t like me, and he wanted to spare your feelings since you’re his friend and all.” Lila shrugged. “But we’ve been secretly dating for a while now. Not anymore, though.” She smirked. “Adrien’s taking me out for lunch on our first official date today. But, to make it easier for everyone, I thought I’d warn you”—Lila’s face became stone-cold, her voice and glare matching—“stay out of my boyfriend’s life or you’ll regret it, Marinette.”

“What if I won’t?” Marinette barked without thinking twice. “He’s my friend. I have a right to—"

“You have absolutely no rights when it comes to my boyfriend.”

“I won’t believe it until I hear it from him personally.”

“You shall see it on the news tonight."

Lila’s sly smile promised nothing good as she stood up, picked up her coffee, and turned around to leave. Her hand swayed. Marinette’s blood ran cold because the mug in Lila’s hands tipped over, all of the coffee inside spilling all over Marinette’s desk, her sketches and her outfit. “Oops! Clumsy me.”

“You!” Marinette rushed to save what she could of her work.

“Stay away from Adrien or this will only be the start,” Lila whispered, leaning closer. “He’s mine.”

“Oh my gosh! What happened here? Marinette, are you alright?” Adrien suddenly appeared by her side.

“Adrien,” Lila cooed. “You’re just in time. We have to help Marinette. She spilled her coffee all over her hard work.” She picked up a few coffee-drenched papers, making a show out of trying to save them. “You’re such a klutz, girl. Let me help you before you do any more damage.”

Marinette glared at Lila, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“Marinette, are you okay?” Adrien took her by the shoulders and turned to face him.

“Of course, she isn’t,” Lila interfered. “Just look at her: the poor thing’s all soaked. And doesn’t she look pale to you? She might be getting sick. We should ask your father to give her a day off. Or better yet send someone to do that. We don’t want to be late for lunch. I'll go call someone.”

The moment Lila stepped out of the room, Marinette looked at Adrien and asked, “Are you really taking her out for lunch?”

Adrien pressed his lips together, looking away as he nodded.

Lost for words, lost for actions, lost for anything, all Marinette could do was to stare at the ground.

“It’s not—”

“Oh my gosh! Marinette, what happened?” Alya pushed Adrien to the side and took her friend by her shoulders. “You’re all soaked.”

“Found her wandering down the hall,” Lila looped her hand around Adrien’s arm. “She’s here to pick up Marinette for lunch which reminds me that we need to go now or we’ll be late for our reservation. The girls can take care of this mess by themselves, right Marinette?”

Marinette wanted nothing more than to slap Lila and take Adrien away. He deserved so much better! How could he fall for Lila? Didn’t he see what kind of a person Lila was? Didn’t he know how she felt about her? How could he ask her advice on this? Tears pooled in her eyes. Adrien was her best friend. She loved him, but this hurt too much. It felt too much as a betrayal, and if Adrien cared for her so little as to ask her for advice on how to woo her enemy, then Marinette didn’t want him to see how much that pained her.

“I’ll be fine with Alya.” Marinette turned away to gather her papers. “This is my mess; I’ll clean it up. You should go.”

“What’s going on here?” Gabriel Agreste himself appeared behind them.

“Marinette spilled coffee all over herself and her work,” Lila rushed to explain.

“Father, I think—”

“You should clean up and take a day off,” Gabriel interceded. “I’ll give you an extension on those. Now, Adrien. Why are you still here? Don’t you have lunch to go to?”

Adrien glanced at Marinette, then to his father. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, I do.”

"Then off you go. Mlle Dupain-Cheng would be fine without you.”

“Right.” Adrien reached forward to lightly touch Marinette’s elbow. “I’ll call you later,” he mouthed and walked out the room with Lila Rossi on his arm.

Adrien didn’t contact her until the very evening when exhausted from the day, Marinette put the work she took home away and went for a stroll.

Adrien: Hey. Sorry, I had a few things to settle. How are you?

She closed her eyes for a moment, before looking back at the Seine. The gentle lure of waves calmed. It mesmerized and relaxed. Marinette always came here when she was stressed, or tired, or needed a pick me up. She couldn’t explain it, but there was something soothing and healing about gazing at the passing-by waters of the Seine. Her own safe haven, a little oasis in the desert of stress and chaos. Today, Marinette needed it more than ever.

Adrien: Marinette? Is everything okay?

No. Nothing was okay, and she’d rather not talk to him now, but… years of friendship and her treacherous heart demanded otherwise. He hurt her, but it was also him, who she wanted to comfort her right now. Pathetic, she knew that, but better texts than face to face.

Marinette: Everything’s fine. Taking a walk.

Adrien: Where are you off to?

Marinette: [image 1509]

Adrien: Pont des Arts?

Marinette: You know your Paris well.

Adrien took five minutes to reply, but when he did, he did so in person. “I know you well. You always come here when you need to calm down or to think things over.”

Marinette whipped around. Adrien was standing just a few meters away. Trying to catch his breath, he ran his hands through his dishevelled hair to fix it back in somewhat decent shape.

“Adrien? What are you doing here?”

“I need to ask you something.” He walked closer, stopping only when Marinette was pressed flash against the bridge, his hands on either of her sides, his face inches from hers. "Why didn't you expose her?”

Marinette blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t spill that coffee. Lila did. And don’t even try to deny it. You never bring drinks in your office unless it’s in an air-tight container because you think you’re too clumsy.”

Marinette shifted her eyes to the side. “I am clumsy.”

“Just a tiny, adorable amount. Nothing serious.” He cocked his head to the side. “So? Why did you let her get away with it?”

Marinette looked away. She hated Lila and Adrien knew that. What did he expect her to say? Why did he even come here? He should go back to that liar girlfriend of his.

“It’s so unlike you. I want to know what’s going on.”

She didn't know what to answer him, so she remained silent.

“Marinette, please? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then look me in the eyes and repeat that.”

She tried and failed. Adrien sighed and pulled her into his arms, whispering into her ear. “Marinette, please. Why did you allow her to walk all over you? You never did that before. What’s happened? You know I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.”

She closed her eyes. The gentle tone of his voice, the comforting wrap of his arms around her, his body’s warmth so close to hers… It stirred those damn butterflies at the pit of her belly, ripping through her heart at the same time… because he’d betrayed her. He’d fallen in love with the only girl whose guts Marinette hated more than anything and there was nothing either of them could do because who could control their heart? Adrien couldn’t help loving who he did… which, however, didn’t mean he could be so inconsiderate of her. He knew she hated Lila!

“Marinette?”

She pushed him away. It hurt to remain in his embrace any longer.

“Mari…”

“Leave me alone. Go to your girlfriend.”

His eyes widened as he stared at her in shock. “My girlfriend?”

“Lila.”

“Lila?!”

“Yes, Lila,” Marinette huffed, turning her back to him, her face to the Seine. “Can’t believe you had the audacity to ask me of all people for advice on that. You know how I feel about her!”

Her eyes focused on the rolling waves as Marinette waited for an answer that didn’t come for a few moments and not until Adrien walked to stand beside her, searching her face with his eyes.

“Just to make sure I understood you correctly: you think I’m in love with Lila?”

“Aren’t you? You took her to lunch just as you said you would.”

Adrien laughed, leaning on his arms to rest on the bridge. “Marinette, you know me better than that. I took Lila to lunch only because my father blackmailed me to do so.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “A likely story.”

“No, really. He said Lila dug some dirt on him and her price for silence was me. And Father, knowing you’re my friend, threatened to fire you if I won’t comply.”

Marinette looked at him, her eyebrows knitted into a frown. “What?”

“Don’t worry, your job is safe, and I made it clear to both of them that I’m not taking part in any of their bullshit. If Father wants her silence, he’d better pay for it some other way.” Gently, Adrien cupped her shoulder, turning Marinette to face him. “Seeing what she did to you… it made me angry. I wanted nothing more than to protect you at that moment, and the best way to do that was to deal with the cause once and for all. So, I trusted Alya to take care of you, and I went with Lila only to ensure she won’t be troubling you again. And after that, I visited Father and we had a long talk about the situation. He won’t be bothering either of us again as well.”

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds before muttering without thinking. “What did you do?”

“Nothing significant. I explained to Father how serious I was about quitting Gabriel the moment you’re fired and we both know he can’t afford me walking out. Not with me owning half of the company in my mother's shares. Lila, though, was harder to get through. She kept dismissing me until I pretty much avenged you. Then she got the message loud and clear.”

As in a haze, she echoed, “What did you do?”

Adrien grinned. “I might have placed my plate of spaghetti in a strategic place for it to be accidentally tipped over and end up all over Lila.”

Marinette gasped. “What?!”

His grin widened. “I only placed it in the spot. She did all the job herself, and”—he leaned closer—“there might have been a reporter close by and he might have taken pictures if you are interested.”

“What? How?”

Adrien chuckled. “Lila hired someone to ‘witness’ and report on our ‘first date’. The guy reached out to me later to see if I wanted to buy the embarrassing pictures of ‘my girlfriend’ from him. I wasn’t interested, but I saved his card in case you are.”

Marinette stared at him for a moment, then erupted with laughter. “You’re horrible.”

“She deserved so much more after what she did to you.”

“Still, spaghetti?”

“Just using her own methods against her, and only because she wouldn’t listen to me when I was nice.”

Marinette chuckled. “Dork.”

“And you like me that way, don’t you?”

“I do,” she smiled, relaxing against the railing. She looked up at the stars and breathed in. So many worries for nothing. She should've trusted Adrien more.

“Marinette?”

She hummed, turning to him.

He looked hesitant, moving closer. “Were you jealous?”

Marinette squeaked, her face flaring crimson, as she shook her head. “No! Why would I be jealous? I—”

“You looked like you were jealous.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Her face burned hotter with every moment.

Adrien chuckled before turning serious and reaching out to cup her face in his hands. His touch, gentle and warm, sent electrical current down Marinette’s body. He slowly started to lean in. Her eyes widened with realization, fluttering close the moment his lips hesitantly brushed against hers.

“The girl I’m in love with is you, Marinette,” Adrien whispered, searching her face for a reaction. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I’m the fool who couldn’t find the courage to confess to you for years without asking you to keep me accountable because I’m terrified my feelings will ruin our friendship, but I can’t keep it in anymore. I love you, Marinette.”

Dumbfounded, Marinette stared back at him wide-eyed. “Me? You love me?”

His lips tugged in a hopeful smile as he nodded. "Will you give me a chance? I promise I’ll make you happy if you’ll let me be more than just a friend.”

Marinette forgot how to breathe. “Adrien—I… I don’t understand. You said—I thought—”

She froze, seeing his face saddened, and shook her head. No! What was she doing? She’d dreamed of this moment for years and now that it was finally here, why was she stalling?

He slowly pulled his hands away.

She couldn’t let him misunderstand her even if her reaction was puzzling to her herself, so she grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him down, crushing her lips against his.

Adrien stilled. Then wrapped his arms around her and angled his head to deepen the kiss. She let him press forward, pushing her against the railing of the bridge as their lips moved heatedly in tandem, years of pinned-up love and desire spilling out. It was only when the air became a necessity, she pulled away breathless and smiled at him.

“I love you too, Adrien. Have been for years.”

His face lit up.

“And just like you, I was too scared to confess. Looks like we’re both hopeless idiots.”

Adrien pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he pressed a lingering kiss to a patch of exposed skin he found there.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years,” he whispered.

“You could’ve if you’d asked,” Marinette replied, running her fingers through his hair.

He leaned into her touch, almost purring from the pleasure. “Can I now?”

“Yes.”

He growled lowly, tightening his hold on her. “Mine.”

She giggled, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Possessive much?”

“Very.” He grinned. “Marinette?” Without letting her go, Adrien pulled a key with a ladybug keychain on it out from his pocket. “Will you also consider moving in with me?”

“What?” Marinette blinked. “Right away?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like we need time to get to know each other better. We grew up together. We know what makes us tick and what we like. Why wait?”

Marinette smiled. Adrien was right. They did know each other well. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t dreamed of sharing her days, her nights, her happy and sad moments, her dreams and fears, her life, her everything with him for years. Why wait indeed? “I’d love to move in with you.”

Adrien grinned harder and pulled her in for another kiss. Slow and sweet, filled with longing, and need, and desire.

“In that case,” he added, his voice raspy as he drew away and, pulling a small box out of his pocket, dropped on one knee. “Will you also consider marrying me?”

Marinette gasped as Adrien revealed a gorgeous ring inside.

“Adrien, you’re insane. What are you doing?”

“I thought I’ll ask everything in one go,” he admitted. “It took me years to confess, and I don’t want to wait that long for the next step. So why not? We can have a long engagement if you want, or you can say No now and I’ll ask again la—”

“No, you really are insane,” Marinette kneeled beside him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him slowly. “How can I say No to you?”

He grinned. “Is that a Yes then?”

“That’s a Yes.”

He held her gaze for a few moments, giving her that goofy, happy smile of his before shaking off his stupor and sliding the ring on her finger. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life.”

“Me too.”

“I already looked up hamsters in my local pet store. They’re keeping a few for us to choose from until next week,” Adrien murmured. “You did want a hamster, right? Three kids and a hamster. We'll start with the hamster and add kids later—"

Marinette laughed and grabbed him by his coat’s collar again, pulling him closer.

“As much as I’d love to talk kids and hamsters with you,” she whispered. “Right now, I need you to kiss me senseless. Leave the rest for later.”

A lovesick smile tugged at his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Marinette echoed, weaving her arms around his neck, losing herself to the caresses of the man she loved more than anything.

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrinette #mlb #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #fluff #dorks #miscommunications #but quickly solved #engagement #short #shortstory

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obliviouskind · 3 years

Note

Angelica Basil and Bluebell

❥ 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 [ 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂 ] .

@kaibacxrps

---

angelica : where does your muse draw inspiration in life ? what motivates them ?

---

Perhaps it’s an oddity for a man such as Cyrus – one whose entire youth had been steered towards one defined goal, but… What he wants with his life, now; he doesn’t quite know. Damian is the man whom has taken his place – and he, despite the years that has come to pass, hasn’t quite settled himself within the name all that firmly. (It is why I, as the writer, still refer to him as Cyrus. A showing of the disconnect that he feels with himself.)

Life has become rather mundane for him. Gray and quiet, though not all that bad if compared to what it had been – or what it could’ve become. Far be it for him to be ignorant to his own blessings in regards to his situation; it isn’t many criminals whom get off lesser offenses than his own with but a slap on their wrist and a new identity. However, it doesn’t mean that he can’t feel… Well, I suppose demotivated. Left wondering why it is that he deserved it – his affiliations, he knew; the love that he left behind – or why he ought to even deserve a second chance at life in the very first place. He hadn’t had such concerns for the rest of humanity, when he stole the God’s for himself…

Cyrus moves through life one day at a time, with little concerns other than the work that he has to do; the food he has to cook, the laundry he has to fold. The weeks that he lives through easily melt together into one, and so perhaps his lack of motivation isn’t all that odd… If one were to ignore the matter that he has decided to live like this on his own.

Again, the demotivation of settling within himself is the true criminal in his life. His own stubbornness, if one has to name it.

… This stubbornness, however, could also be what motivates him. Now, hear me out; Cyrus’s insistence on his past self is what keeps him from ever taking a step forward in life. A project of his that is ultimately harming his own existence as it becomes a dreadful one (and certainly, it is a matter he ought to tackle at some point…) but, it is that ideal that he holds on to that keeps him remembering who he is. What motivates him, is the chance at being able to see the streets that he grew up upon once more. To be able to smell the perfume that his mother wore, to experience the quiet of his family’s home.

What motivates Cyrus to do good for himself, no matter the stubbornness that keeps him from truly living until then… is the knowledge that if he does as he is told – if he behaves well and listens to the rules… Then home, he can once more go.

No matter if it is as Damian, rather than Cyrus.

---

basil : does your muse have a love - hate relationship with anyone or anything ?

---

With himself would perhaps be the simplest of answers. One that is true, in its own way – and if one looks above, then perhaps the answer already could be known. But I won’t be repeat myself too much.

Perhaps one could say he holds a mixed opinion of his own family. His mother, for having cast away her responsibilities of being just so – a mother – in favor of mindless pleasures. His father, for having thought if unneeded to engage with his own boy until he became useful enough to see. But, to say he ‘hates’ them for these faults would be too strong of a word to use.

Pity comes to mind, now that he is older. He, nor his parents, are immune to the struggles life throws upon them – and he has come to know that it isn’t entirely their faults for having chosen to do what they did. He also learned that it wasn’t his, either. He doesn’t know if he could bare life the way his mother has, if he was lost within a marriage without words. Cynthia has given him a glimpse of such a life – and it is a threatening one to inhabit.

His father grieves, still, and he can’t fault the man for that.

Perhaps he adores and distrusts God, too. But that is a topic for another time…

---

bluebell : does your muse learn from their past , or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?

---

He… Certainly hopes that he has learned, and that he’s learning still. Look. Cyrus may have done things that would point to the contrary but – he isn’t a delusional man, unable to see his own behavior and what it was he caused. Many choices that he had made, he had made with full knowledge of the fact that they were the wrong things to do… Even if they, in the end, gave him the result that he knew they would.

The moment he realized that he could find the creatures of myth, he realized that he would be violating something more than just stories. When he fought against a child, using beasts he held no true power over – he knew that playing dirty would occur at one point or another (and it did. Oh, it did…) He knew that the world would come to suffer at his hand, despite him not knowing if he could’ve made it all better again after…

There’s no way to say, yes or no, if he would come to repeat the same mistakes twice. Life throws one a curveball once in a while, and one faulty swing can detour his path into much worse places than from where he came.

But… He would hope he doesn’t. If only because he doesn’t want to.

#(ooc - mun)#games #kaibacxrps #eyo have a look into why i still use cyrus for him in threads #there is a reason #and at some point in the future #it will change to damian #... however long into the future is yet to be known-

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typicalmidnightsoul · 4 years

Text

ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙʟɪɴᴋ, ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ - Chapter 1

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 𝒜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃𝒶

Mafia/Assassin AU

After the prince of Merchants dies his wife takes up his mantle and his empire of criminals, yet now the government locked his wife in jail but the princess of merchants is too clever to be held down. Nesta ran away from Velaris after Feyre tried to control her. She made a name for herself that people respect but now she is in trouble and her mother demands Feyre to get her back. Cassian goes but the shit she has gotten herself into will take a long time to sort out. one catch though, she has 96 hours to live.

This is for the anon with the request to post this on tumblr <3 my tumblr’s messing up so I couldn’t post it with your message on top but I love you Anon!!!!! Thank you for the request!! I’m glad you enjoyed my story!!!

“Hey mom.” Feyre pursed her lips at the female in orange in front of here. Adelaide put her handcuffed hands on the table. She signalled to the guard to get out.

“I probably know the answer to this, but why mom did a prison guard just follow your command.”

Adelaide leaned back, “I have most people here on payroll.”

Feyre groaned, “Only because you’re the princess of merchants.”

After their dad died, their mother in desperation took up his mantle, people feared their mother 10 times more then they feared their father.

“Touché. But anyway… Your sister is in danger.”

Feyre sat up, attentive, “Nesta called a couple of days ago and said she was fine.”

Her mother rolled her eyes, “Feyre I am your mother, if you think you can hide the fact that you tried to control Nesta’s life and therefore she ran away from Velaris and is now one of the most dangerous people on the street. Don’t play dumb, Feyre. But whatever I don’t care about that anymore, what matters now is that Nesta is being hunted down by some very bad people, she has come in possession of a substance that is very dangerous.”

“What shall I do?”

“Well, I was going to handle it my way but I know how much that upset you last time…”

Feyre stood up, “The last time you tried to handle things, you killed people…Nesta can handle herself and she won’t like my meddling.”

“You’re gonna risk your sister’s life because you don’t want to upset her?!” She leaned back smirking, “Guess I’ll just have to send my people down there.”

Feyre relented, “Fine, but whichever one of my friends goes, and they’ll tell Nesta that you sent them. And if my friends don’t want to go then I will. But, please, don’t handle this you’re way.”

“Fine. Who are you planning on sending?” Feyre knew that look.

“Ok mother who do you want me to send?”

“Cassian and one of my people.”

Feyre scoffed, “Cassian?! She’ll rip him apart.”

“And he’ll survive. No one else will be able to manage her temper. She’s my daughter, I know her best.”

“Who else are you planning on sending?”

“Jonah. But he’ll join after, on my orders.”

Feyre flinched. Their half-brother whose existence was unknown to her until very recently, he hated Feyre that hate deepened after that issue with Nesta. But he loved Nesta to bits, and Nesta listened to him. Feyre looked up at the mastermind in front of her.

She was going to send Cassian to take the brunt of her anger and Jonah to calm both of them down.

“Fine. I’ll let Cassian know.”

Before she could go her mother stopped her one more time, "Feyre."

"Get your sister back."

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

Nesta ran through the depot. She swiped the card given to her by her source to open the door. A card of highest clearance, her mother would have questions.

“Take a left,” Clare spoke into her ear through comms.

“Clare there are billions of trucks in here.”

“The truck you’re looking for is in the far left, serial number is 234 LMX9.”

“Where is everyone else?!”

“You tripped an alarm; they’re knocking out all the guards who saw it. They’re coming now.”

She got out her handgun and shot the trucks locks on the door busting it open as she climbed in an alarm went off.

“Oh shit Nes! One of the guards pressed the alarm before Helion could make the kill.”

“Its fine I’ve got the case. Just tell them all to get their ass down here.”

She heard footsteps; Vassa, Cresseida, Audrey and Helion came down. Their faces had trickles of blood but they were in one piece.

“You’re all idiots. Come on we need to go.”

“Nesta you leave, Hybern is on our tail you need to get out with that.” Audrey said.

“No offence Cuz but I’m not leaving without you. Actually you guys are leaving before me.”

“What why?”

“Because if Beron finds out we just stole from him our shot for going undercover is gone. I’m alone in this now. We regroup later. You guys need to handle the Queens.”

Audrey nodded, “If you don’t get out and I don’t get a call by midnight that you’re safe I’m coming straight back.”

“Fine you witch now gets lost.”

They all piled into the car leaving Nesta. Nesta had one more thing she needed to find. She went back inside, and pocketed the pen drive that she had plugged into the computer in the front cabin.

As she was leaving a blast caused her to smack down against the wall. She groggily got to her feet, reaching for her briefcase.

“Welcome. Dagdan and Brannagh at your service. What do the call you?”

Nesta slid up her black mask, covering her face,

“They call me Athena.”

She turned both guns out of their holster and shooting the 6 people she saw, she got nicked by one of their bullets. She hissed. She wasn’t outnumbered she could take them on. But the risk of the…

They wanted the brief case. She turned her hand and shot the light board making the whole depot dark.

She ran into a small corner to buy herself time.

“Come out, come out where ever you are,” Brannagh’s sweet voice carried itself to her. They were getting close.

She opened the brief case and eyed the green liquid with blue streaks going through it. She could hear them getting closer. Without another doubt she pushed the syringe inside her.

The feeling was earth wrenching, It was horrifying, like she was being remade.

She ran for the exit, leaving the briefcase. Brannagh had seen the brief case and called her brother over.

“She knows what’s good for her. She left it.”

“Wait,” Brannagh ordered, she opened it, “Shit! The bitch took it herself. Call up Hybern and tell him.

Athena took the Cauldron.”

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

She couldn’t keep on running, she had to call Clare, Audrey, someone who…she fell and the last blurry image she saw was black timberland boots walking to her.

She woke up her head thudding against something.

“You do that again and you’ll give yourself brain damage.”

She looked at the ceiling-no roof of a car. A car she recognised.

“What the fuck are you doing here Cassian?!”

She heard the doors lock; she tried to open them to no use.

”Let me out!!”

He looked at her in the rear view mirror.

”never thought I’d have to use the child lock on you sweetheart.”

”Let. Me. Out.”

”No can do mummy’s orders.”

Her face softened, “my mom sent you.”

He hesitated then nodded. She dragged a hand through her hair.

”i need to go and see someone. Clare or someone-“

Pure rage took over his features and he braked the car so hard that Nesta almost fell. He got out of the car and climbed into the back, pulling Nesta against him.

“As I see it Nesta you have two options, 1) you co-operate and I take you to the safe house or 2) you don’t and I handcuff you to this car till you do?”

She tilted her head, “You’re angry. Why?”

“Because you left. You left and made a name for yourself that will either get you respect or get you killed.”

“You told me to leave. You TOLD me.”

“I did not think you’d actually do it.”

“Well then you should’ve known better.”

They stayed like that for a while, breathing raggedly, until Cassian

Said, “I need you to make a decision, Nesta.”

“Fine I’ll go with you. But you will regret it.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m also sitting in the passenger seat.”

“Do as you please.”

She climbed through the middle of the two seats and into the passenger seat. He rolled his eyes and went back outside grabbing something from the boot before going back into the driver’s seat. He dropped a Burberry barrel bag into Nesta’s lap saying, “I talked to Clare before coming here. She packed it for you. It has your phone, charger, clothes and god knows what else.”

She sifted through it wondering what she had done to deserve a friend like Clare. She tried her phone, no charge.

She looked at Cassian’s phone that lay in the middle of them.

“Go ahead.” He said reading her thoughts.

She turned it on, “Passcode.”

“260369.” She tried to hide her shock at him giving her his passcode with no hesitation.

She scrolled through his contacts trying to find Audrey. It rang twice.

“Hey Cassian what’s up.”

“Auj! It’s Nesta.”

“Oh my god! Where are you?! Are you with Cassian? What happened?”

“Long story short: It’s safe with me, I’m in a bit of a mess, Cassian was sent by mom to do god knows what.”

“Where are you guys going?”

“I…don’t know.” She looked at Cassian who gestured that he’ll send it to her, “Cassian says he’ll send it to you.”

“Ok, keep safe, love you, and call me when you get there.”

“Yeah ok, Love you too, bye.”

She started taking her holsters off and getting comfortable. Cassian leaned back and got his coat that was covering Nesta when she was sleeping in the back. Nesta looked down her sleeve was ripped. The bullet wound taken care of. He put his coat over her.

“We have another one hours journey ahead of us.”

“I’m not tired.” But she didn’t take his coat off.

“Well then what do you want to do.”

“Depends. Do you have Spotify?”

He chuckled and handed his phone over. She reached down into the barrel bag her earphones and got out two frappe’s she silently put Cassian’s one between them and opened hers plugging her earphones in.

He tried to keep his smile to himself.

-------

Nesta had fallen asleep for the last 15 minutes of the journey, him taking out her earphones for her. He texted Jonah that they were at the safe house to which Jonah gave a four word answer.

Ok. Keep her safe.

The amount of love he had for Nesta and the amount of hate he had for Feyre and Elain were unimaginable. He chuckled.

“Nes.” He shook her, “We’re here. Sweetheart.”

She groaned something about letting her sleep.

He rolled his eyes. He got out of the car and picked her up. She snuggled closer to him. He smiled down softly at her peaceful face.

He took her inside to his room and placed her in between the sheets. He took off the knee high heeled boots she wore and tucked her in.

He took off his shirt and slung it on a chair; he took a shower before heading to go to sleep in the guest room.

Coming up Next

“I have 96 hours to live.”

“What?!”

“Probably why Jonah is getting worried.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“My mother wouldn’t send you if she didn’t have a plan.”

“What were you gonna do?”

“A friend of mine, Thesan, he is a doctor. Well a bit more than that.”

He looked at her and picked up his newspaper. She decided she wanted to ditch her clothes and instead of getting her own she took his shirt and worn her knee high black boots. Apparently she needed to take a shower anyway so instead of dirtying her clothes why not his. He on the other hand was shirtless which seemed to have no effect on her while walking around in his clothes definitely had an effect on him. She studied him.

“What?”

“I’m trying to figure out what would happen if you’re ex walked in and saw us like this.”

“My-wh-who are you talking about?!”

“Morrigan.”

“She’s not my ex.”

“The one night stand you’re still hung up over then.” She laughed, “You’d try to hide me. Wouldn’t you?”

He grabbed her wrist pulling her closer, “No sweetheart I actually wouldn’t.”

“Well then what would you do.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed for starters.”

“Yeah whatever.” She left to change.

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

Tags: @skychild29 @aesthetics-11

#nessian fanfic #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #rhysand #helion #vassa #prythian #acotar #acomaf #acowar

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