#I know he doesn’t show up but my hatred for that man PERMEATES so he’s getting a tag anyway
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Was scrolling through c!Wilbur crit blogs again and it got me thinking about why exactly I argue in favour of him so much so here’s a random ramble (that got long) about it:
Most c!Wilbur critics (at least, in the tag, not directly post-lore stream. The ones that do actual analysis on him) are like... really reasonable about it, actually, lmao. Like it’s mostly just calling him a bad person because of power hunger/manipulation/being a bad dad/whatever else. (Not talking about antis. I mean people who are really critical of him, but recognize that he’s a well-crafted character with nuance.)
Which I agree with! I consider myself an apologist, my writing and analysis leans really sympathetic, and I still agree that he’s a shitty rat bastard that I would run far away from irl. Even at the beginning of the story, he’s very morally grey, sometimes using underhanded persuasion tactics, doing ehh things like stealing, and it only gets worse from there.
But on the other hand, he’s... not that bad. Like I saw one person say about c!Dream, “My reaction to most critique of him is... so what?” and that’s how I feel about c!Wilbur, I suppose. Yeah, he tried to rig an election - but it was a last-ditch effort at not going full dictator, he didn’t follow through, and later on he - in part - decided to blow it up because they couldn’t get it back while being democratic. And yeah, he manipulated people - all in all, it wasn’t really really bad things, mostly to paint himself in a better light because of his insecurities, and people sometimes fall into manipulative language without even outwardly realizing that it’s a shitty thing to do. Of course, that shows a bigger underlying problem in their mindset and the way they interpret relationships and possession, but then that’s a different discussion - and definitely one that applies to c!Wilbur.
(Not saying he doesn’t ever intentionally manipulate people. I think that a. sometimes it might be accidental, (”If you wanna be President you’re gonna have to get on my good side,” mans was Not thinking straight,) and b. other times he falls into old habits/coping mechanisms that happen to be manipulation, (Tommy at Las Nevadas.) Other than the election and maybe some times in the early founding of L’Manberg, I can’t think of any moments where I’m like, “Yeah, he is Purposefully Manipulating here.” And even then, it just doesn’t strike me as a terrible thing. People manipulate, it’s a thing they do. That’s it. A morally grey action.)
And I think the majority of the reason I make more posts painting him in a positive light and don’t really discuss my critique of him is because it feels like the fandom has an overwhelming bias of hatred/crit, even if a lot of that isn’t, y’know, proper analysis of his character. I instinctively want to balance it out for this character I love/relate to, because a lot of what I see straight-up ignores the lighter side of his moral-greyness.
Like, a while back, I posted a couple clips from late-election arc, of Wilbur talking about how he feels about Fundy siding with Quackity and against him. And the way I initially saw it while watching was, “Okay. He feels betrayed by his son who disagrees with his politics - and thus, him as a person, because your politics are a reflection of your identity, especially in Wilbur’s mind - and it’s perfectly understandable that he’d want to vent about that in private to a close friend. On the other hand, he should be able to recognize that Fundy’s allowed to be his own person and shouldn’t be babied. Fundy is in the right, here, but Wilbur’s feelings shouldn’t be dismissed.”
But then 90% of the tags were just straight-up hate for c!Wilbur, going as far as to say that he should die again. (And this was after we found out how bad the afterlife was for him.) That fucking floored me. I just couldn’t understand how they took this nuanced character aching for ‘the son he knew’ back (hm. very similar to c!Phil, actually) and turned it into ‘wow. This suicidal man sucks and should maybe die.’ I was so close to making a post defending him before realizing - I was letting fandom bias against a character push me further onto the sympathetic side.
And that’s such a fuckin’ weird thing to have happen, because you’d think that exposure to negativity about a character would make you feel more negative about them? But without fail, every time I scroll through the crit tag, or read a critical post about c!Wilbur/L’Manberg, I maybe lean a bit more towards that side for a few hours before swinging back hard onto the apologist side. Because a lot of the critique, to me, is really just, “so what?” after I let it stew a bit.
Then there’s the whole mental health issue. Obviously it doesn’t excuse the shit he did - I know people who have been in the middle of breakdowns and the stuff they say still fucking hurts, even if they didn’t truly mean it. But recognizing that he needs help? That for pretty much all his time on-screen, he was depressed and paranoid, which obviously affects the way he acts? That’s obvious. And were he in the position to get professional help - which he deserves - everything would be much better off. That’s the root of my apologism, I think: He deserves to get better. He’s not inherently evil, or bad, just a fucked up little man who’s ruined his own life and needs help. I want to see him, specifically him, get better.
Narratively, his punishment has been extreme and disproportionate. Every mistake, every choice - good or bad - has led to suffering, on his part. Start a fun little rebellion, maybe to gain some power? War and betrayal. Declare an election to consolidate said power? Lose, and get exiled. Blow up a nation? Die, and even in the afterlife, he can't catch a break. Purely as a sympathetic human, it feels like he deserves to rest. Deserves to heal.
But even medicated and less anxious, or going to therapy for his neuroticism and depression, or whatever, he still would be quite morally grey. A lot of his manipulation, his power hunger, comes from this neuroticism; from needing to feel safe and needed, (just like Quackity.) Not all of it, though. He’d still have his unhealthy ideals about relationships and possession, for example. Less prominent, sure, but still there. Some people, I feel, discount how tied up with his mental illness it is, while others don’t really recognize that it’s also a personality problem. Like, changing those beliefs is changing part of who he fundamentally is, as a person.
Actually, I think the c!Wilbur apologist community, in general, tends to scapegoat his mental illness a little too much? Not in that we explain his actions with it or ask people not to villainize it, (although sometimes I feel that what we call villainizing mental illness is a bit excessive, but it’s not my place to talk about that as someone who doesn’t really relate to Pogtopia!Wilbur,) but in that we use it in discussions a lot. Which is fair, because it permeates every single aspect of his character, but even without it he’d have toxic traits? Like his possessiveness is not purely a byproduct of his mental illness, imo. Nor is his treatment of Fundy. It’s amplified by it, surely, but that little seed of it is there in the first place. Just as c!Dream’s abuse needs to be addressed as a central part of his character, c!Wilbur’s possessiveness does too - and also outside of the context of their mental health, because they’re both brought on by an internal personality flaw, some fucked-up belief, if that makes sense.
As I said before: c!Wilbur is a mess of a human being that I would hate if I actually met. (irl I would’ve been a SWAG supporter, based on policies, but since this is fiction, I was POG.) But because he’s a character, that flies out the window, and I can love him - not even just as a character, in the sense that I appreciate he’s well-crafted, but in terms of personality and all that shit, while recognizing he’s a kinda crappy guy. Because he’s a character. That’s the fun of it.
#Enderspeak#idk just musing and working out thoughts that got long but I actually kinda like#I think I'm gonna try to not let that bias sway me as much anymore. write more crit posts even if they're made with love in my heart <3#I might have to stick a disclaimer on them though because each time I get a pure hate comment part of my soul shrivels#You can also tell I've been reading a lot of books/treatises written by old white guys recently because I feel like my opinion#on everything is needed and wanted lol#Also on the villainization thing: if someone who does feel okay talking about it could write a response with their thoughts#that'd be neat#Because I. don't know how to phrase what I'm thinking in a way that feels right & not like I'm butting in somewhere I don't belong#But I'm not saying it's a bad/wrong thing. Sometimes I just see a post of someone complaining and I'm like#''Is it really?'' but I don't really have a personal frame of reference to know so#take my words with a grain of salt - I will defer to those who know better#Actually take this whole post with a grain of salt I might hate it in a few hours#Update from a few hours later: well I don't disagree with what I said but it's a bit more extreme than I'd put it now so
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19 Days Character Archetypes. He Tian
This idea had been dancing around the back of my mind for a little over half a year now. I wanted to compare and contrast 19 Days characters with the list of archetypes proposed in the neo-Jungian research and finally, I got some time to spare. For this post, I am going to talk about He Tian. Before I begin, however, let me clarify a few things. Since the subject is fairly complex, I do not intend to write in detail about the theory itself or the studies mentioned because that is not the purpose of this post. I am only looking to give a quick and basic run-down of the common archetypes shared by the 19 Days characters.
What is an archetype? An archetype is a set of predefined characteristics, a mould. Carl Jung described the archetype as a “fundamental unit of a human mind” or a “primordial image”. Simply put, the archetypes are the recurring and simplified patterns — but also symbols. According to his ideas, these basic symbols exist universally irrespective of epochs, nations, cultures, races, places, etc. Jung believed them to be shared by the so-called collective unconsciousness. However, even before him, the philosophers of old introduced the ideas of pre-existing ideal immaterial forms which shape the material reality. Since the archetypes are fundamentally primordial, they permeate every single sphere of human life. Art, media, movies, day to day interactions — all of them deal in archetypes.
While working on his research, Carl Jung defined the driving impulses of the human psyche. In turn, that data helped him come up with underlying basis for human behaviour. Based on his findings, Jung outlined the so-called primary archetypes. Later his research served as a basis for many other studies and classifications, particularly for The 12 Archetype Model, proposed by Margaret Mark and Carol Pearson in “The Hero and the Outlaw”. Naturally, there can be an infinite number of archetypes, each having their subtleties; still, the short lists give the generalized picture. Deconstructing characters to these basic blueprints is a fair game because a character, no matter how complex, is still an abstract entity.
For this series of posts, I am going to rely on the 12 Archetype Model mentioned above. The list goes as follows:
1. The Innocent
2. The Orphan
3. The Hero
4. The Caregiver
5. The Explorer
6. The Rebel
7. The Lover
8. The Creator
9. The Jester
10. The Sage
11. The Magician
12. The Ruler
Having examined this list, I am led to believe that He Tian primarily represents a mixture of The Hero and The Rebel archetypes.
The Hero and The Rebel
Let us start with the most obvious, the Hero. This archetype is closely associated with the ideas of masculinity, and thus it is also referred as the Warrior, the Crusader, etc.
The Hero archetype characteristics
Motto: Where there is a will, there is a way
Core desire: to prove one's worth through courageous acts
Goal: expert mastery in a way that improves the world
Greatest fear: weakness, vulnerability, being a “chicken”
Strategy: to be as strong and competent as possible
Weakness: arrogance, always needing another battle to fight
Talent: competence and courage
These go very much in line with what we know of He Tian. His childhood flashbacks suggest that he indeed intends to be “the strongest”.
The failure to protect the puppy, the harsh words of He Cheng — all of it led him to become fixated on becoming the Hero, the one who swoops down and single-handedly saves the day. It is in the way he stands in to fight She Li for Guanshan or rushes to prevent Jian Yi from getting kidnapped. It is in the way he attempts to resolve the other boy’s problems with debt collectors. It is in the way he deflects the coke can and decides to meet his father for Guanshan's sake.
He Tian yearns to be the strongest because the alternative — being weak and helpless — has already scarred him in the past. Whatever joy he used to have as a child was taken from him, because he was not strong enough to handle things on his own. He entrusted the puppy to his brother and the man betrayed him — or so He Tian was led to believe.
More than that, he wants Guanshan to come to him, whether it’s talking about his complicated past or whether it’s about learning the guitar.
It goes without saying that He Tian is almost eerily good at anything he does — as such he believes he can learn music from scratch in a short time. That speaks volumes about the confidence he has in his capabilities, and yet to an outsider's perspective this might come off as blatant posturing.
Apart from almost baffling self-confidence that he shows, He Tian is also known for his nearly abnormal physical prowess. He managed to hold his ground against several armed adults (which is probably just flawed writing) and way back he even managed to impress Guanshan by effortlessly hopping over the school fence, so it makes one wonder what kind of training he had undergone.
However, the truth is, The Hero is also susceptible to weakness. In his work, Carl Jung has coined the term “The Shadow”, which became a stand-alone archetype in his list. The Shadow stands for our suppressed, ignored or denied traits, in other words, it is everything that we cannot see or refuse to see in ourselves. The concept of this hidden darkness has been since absorbed into a number posterior studies, such as Robert Moore’s and Douglass Gillette’s “King Magician Warrior Lover”, where they introduce triadic paradigms of the archetypes and their corresponding active and passive shadows. Notably, they link the aforementioned archetypes with the concept of “masculinity” and its development throughout adolescence into adulthood.
What is The Shadow to The Hero archetype? When The Hero cannot fulfill their purpose, they surrender to the shadow. The dark side takes their best qualities and transforms them into flaws. The confidence thus turns into arrogance and hubris, courage into foolhardiness, competence into bravado and posturing — or the complete opposite happens. Courage transforms into cowardice, confidence into insecurity, etc.
Whereas He Tian is concerned, before he had developed an emotional attachment to another person (and by doing so gained something to cherish), we could observe some of the definitive shadow patterns in his behaviour. Until he recognized Guanshan as someone to know and to protect, he used to goad the other boy, if not outright assume the position of his superior, demanding obedience and subservience. He Tian also used the snide tone when talking to Guanshan, and he did so in order to establish his power to steer the boy in what he deemed to be the right direction — that is attempting to curb Redhead’s short temper and brashness. And in doing so, he was not shy of subtly threatening the boy or using physical force to make his point.
To be in touch with his masculinity — that is to channel his energy constructively in order to feel strong and needed, — he required to have someone he could play the knight for. Once he could direct his inner impulses properly, his violent tendencies have subsided.
Even so, in his aspiration to be the ultimate good — driven by the hatred for his family background, perhaps — He Tian often opted for doing rash, foolhardy stuff, such as attempting to take on the debt collectors all by himself, for instance. Sure, he would have gotten to “save the day” and be the hero, but that single moment would have cost him his life.
Now, having glanced at the Hero archetype, let us move to the next one, The Rebel. This archetype is characterized by the following:
The Rebel archetype characteristics
Motto: Rules are made to be broken
Core desire: revenge or revolution
Goal: to overturn what is not working
Greatest fear: to be powerless or ineffectual
Strategy: disrupt, destroy, or shock
Weakness: crossing over to the dark side, crime
Talent: outrageousness, radical freedom
The Rebel is also known as the outlaw, the revolutionary, the wild man, the misfit, or iconoclast.
Indeed, He Tian rebels quite a bit in the manhua. First and foremost, his rebellion is directed at his flesh and blood — Mr He and Cheng.
Not much is known about He Tian’s childhood, yet it is pretty clear that he hadn’t exactly had a happy one. His mother died early on and he was left to grow up practically without parents since Mr He is a textbook absentee father. From what He Tian knows, his brother backstabbed him, an act that keeps plaguing their relationship years after, while his father is labeled as a monster — someone who is ostensibly capable of eliminating people who disobey.
It is also clear as the day that young He Tian is traumatized by whatever dealings his family conducts behind the scenes. At some point, we even witnessed a scene where HT is tossed out of the burning yacht, while his brother is covered in blood and holds a gun. A violent experience such as this inevitably leaves a scar — and actually get to see it. He Tian is shown to experience something closely reminiscent of PTSD, recurring violent nightmares, the fear of the dark, etc.
Back in the present day, we see that He Tian wants to put distance between himself and his family. It manifests in living separately from his kin and cutting the contact to a bare minimum. He makes a point of stating that he is independent, severing the ties he deems to be dysfunctional. Yet the same time He Tian cannot quite let go of his familial bonds. In particular, whenever He Cheng is concerned, the boy sneers and flagrantly shows his impetuousness and disrespect.
In many ways he’s practically stomping his feet, attempting to show that he doesn’t need his brother, yet by doing this he proves the opposite: he still yearns his bitter feelings to be validated by He Cheng — and by his father too, to an extent.
This results in bratty behaviour on his part: He Tian orchestrates property damage at the He mansion, impishly rejects Cheng’s gestures of goodwill, etc.That is the work of the Rebel’s “shadow” counterpart — when the desire to overturn things and break free takes on darker shade and slips into dangerous territory. Resisting and opposing then becomes a way of life, and only through it does the “shadow rebel” feel certain of their self.
He Tian pushes at the boundaries of what is permitted and socially acceptable to feel in control of the situation. If we examine the way He Tian interacts with others, we will see that the shadow manifests in many other ways. He Tian is compelled to stir and instigate others, using his wit and cunning to make them uncomfortable or confused, and thus easy to manipulate to his amusement.
Speaking of socially acceptable behaviour, Chinese culture places a great emphasis on the respect towards senior family members — and I probably cannot stress this enough — He Cheng lets him get away with this lack of reverence. Deep inside He Tian seeks his brother’s approval and attention, but rejects it when he is given, and in the process he sets out to tear down anything that displeases him.
Establishing a connection with Guanshan let He Tian fulfill his Hero potential and channel his energy in constructive ways, and yet at the same time, it allowed him to tap further into his “Shadow” Rebel tendencies. That is, to it rub in into He Cheng’s face that he’s no longer welcome or needed.
Naturally, as a character, He Tian possesses traits of other archetypes — such as The Lover, for instance — albeit to a lesser extent, so I’m not going to dive deep in here. Let me just mention, that as a Lover, He Tian is compelled to increase his attractiveness to his love interest — we often see him fishing for compliments and validation on Guanshan’s part, which underscores his inner need to feel needed and wanted, yet also turns into clinginess at times.
With that, this quick rundown of He Tian’s character patterns is complete. All in all, you could say that He Tian is fairly archetypal at his core, and yet it’s the combination of these “trite” features that mark him as an utterly realistic and believable character. It is because we’ve seen these archetypes countless times before that He Tian appears to be true to life.
Lastly, this is going to turn into a series of posts, but right now I cannot say when the next part is going to be up since writing this took me some time. In the meantime, you can read a bit more below ✨.
A bit more about He Tian | Support me at Ko-Fi
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In My Dreams, We're Still Together
“Why is it so important to dream?” a faint voice of a woman asks.
“In my dreams, we're still together.”
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Wanda opens her eyes.
She's... unsure, of where she is.
Like her synapses are splitting, her neurons are firing in all directions, and her mind is about to combust from tearing itself in half… It almost feels like… she’s glitching.
Just suddenly caught unawares, dropped into the middle of a simulation, or… a dream, with no idea whatsoever where she came from or how she got here.
She spots Geraldine, or Monica- her, that woman, that SWORD agent.
She's standing in front of her, pleading some case about how she understands, how she "knows" what Wanda was going through right now.
All Wanda could manage was a wry, sad, lonely, chuckle.
She feels tired. Like life has drained every fiber from her, and she’s just… a hollow, cracked, shell. No longer a live human teeming with breaths of air and purpose… if she was ever even such a thing to begin with, considering what Agatha revealed to her.
But “Understand?”
Understand???
Wanda may not completely comprehend where she is, or what was happening right now, but the losses she’s suffered through still feel as raw inside her as the days she lost every single one of her family.
And so, No.
No, Monica did not understand.
She just could not possibly, know, comprehend, understand, what Wanda was feeling right now.
Wanda felt so empty inside she sacrificed everything, her conscience, her soul, her family, everything.
For a vague copy, a shadow… of the living breathing feeling, loving, man she dreamed of sharing her life with.
She sacrificed everything.
For someone that didn’t even know who she was. Someone who didn’t trust her, believe her, and maybe even… feared her.
Someone who no longer saw her as she was… but as the villain.
Just like, everyone else.
And Wanda was fine with being the villain, people already feared her nevertheless, even when she fought for them. She made herself the villain to get her family back.
But, she still lost him anyways, all the same.
So Monica can stand there and go on and on about how she understands.
She understands nothing.
Wanda didn’t even understand her own pain, and anger, the vicious black hatred inside her that erupted after being ignored for so long. And, desperation.
The hatred for a universe that sought to take away everything and everyone Wanda dared to risk caring about.
The hatred and anger that would just immediately shield her fragile psyche everytime someone dared to pop her precious ideal dream bubble.
And the desperation. For a life of normalcy she had some semblance of in her childhood, but one she can never seem to have, no matter what she did.
Westview, her transformed version of it, was her dream.
It was her parents, her family TV nights, Pietro trying to change the show, Vis learning TV tropes and cheesy romance storyline gestures for the first time from her.
Them shyly, hesitantly (for good reason) wondering and secretly hoping for a future, but daring to still do so anyways despite of everything.
“I think Mom and Dad would’ve loved it.”
Those same nights of watching in awe of Mary Tyler Moore and her grace and beauty and charm. Wanda wishing she could be like her when she grew up, laughing at her and Dick’s shenanigans.
And looking back at Mama and Papa on the couch, from where she laid on the floor as near as they allowed her to be to the TV.
Wanda faintly remembers The Dick Van Dyke Show, Bewitched, The Brady Bunch, Malcolm in the Middle, and all the rest of them flashing through her mind, in the same vein as her and Vis’ dangerously hopeful conversations for a shared future.
Those fictional sitcoms of the past and foolish daydreams of the future, all brightly flashed, when her mind and her body finally broke, and everything she was, her sadness, her hopes, her past, and her future, came flooding out of her.
She thought of her parents when she made Westview.
“I think Mom and Dad would’ve loved it,” says the Pietro she wanted more than anything to be hers.
“Yeah, I think they would have,” Wanda replied like the man she was speaking to actually knew them.
Westview was, and still is, her dream.
It was her living the life she wanted with the man she wanted to live it with.
And her hate and anger for the universe depriving her of this dream, her desperation to do everything it took to keep it in her grasp; it all swirled inside her, dizzyingly blurring everything. Corrupting and permeating the inside of her mind, and thus, the world she created from her fingertips.
And Wanda couldn’t see past it anymore.
Her sight consisted of tunnel vision exclusively set on Westview, and Tommy and Billy, and Vis.
Anything else didn’t make sense.
Even if this world of Westview, this family she created on her own, even if they and it themselves were... broken.
It was all Wanda had left.
And so, Monica could never understand.
No one, could ever unders-
Not even-
"You?" Wanda bitterly spits out, “You… understand??” frustratingly in disbelief at this hero trying to talk her down.
Wanda can't help but laugh that sad lonely chuckle again.
"No one could possibly understand what I'm going through right now." Wanda states, affirming it as fact, irrefutable, undeniable, fact.
"The one person I thought-”
Suddenly flashes of Vis shouting at her begging her to put him out of his misery pop back up again in her mind.
“Not even the person I loved so much, I-”
“I sacrificed everything for.” As Wanda closes her eyes when she says the words, all the corrupted actions Wanda’s done to keep hold of this broken fantasy flash her mind, as well as that sight of Vision leaving her.
“Even he doesn't understand. He, doesn't believe me, trust me… If even Vis sees me as the villain, maybe I already am.” The shock in Wanda’s words as she says this only undercutting the tragedy of what she’s done; she genuinely hoped all the wrong she’s done would be worth the sacrifice.
Monica, almost steps back. She doesn’t know if it’s out of fear, pity… But the pain in Wanda as she’s seeing it now is just as tangible and permanent as the pain she felt when Wanda was actually inside her head.
Monica almost fears, Wanda’s too far gone to- … to come back.
Be who she was before she lost Vision.
How can you talk sense to someone who’s all but destroyed themselves from the inside out?
Someone who’s been drowned out by their pain, loss, and anger, they can’t see anything past it.
Monica felt like Wanda was in her most fragile, vulnerable state right now. And that one wrong move, one wrong word, and you could just set her off, exploding and disintegrating everything around her.
“So, don't you stand there, and claim you understand anything,” the crimson energy starts swirling on Wanda’s fingertips once more.
“Because you understand nothing.”
“Nothing,” Wanda doesn’t even hold back the tears that were now falling down her cheek as she voices her vitriol at the hero in front of her, “About what I am feeling right now.”
But even after all the rage she’s spewing, lashing out at Monica. Even after Wanda tries her damnedest to shut out the anguish, the guilt. Her sadness over what all that she’s done was even for, amounting to what. It all eventually comes pouring out.
“If he doesn’t want to be here, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
That’s what Wanda said to their children who saved their father… their father and the love of her life, that she couldn’t bring back.
All she, Tommy, and Billy, wanted was to spend time with him.
Vision’s only still alive because of them.
But she still couldn’t stop him from abandoning them altogether.
“Even after I brought him back…” Wanda’s previously volatile disposition suddenly, disappears.
The grief that was barely being held back, begging to come out, finally did.
“He still left.”
Vision wanted to get as far away from her as possible he was willing to die for it.
Wanda expanded the barrier, their kids ask her where he is… and yet-
“He's still- gone.”
“Wanda…”
Vis appears from their front door, and Monica was about to speak to him about SWORD and Hayward, but Vision looked her in the eyes, and pleaded, for a moment alone with his wife.
Maybe a part of her was feeling pity, or sympathy, for Wanda and Vision, but Monica left them alone. “I’ll stand watch outside. Just know that you don’t have much time.”
Vision nods and thanks the Captain for understanding.
Wanda scoffed at what she said. When did they ever have time?
Wanda currently had her back turned away from Vis, she was wiping away the tears she’d cried in her anger.
Vision stares, at Wanda’s sullen, defeated figure. He’s unsure of what he’s going to do.
He cannot explain, what he feels… for Wanda.
A part of him felt trapped, played with, like he was being controlled, and that he was given sentience yet still bound, forced to play a role he didn’t choose for himself. And every time he’d get the slightest bit of control back, he’d be rewound, dumbed back into sedation.
Vision felt unbelievably at the mercy of some unknown being, unable to take control of his own life, but with enough sentience to know that something was wrong.
He was petrified.
And yet, why does he still feel this torturously irrational emotion that can only be called love, for the one who has been causing him all this pain?
Why does he feel warmth, family, and joy, and home, from someone he doesn’t even remember how he met?
Why does he want to protect, shield, guard, defend, and reach towards to, this woman who violated his mind?
And why, does the sight of Wanda in tears, nearly bring tears out of him as well?
Maybe Wanda could answer the questions that plagued his mind, maybe not.
His entire existence on this world has him grappling, struggling to determine what is real, which of his actions are truly his alone, and which are under Wanda’s control.
But whether or not he’s doing this for the people of West View, for himself, or for Wanda, fact of the matter was that something inside him was telling him that he had to comfort his wife.
He had to bring her back to who she used to be.
He had to go to her.
He had to speak to her, confront her.
He had to love her.
Even if it meant hurting her. Making her say goodbye, having her lose him, again.
He loved her.
Vision stepped forwards and got closer to his wife.
“Wanda...” Vision raised his arm to place his hand on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda looks at it from her periphery and her face contorts itself, as if she’s trying to hold back- everything.
“I still love you,” Vision admitted, wrapping his arms around Wanda, but exasperation and weariness felt evident in his voice.
Wanda was still turned away from him, Vis essentially hugging her from behind, but he can feel the tension and tiredness in her body, her muscles trembling, despite the exhaustion.
And he can’t help but feel, the guilt in the tears she shed. Tears spilled for him, for what she’d done to him.
“I don't know how. I don't know why.”
“But even after all you've done,”
“I still love you.”
He hears her cry louder, her pain and guilt and self-destruction, pouring out of her little by little. He can feel her, hear her, trying to say something.
“I.. I’m… I didn’t…” Wanda struggles to say, her breath hitching from her sob.
Wanda didn’t want to think about so much of her life, when so much of it just seemed to overflow with loss.
Vital parts of her being, her family that was her only safe haven, the thing she fought for the hardest, all just missing empty cavities now. Where there was hopes for the future and warmth from her past, was replaced with endless pain and grief over losing what she had and could have had.
She was drowning. She really was.
And no one could hear her cries for help. No one was there to catch her when she broke and collapsed.
She couldn’t think. Reason was a privilege known only to those whose emotions didn’t destroy them from the inside out.
She collapsed into herself, lost herself in her own created fake broken fantasy. And she just… she drowned.
“Wanda, I know why you created this world.”
Wanda stops her crying, catches her breath.
He knows.
She didn’t know what to make of that.
“I was told what happened with Thanos and the Mind Stone. But, Wanda, I still don’t know- don’t remember my life, our lives, before West View.”
“I don't remember how I met you. I don't remember how we came to be. I don't remember anything, that we shared. I don't remember why I fell for you, Wanda,” Vis looks at Wanda inquisitively but also devotedly, his unceasing need to figure out how he fell just as pervasive as his love for her.
“I don't know who we were.”
So this is where he’s heading.
“I love you, my darling, and that’s why you need to give me my life, my memories of us, back.”
“I can't-” Wanda grits through her hitched sobs, curling over in Vis’ grasp.
Vision lets her go, heartbroken frustrated to see the woman he loves this far gone. Wanda holds her breath to at least try and control herself, but breaks anyways once she feels the space and distance between her and Vis.
She faces him, “I can't let you know the truth.” Wanda states resolutely, but almost pleading with him, desperate for him not to know.
Before Vis argues otherwise, Wanda gets ahead of him, “If you go back, and find out who you really were, remember everything that we had…” she explains, her fears evident in her rushed petrified speech.
“You'd know why I did this.”
His deed flashes to her mind.
“And you’d know who I was,” placing her hand on her chest as she faces Vis head on“and tell me that this,” Wanda waves her arms around her, pointing to all of Westview, “isn’t me.”
“- Even though that me you knew is long gone by now,” Wanda says, tiredly laughing in self-depreciation at what she’s become.
Wanda looks at the floor, weary. Tears pooling over still, despite the thousands she’d already shed, falling onto that same floor she’s now acutely aware is really just sullen abandoned earth in reality.
Grieving the her that she lost. The them that they lost. And the them they’ve become now, because of her.
Wanda can remember it all. Their past, their struggle to find peace & moments together, the moments they did have, and their hopes for a future that felt so close.
And Vision doesn't.
And Wanda remembers killing off all of it when Vision asked her to kill him.
And Vision doesn't.
Wanda was ready to forsake it all, for a chance to live a new life with him and the home and family they made here.
But here was Vis now, begging for memories of that old lost life back.
Wanda is still staring at the floor, into nothing, vanished in the memories of old Vis, that him begging for brought her back to.
Her tears still flow as she recounts just how innocent, pure, good-hearted, and well-meaningly kind Vis was.
And how much he loved her.
Truly, loved her.
“And you’d tell me to do the “right” thing…”
And Wanda remembers who she used to be. The her that Vis fell for.
The daughter, the sister, the fighter and the rebel, and eventually, once upon a time, the hero. The Avenger, who fought for good even when the rest of the world feared her.
But that was before the world took everything she had from her.
“But then I'd just lose you,” Wanda grimaces, “all over again.” then dissolves once more, as she knows, has known all this time if she’s finally going to be honest, what the right thing was.
Acceptance.
Vis tries to walk over to her, finally wholly understanding, wanting nothing more but to shield and protect Wanda from the hurt she’s currently drowning in but-
“And I can't, I can't-” Wanda pushes him away then stops, still holding onto him. Tells her love the truth.
“I can't lose you,” Wanda finally looks at him directly, grasping onto him so tight, her fear of losing him an overwhelmingly powerful need felt even with just her touch, and sees Vis for who he is, all of who he is, her created copy of her lost beloved, but even still, “not again.”
Vision gently cups Wanda’s face in his right hand, grabs both of hers and plants a soft kiss on them with his other, and admits, “And I don't want to lose you.”
And Wanda breaks down in his arms. Like the first time she did when she truly met him, the tens of other times she had when they were friends, and the thousands of times she did when they were together.
#wandavision#wandavision wawandavision#wandaviz#wanda x vision#vision x wanda#wanda maximoff#vision#angst#tragedy#marvel#marvel fanfiction#long post
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Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 4)
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually)
WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk, spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC
AUTHORS NOTE: big thanks to @1zashreena1 and @girlpornparadise for letting me bounce ideas off them while writing this, hopefully y'all enjoy this and finally, they meet! My first time writing this way so, be nice?
WORD COUNT: 2.1k
CHAPTER: 4 OF ?
TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight
It's as if running into a wall of muscle knocked some sense into her. The name on the shirt scared her enough to trigger her cadet instincts to kick in quickly to allow her to shake the hands off, step back, and salute, despite being inside, which was a tradition reserved for only the army. She held the salute for longer than necessary, wondering why the officer in front of her wasn’t returning it, instead just staring at her with one gorgeously sculpted eyebrow raised. Begrudgingly she dropped her arm, salute unreturned, and an embarrassed look on her face.
“Sir?” the title came out as more of a question than a statement like it normally would. Confusion was spreading through her brain like wildfire, this was new to her. Why was the high ranking officer, the highest she’d ever been in the presence of other than her father, not returning the mark of respect that had been drilled into her since a kid, although, given he wasn’t from around here, it may not be something he is used to. That and he probably never associates with someone that is as low of a rank as herself.
“Perfect just the Cadet I was looking for, although I must say, not the meeting I was expecting”
Fuck, that voice, I think I’m in love. Was the first thought that came to mind. That voice, gravely and like the richest of chocolates dossed with the slightest accent, matched the attractive man that stood before her, and hearing it oh so close to her, it made her insides melt. Her imagination definitely had not done his voice justice during any day dream that contained the handsome Colonel in front of her. Oh and how glorious those daydreams were, thinking about a particular dirty one where those huge arms of his were wrapped tightly around her, while his chest was pressed so tightly against her back had her blushing the spot. Damn it what is it with me and crushing on the higher ups, get a grip girl!
His words finally clicked in her head. “I’m sorry Sir, what do you mean you were looking for me?”. The confusion was most definitely evident on her face.
The Colonel chuckled lightly, dark eyes fixated on the cadet before him. “I was made aware that the LT. Colonel was to inform the squadron of my choice tonight, is that not what happened Cadet?”
Confusion once again hit Greyson full force. Did Sinclair know the whole time that someone had been picked. Of course he did, he said they had been informed, but according to the Colonel in front of her, he knew the exact Cadet that had been chosen. Why hadn’t he said anything to them then?.
It was at the end of the previous thought that the Cadet deflated, maybe he had told the cadet that had been selected, but it just wasn’t her. Shame ran through her like a lead bullet, of course she wouldn't have been chosen, what Colonel in their right mine would chose a Cadet who had been swept up in a rumour that she was fucking the LT. Colonel in charge of overseeing the entirety of the training squadron just so she could make her way to top recruit.
“Cadet? I asked you a question”. His tone was clipped. Harsh but straight to the point, and just the right amount of authority to snap the cadets attention from being in her own thoughts to looking him dead in the eye. Before she quickly averted her gaze to stare at his boot, that alone made him smirk. Good , he thought, she knows her place.
“I’m sorry Sir, I ummm, I got lost in my thoughts, and umm, no the, ah, the LT. Colonel did not inform us of who you had picked, Sir...” Greyson stuttered, the Colonel was quite the intimidating man up close. All broad shouldered, straight backed and cold facade. If she was being quite honest with herself, she thought the rumours of his brutality might well be true from where she was standing. The way he was watching her was like a predator waiting for his prey to make the one wrong move that would land them in his jaws. A shiver of fear ran down her spine at the thought.
The Colonel huffed in annoyance. “Then I suggest you spend less time in your head and more time paying attention, especially when being addressed by a senior officer, Cadet! A mistake like that will get one of your crew killed if you're not careful”
The cadets stomach plummeted at the thought, she knew all too well what would get a fellow soldier killed, her father liked to remind her that during her weeks leading up to her enlistment. The countless horror stories that had her waking up in a cold sweat had instilled a deep fear of failure within the cadet, but she had not let that show throughout her training, least of all her father hear off it through the chain of command.
Flustered, Greyson replied with a quick, “I’m sorry Sir, I really am”, only to be laughed at by the Colonel.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it when someone dies Cadet, I’m sure you know that all too well with what your father has done, don't let his mistakes become your own!” The final part was growled out with an anger that permeated the air.
Greyson swallowed down her rising anger and levelled the officer in front of her with a glare. It was a well known fact amongst the instructors that mentioning her father struck a nerve within her and set her off, many a time she had been reprimanded for near miss fights from her fellow cadets pulling the dad card around her. The cadet figured that either the Colonel knew this and was trying to get a rise out of her, or just knew of her father's past indiscretions and was trying to use it to discredit her. It didn’t matter which thought she pondered more, both made her blood boil just as much.
Trying to keep a cool demeanor around the officer in front of her was a struggle. He was smirking at her like he just had just won the lottery, all tight lipped and cocky. He had got her hook, line and sinker, she had fallen for his trap. Giving a frustrated huff the cadet looked away from the smug officer in front of her, hoping for something to grab her attention so she could dispel her anger. It seemed however, the Colonel wasn’t done just yet.
“Yes I know all about Daddy dearest and his mistakes, Greyson. It's a wonder you even bothered to enlist with all the hatred and dishonesty that follows your name around.”.
He knew exactly what he was doing, if this was the cadet he was going to steal away from the signal corps then he needed her to rebut him, yell at him, something. Anything that would show some hard spirit that would be needed to complete the daily brutality and challenges that would likely come from being in his team. He had heard what she was capable of, now to just see it for himself.
“Cat got your tongue Cadet? Or are you used to being fucked over in a different kind of way by your superiors. Must be nice to have the LT. Colonel at your beck and call doing your bidding for you and getting you the points to become top cadet. Isn't that right Greyson?” The teasing lilt to his tone was seemingly lost on the cadet in front of him. He watched as waves of varying emotions crossed her face. Something akin to shame crossed first, followed closely by what he assumed was embarrassment, only to be followed by, once more, anger. Which seemed to be this cadets’ default emotion.
Greyson had never once felt this much anger in one go, yes she knew the Colonel was trying to get a rise out of her, and mentioning her father usually did the trick. The idea that he was discrediting her based on rumours and one small sighting of something that definitely wasn’t a professional interaction with the Lt. Colonel during the assessment day somehow struck a nerve so deep she was sure that this feeling was beyond anger, in fact, she was livid. He didn’t know anything about her and he was going to insinuate that! Oh he definitely had another thing coming.
“Respectfully. Sir.” Greyson quipped in a bratty tone, “You don’t know the first thing about me, so you have no right to insinuate that I am sleeping my way to the top!” her distaste for the Colonel before her was growing by the second, “I would have thought it well below your rank to believe the rumours of jealous school girls, but i guess I was wrong. Seems like you aren’t much of a fucking Colonel at all!”. The final words of the sentence were growled out in a tone so low it would have scared her fellow cadets half to death. Her eyes were alight with emotion, her eyes turning a deep green in colour, pupils constricted. The anger was rolling off her in waves.
“There it is, that's the cadet I had heard all about. Daddy’s little mimic”. His grin was bordering maniac, he was pushing her buttons and striking the nerves he had hoped to, it was just a matter of seeing how much further she was willing to go to defend herself and her reputation. But he knew for sure now, this was his cadet.
Those words and that stupidly attractive grin was the last straw for the cadet. Without really processing her next move she curled her right hand into a fist and aimed directly for the underside of that chiseled jaw of his, hoping for a knockout, even if she’d face a potential discharge because of it. This man had fucked her off one too many times for her to internalise these emotions.
The punch thrown at him probably would have knocked him out too, if he hadn’t had the years of experience chasing down criminals in Colombia. He had seen the way her body had gone taught, fist curling, before she had wound her arm back and thrown it forward towards him with such conviction and determination that would have made him proud, if he hadn’t been trying to prove a point. Her plan failed though as he caught her wrist, her fist a mere inch from its intended target. He used her wrist as leverage, while taking a step forward, and slammed her, not all that gently, into the wall behind her.
The air was knocked out of Greyson in an instant, instead of hitting her target, she had ended up pressed between the Colonels’ hard body and the wall behind her. His mouth hovered over her ear, breath hot with each passing exhale, the shiver that wracked her body was not one of fear this time. It seemed as if minutes passed by, she could feel every hard ridge of his body pressed into hers. From his strong thighs right up to his too defined pecs that were pinning her against the wall. He was so close his belt buckle was digging into her stomach.
She released a shaky breath at the thought. This bastard of a man had pushed her to her breaking point and now held her against the wall like it was nothing. She struggled against him for a short moment, feigning an escape, but he just pushed her wrist closer to the wall and his body impossibly closer to her own. Quiet the compromising situation.
Carrillo huffed out a laugh at the way the cadet struggled beneath him before slumping in defeat. He had her exactly where he wanted her, she had shown her hand and was now at his mercy.
“I definitely made the right choice” he murmured against the shell of her ear, delighting in the way she let out the smallest of gasps. “I’d say congratulations, but I guess that's not needed. You're on the team Cadet” and with those final words he released her from his hold and took a step back. Noting the way she slumped against the wall without his support. He had to smirk while taking in her disheveled appearance, she looked positively wrecked. With that final thought he adjusted his uniform and disappeared down the hallway in search of the LT. Colonel, leaving a very confused and very flustered cadet in his wake
#horacio carrillo#horacio carrillo x oc#horacio carrillo x reader#paper scissors rank#chapter 4#narcos fanfic#modern au
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Stolen - 10
Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader
Content: Angst. Feels. Plot. Regerts. Fluffy inclinations. Mentions of torture. References to past MCU events.
A/N: *radiates love to everyone* *begins singing Tina Turner’s “You’re simply the best”*
Ask or reblog if you want a tag.
10. Leave a Scar
… Reader …
Two days later and you’re still praying that Loki has no idea what you’ve heard even if the chances seem remote. He’s grown quiet. Brooding. Most of the time he’s off somewhere without you but when he returns he finds a secluded corner and a carafe of wine to wash down his gloominess with.
He’s plotting how to kill me. It makes sense – haven’t you done what he wanted you to? The talk about keeping you safe must have been nothing but a ruse to eventually break your spirit completely before delivering the final blow. On the other hand, it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he was just going to waste the effort by being emo. Plotting to kill someone else? Now, that would make sense considering his track record.
On and on your thoughts run in circles and not even the beautiful view from the balcony can provide enough of a distraction today.
“Tell me, mortal.” His voice startles you, coming from right behind you. “What’s plaguing your mind, hmm?”
There’s nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from those piercing, green eyes boring into the back of your skull. Pulling at the sleeves of the purple dress (kindly lend to you by the Älfir), you consider how to out-lie a liar.
“What...what is going to happen now?” you manage to ask, forcing your voice past a lump in your throat.
The sigh that fans your shoulder is chilling. “It seems I have to change my plans.”
Unsure of anything, this isn’t what you had expected. Turning towards him, the somberness clings to his face and cuts his already sharp features from ice. Only now do you realize that there had been a spring in his step and a softness to his gaze a short week ago but since then something has extinguished the light.
Your hand twitches as you restrain yourself from reaching out to stroke his cheek. “What’s happened?” Did he see that?
If he did, nothing in his demeanour divulges anything as Loki steps as close as he can without the mossy greens of his clothing brushing against purple. A thousand worlds could come and go that second and you would never have noticed because the Asgardian’s presence is all-encompassing, sucking you into his personal vortex of pride and pain, stubbornness and deference.
“Why would you care what has happened?” His words are cold like blades of ice, but this time you see through it and wait him out. He resigns. “The Älfir’s magic is not strong enough. They cannot restore Jotunheim.” Deflated.
“If they could’ve then they would’ve healed the Priestess too.” Biting your tongue off suddenly feels like a really good idea.
The silence is oppressing, drawing out the seconds as the man looks you over as if you just dropped from the moon. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. The sensation is far from comforting, something that’s enhanced as the thin lips begin to curve into a crooked smile revealing white teeth.
“You did that.” Man, you hate the way he practically purrs.
“Barely.” You step backwards, bumping into a pillar.
Even now, you can’t help but notice how smoothly he moves as he follows in your footsteps. “But you did.”
Somehow managing to sidestep the god, you make it two steps into the shade of the room before his hands have gotten hold and you’re twirled, forced against the cold wall.
“Don’t -”
“Shush.” He places a cold finger on your lips, making you comply automatically. “We all have sacrifices to make.”
A smidgen of logic in the back of your skull is screaming at you to shut up, to let him have this victory while you figure out a way to get out of the situation. Of course you don’t listen to it, deciding instead to pull yourself up to your full height (as unimpressive as it may be compared to Loki) and glare at him. There’s even a moment there where you impress yourself by how calm your voice is when you answer.
“No. I won’t be your puppet anymore.” Black eyebrows shoot upwards at your words. “And if you kill me, at least I know you’ll still be crying every night.”
That’s the instant the sense of heroic pride dies.
The emerald eyes you secretly admire change into a sea of blood while a flood of blue, broken by ridges and lines cover what skin you can see and causes you to gasp, drawing in air so cold you can feel the lungs crackle in complaint. If at least Loki would snarl or growl, then it would somehow make sense, but he just smiles, the white teeth suddenly similar to the fangs of a predator. A wolf...and I’m the lamb.
“Mortal. Pet.” A claw traces along your cheekbone before scraping down your throat. “I thought we were coming to an understanding? You would obey my every wish in return for the life of those you love?” Nodding is the only option. “Tsk tsk. Perhaps I have underestimated you, wench, thinking you had a soul, a heart. Hoping you would recognize real evil when held up against the light of truth.”
Well...I’m already doomed. “You told a story -!”
“A story?!” This time he does snarl. “I’ll show you story!”
The cold of his hands burn the skin on your forehead, wrist, and palm as he slams your hand against his brow and mirrors the movement.
... Loki ...
The first glimpses are simple until the events fully unfold. Falling – he will hate the sensation forever. Falling through nothingness for half an eternity until he lands more dead than alive...except this time he’s watching it from the outside. We’re watching it. Though the Jotun can’t see it, he knows that [Y/N] is there with him, a spectator without the option to look away when the actor is found and brought to the Titan.
What were months or maybe years at the mercy of Thanos and his Children flash by in a few minutes, perhaps. Torture, mind games, hatred twisted and turned until it points back to the outcast prince and penetrates his soul, leaving it to fester before he finally succumbs to the touch of a sceptre. From there the events unfold in a blur only occasionally brought into focus when a part of the fallen god tries to rebel against the shackles.
It’s only when the Loki they watch is lying at the feet of the Avengers that clarity is fully restored, though one kind of shackles is replaced by another. Then: a speck of blue grants an opportunity impossible to dismiss.
A vision. A memory. A nightmare.
Loki’s hands fall to his sides. It’s over. The wall in the Älfir temple looks less real than what [Y/N] and the Jotun have just witnessed, but the wide eyes staring up at him brings reality back like a kick in the balls. She knows. Everyone knows when they witness the recollections of someone else – no amount of so called rational thinking can convince them they have hallucinated because they feel it as if they lived it themselves.
“[Y/N]...”
Tears are welling in her eyes, lips quivering as she tries to root herself in the present. “He...y-you...” What I wouldn’t do to take away your pain. “That was -” A sniffle interrupts her.
He hates it. Hates the despair she’s drowning in at his hands. Truly, he has proven to be the monster he claimed not to be. Losing control and forcing [Y/N] through this nightmare serves no purpose at all.
“I will...I will ensure your safety and then you will never hear from me again,” he promises shamefully, “now...get some rest.”
...
Flat on his back and with the hands behind his head, Loki’s gaze is fixed on a point far beyond the ceiling above. Dawn is nearing yet sleep has evaded him, chased away by memories and guilt. It served no purpose. Priding himself of his logic, the turmoil raging inside his heart is has pushed the Jotun to act rashly and he hates it because he wishes to be more than a beast that simply lashes out when cornered. He doesn’t want to be the monster he behaved like. No, the man in him has to find a way to -
“Loki?” The whisper is hesitant, almost too quiet to hear. “Are you...are you awake?”
He sits up, bare feet on the stone floor as if to ground himself. The covers slides from his chest, revealing the pale skin in the darkness but [Y/N] probably can’t see it with her human eyes as she stands in the doorway.
Draped in the soft-flowing silk from a borrowed shift, she could almost pass for one of the ghosts from the fanciful tales children enjoy to fear. Loki can see her better than that. He can see her face straining as she tries to find him in the dark, and her arms wrapped tightly around the ribs below her bosom perhaps to find some comfort.
“Yeah...I’m awake,” the god rasps softly in return. Is that regret or relief in your sigh?
Sitting there, waiting for the unknown, a tension begins to permeate the air and send tendrils to every nerve ending of Loki’s body. A coil tightens in his chest and it becomes nearly unbearable when [Y/N] tentatively walks towards him, her feet careful as they seek out the right path. A few steps before the goal, her hands reach out to locate the Jotun and he has taken them before thinking to stop himself.
Steeling herself with a deep breath, the mortal braves the silence. “This doesn’t mean we’re okay, but...I believe you now.”
“[Y/N] -”
“Shut up.” He does. “I’m trying to say that...that I get it a-and I trust you.”
Loki has no answer. Gaping slightly at her, he tries to come to terms with the woman’s foolishness. Once or twice a sentence nearly forms in his mind only to dissolve before it can be uttered and the task increases in difficulty as she shyly shifts her weight from one leg to the other, toes intertwining as best they can while she bites her lip.
He obviously startles her as he stands. Yet you don’t run, my dear? A shiver rolls through her the moment he embraces the lithe form.
“Oh! Oh, we’re...hugging? Okay, we can hug,” she babbles, unknowingly making the god smile into her hair.
It’s impossible to say how long they stand like this or when [Y/N]’s warm fingertips start a slow dance across his naked back. Then again, time hardly matters as the Jotun pulls back enough to study her face, smelling her hectic breath that fans against his skin.
“Thank you,” he says, but means I think I love you, “you should rest.”
Her hands retreat, and right away Loki misses the scalding touch and the heat of her body as she navigates the darkness to find her own bed.
#Loki#loki x reader#Loki MCU#Loki fanfiction#Loki x you#Loki Laufeyson#Loki Laufeyson x reader#Loki Laufeyson x you#MCU#marvel cinematic universe#loki fanfic#Mcu Fanfic#mcu Fanfiction#loki friggason#Reader#reader insert#fem!reader#Gifted!reader#loki x#Loki slow burn#slow burn#loki from enemies to lovers#Loki enemies to lovers#from enemies to lovers#enemies to lovers#loki pining#loki angst#pining#angst#feels
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Reylo Fic Recs: Fantasy, Fae, Magic, Fairy Tale, and Mythology
Ours Is The Fury by @shmisolo
Rey was tasked with taking Storm's End for her king. She defeated the Storm King Snoke in the Rainwood, but when she proceeded to the castle itself, preparing for a long siege, things did not go to plan.
A Man Called Winter by @reylotrashcompactor
The girl didn’t dream. Perhaps it was because she needed more to fuel nighttime sojourns than fantasies of a full belly, of escaping the desert. Perhaps she exhausted all these dreams years ago, falling to sleep in the soft embrace of hope and waking in the hard grip of reality. Or perhaps dreams simply could not permeate the armored shell she slept inside, those rusted walls resistant to blaster fire as well as the simple comfort of imagination. Maybe this was why, on a particularly stifling night, when sleeping on her gritty pallet in the too-still air finally proved unbearable, and she had rucked the mess of salvaged pilot seats and threadbare blankets into the sand outside her door, that he came to her first. She laid under the stars, straining her exhausted body for a cool breeze, and found sleep. And he found her.
Between Death and Winter by @shmisolo
“I’ll answer none of your questions, crow,” she snapped.Ben placed the butt of the spear down in the snow and leaned on it as he sheathed his sword. He was breathing more heavily than he wanted to admit as he looked down at her.You should kill her, then, he thought in a voice that sounded very much like the Lord Commander’s. If she’d rather die, then let her die.Except there was something wrong in that. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong.“Pity for you,” he said and he broke the spear over his knee. “I’ll be taking you with me back to Castle Black.”The moment the words were out of his lips, he regretted them. He was the First Ranger, he was in the middle of a ranging—he didn’t have time to keep a spearwife hostage.
all true lovers are by @abstractragedy
She might seem lonely, but Ben can sense that this forest is her faithful audience, and she is nothing but alone. The birds chirp a symphony to her, and the greenery around her bows, grateful to be blessed by her beauty. She truly is beautiful, but that’s not the entire reason he is so drawn to her. It’s her Magic.
Wintertide by @transpogrrl
It was important work, gathering fuel for the Burning of the Ren, though only an outcast like the Scavenger could do it. The ceremony marked the turning of one year into the next, and ensured the light would come again to drive back winter’s darkness.The good Queen had tried to change the ancient rite, to mark the year without the loss of one more soul from their war-torn land. But in the ten years since her decree, the disasters sweeping over them had only multiplied. Famine, flood, unearthly winds and the summer’s fires had torn at people’s goodness, and the refugees that sought the Queen’s peace had only taxed it more. When a Wizard suggested that only human sacrifice would appease the angry spirits, the people listened, and demanded a real Ren for the fire.
The Scavenger Bride by @the-reylo-void
After a fairytale summer romance, Rey of Jakku sees her beloved, Prince Ben Solo of Alderaan, off to his uncle's temple, only to learn of his death at the hands of the Dread Knight Ren, a feared warrior who never takes prisoners. But fairytales are never quite that simple, and Rey soon finds herself swept up in a game of political intrigue that threatens to tear the galaxy apart. With new lifelong friends (thieves, but who's counting), mostly-dead ex-boyfriends with too many names, a grumpy wizard who wants nothing to do with any of this, and POUS (Porgs of Unusual Size), Rey's got her work cut out for her and will need her wits, strength, and the strange force she's felt inside of her for years to find her true love.
The Hunter and the Swordsman by @dreamsdescent
It was the first part of the night, and the Hunter was rising in the sky. Four stars stretched out in each direction, with a belt of three across the middle.For many generations he had watched over her kind during these long nights in the depths of winter, and now he was her only companion.The star that made the Hunter’s right shoulder shone red, reminding her of warmth, of flowers and flesh and blood, of all the things that sustained life amidst the cold emptiness of the heavens.With the fire of earth at her back and the fire in the sky over her face, Rey calmed herself and listened. Soon she could hear it, the song of the red star, low and lonesome like the call of the mourning dove.She reached out to it as if it were to someone, and sang a quiet, but high and warbling answer, as if to say, you are not alone. Whether she was reassuring herself or the other, she did not know.The red star blinked in the sky, beating along with her heart as she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Stolen Hearts by @capaldisrighteyebrow
As the Judge of Souls, Rey weighs humans' hearts to assign their fates. When an imposing man who goes by Kylo Ren shows up without a heart, Rey seizes the chance to solve a mystery that threatens the universe. Returning to the mortal world together, Rey and Kylo rush to find his murderer and restore balance.
The Dragon Queen's Moon by @diadumene
“My handmaidens once told me a story,” Daenerys mused. “During my time in Essos, I would hear many variations of the story. Would you like to hear the one I liked best?”After a moment, Sansa nodded. “I would like that very much, Dany.” Dany gave her a look of approval and straightened her back. “Let me tell you the story of how the dragons were born and the moon and the sun fell in love with one another…”
All In Her Arms by @aionimica
Three things are to be expected when the dragon came back to the stars. The first was that one didn’t leave their home at night.The second was that one didn’t go check the noise they heard at the edge of the woods, no matter the cause.And last and final and arguably most important was that one most definitely did not get married.
in this white wave by @something-pithy
It was King Kylo’s season, and he had been born to rule it. Blood of the Tuatha de Danaan ran in his veins, yes, but in addition to the most glorious of the sidhe, the darkest of the Unseelie. He had been born to break the wheel and rebuild it anew, to rid the world of the systems and order that stifled it and bring the Unseelie back to power so that they could set the fae free once more. And he would be enjoying his victory -- the death of his twisted, decrepit master, his rightful place in the universe secured, the triumph of the Unseelie over the Seelie -- but for an impudent nocker, a tinkerer, a little no-one who had worked her way into his very soul.In which King Kylo of the Winter Court and Rey of the Summer Court struggle with the past, themselves, and their ferbidden Seelie/Unseelie luuuuuurve.
echoes (again) by @soul8
again and again, she slips from his grasp like moonlight
(reincarnation au where ben seeks her through their past lives
and maybe, just maybe this time
this time will be the last)
there may be something there that wasn't there before. by @aquawolfgirl
She’s a thief, small and lithe. Her days are spent pickpocketing and snatching from market stalls. She has the sun in her skin and the light in her smile. She is beauty. He is a prince, at war with himself. He is a mix of a man, a hybrid of containment and utter chaos. He has the night in his hair and hatred in his eyes. He is beast.cShe just stole from the wrong garden. “You are aware that doesn’t belong to you, are you not?”
Like Blood, Like Honey by @lariren-shadow
“Sweet Rey,” Kylo said as he gently grabbed her chin. “We’re all monsters in the Unseelie Court.”When Rey moves in with her grandfather the summer before college she expected a part time job at best. Instead she found herself mixed up in the world of faeries.
Waves Calling Her Home by @shelikespretties
“When will you return to me, Selkie wife?” he taunted. “Have they hidden your skin that well?”She nudged him hard in the ribs with the foot he’d been cradling, pushing him away. “I’m no one’s wife, and my skin is safe exactly where I placed it. I’m not coming back. I’m here for a reason.”
The Sands of Jakku by ASingleWhiteDoe
Rey is a street rat and a scavenger in the deserts of Jakku, but when a haggard man approaches her and Finn about a lamp located in a strange and wonderful cave, all of that changes.
between belief and the sea by @thewayofthetrashcompactor
Rey has a busy schedule: between her part time jobs, trying to get a degree, and breaking into certain people's homes to steal items she can pawn off to Unkar Plutt, she doesn't have time for anything mysterious or unusual. And she's not exactly in the habit of returning lost property. However, something gets her to make an exception. Which somehow mixes her up with Ben Solo, and that turns out to be a hard bond to break.
Song in a Thousand Pieces by @thewayofthetrashcompactor
Snoke holds up a hand. “A nightingale.”The man bows. “Yes, my lord.”“In the Jakku forests.” Snoke’s voice is emotionless.The man pauses before answering, unsure of himself. “Yes, my lord,” he finally says.Snoke settles back into his throne. “Kylo Ren," he orders, and Kylo swiftly steps forward. "Bring it to me.”
Paradise Regained by @lasthopesolo
Where all fates of the universe are decided, there lives a wandering immortal, leaving behind in her wake dried and decayed things. Rey, bringer of death and rot, worries she will never find her place of belonging. Everything changes when she comes across a wailing immortal, the scent of spring clinging vigorously to him as fresh flowers dance in the wind around him.
Wherever There is You, I Will be There Too by @optimus-pam
According to Greek mythology, Tartarus is the deep abyss used as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked. Rey journeys there in search of a lost soul.
it shall not be death by TolkienGirl
Rey of the Jedi Knights is sent with her sword and Holy Fire, to destroy a palace of thorns.It doesn't quite go as planned.
Fated by @shmisolo
Emperor Palpatine declared that it was the new horse in his stable that would reward Kylo of Alderaan’s saving his life, fulfilling the Law of Surprise. But the fates had other plans, and would not be denied.
My own fics in these categories:
Aníron
“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked, tracing her cheekbone. “I thought I had strayed into a dream,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes.“Long years have passed; you do not have the cares that you carry now.” He sighed, looking down and burdened for only a moment. He looked back up at her, focusing his powerful gaze once more. “Do you remember what I told you?”She could not meet his gaze. She knew the words; they were etched on her heart. Yet she still could not believe them, could not believe that he had said them in the first place, let alone held himself to them all these years later. “You said you would bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people.”
your love is my immortal crown
A young woman makes a choice and ascends her grandfather’s throne, becoming a goddess and a queen to save her lover, the god of spring, who will stop at nothing to return to her.
The Prince and the Dragon
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, there lived a prince who met a dragon woman.
if it were only the stars we had wanted to conquer
Amid a backdrop of persecution of magic users and First Order colonization, Kylo Ren discovers a powerful fellow magic user named Rey on a mission for his master. There is more than meets the eye with Rey's magic, however, and she longs to understand her true calling. Yet her fate is inextricably bound with his own.
I am sending back the key
Rey's mysterious new husband, Ben Solo, asks her not to enter his study. But who is he really and what is the truth about his family history?
Hidden in the Desert Sands
The prince ran away from home, and found himself in the desert. A scavenger's kindness reveals more than scrap metal buried under the sands.
My other fic rec lists:
Fic Recs Under 100 Kudos | Smuggler Ben Solo | Historical AU | Modern AU | Dark Side Rey | Canonverse | Smut |
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🥀Echoes {26/30}
Flowers Of Evil Masterlist
Pairings: Geralt x f!reader x Jaskier, Shelley x f!reader
Summary: Justice has finally caught up with Shelley...
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, torture, pain, blood, guns, knives, degrading language, threatening language, dismemberment, death
Word Count: 2.3k
A harsh cry breaks through the ringing in your ears and you realise loosely that it’s Jaskier. The shock of hearing his pained shout brings you back to your senses and you find yourself hitting Shelley hard over the head with the hilt of your knife, just once is enough for him to go limp in your grip.
“Jask, shit, Jask, are you okay?” you drop Shelley to the floor unceremoniously, both you and Geralt leaving him behind as you run to where Jask is leant against a tree for support. He’s still standing and you take that as a positive, though when your eyes track down to find the wound you can’t help but let out a sob. Blood is saturating the leg of his trousers and you can clearly see where the bullet has entered.
“Did it come out, fuck, did it come out?”
He mumbles something back that’s barely audible through his laboured breathing and Geralt is quick to wrap his arms around Jask and gently set him on the floor so that he doesn’t waste any more energy trying to stay upright. He’s growing pale rapidly and the darkening pool of blood on the ground beneath him has fear spiking in your veins.
“It’s still in” Geralt confirms your fears and you can hear the strain in his voice.
“Can you get it out?”
“Not here- maybe back at the house? Should have something”
“Geralt, that’s- fuck- okay, you go. I’ll take care of Shelley”
“I’m not leaving you with him”
“And I’m not letting him go, so you have to Geralt”
You can see him debating it in his head, the chances of Jaskier surviving if he stays, the chances of you getting hurt if he goes. He looks like he’s about to say something when Jask makes a choked off sob from where he’s still cradled in Geralt’s arms and it makes his mind up for him.
“Be safe, okay? You need me just call me, just, just make sure the bastard pays for what he’s done. Please”
You take the chance to hold him while you can, your arms wrapping tightly round his broad waist and pulling him close as you bury your head in his chest.
"Just make sure Jask is okay, please, I couldn't bare it if-"
“He’ll be fine, I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to him” Geralt presses a fierce kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply as he does, and you know he’s terrified of leaving you here alone after what’s just happened.
“Thank you, now go, go, get him safe” it takes all of your strength to let go of Geralt.
He’s careful as he lifts Jask into his strong arms and you don’t miss the concern that paints his features as he gingerly positions Jaskier’s limp body so as best to avoid any further trauma. You take the chance to press a soft kiss to his forehead, a murmured “I love you” against his hair, and then Geralt is carrying him away and you’re left alone with Shelley.
You take a steadying breath as you fight back the tears that are threatening to spill, you know now isn’t the time for this, you have a lot to do before Shelley wakes up, and you’ll be damned if you let this bastard see you cry. It’s hard work without Geralt to help you with the heavy lifting and you find yourself tiring as you drag Shelley’s still limp body through the forest clearing; you strain as you make slow progress on your mission and by the time you have him suitably restrained to a tree you can feel the sweat trickling into your eyes from the exertion. Fucking built bastard. After checking the ropes a few times for strength you make a quick run back to the tree where you’d left your tools, before settling in to wait for him to wake up. You lose track of time as you sit resting against the same tree Jask had been not even an hour before, your mind caught up in the haze of emotions that wash over you. Every few minutes you find yourself pulling your phone out, desperate for any news at all on his condition as you wait.
After what feels like hours you finally see Shelley stir with a groan, and you practically leap to your feet to get to him. His eyes are wild and frenzied as he sees you approach and he starts to strain desperately at his binds in a futile attempt to get away.
“I told you to pray it wasn’t me Shelley” there’s no joy in your voice as you drop to a crouch in front of him. His face somehow grows paler as the realisation truly hits home for him. He’s stuck, no way out, and he’d made things worse for himself, “I want you to be truthful with me, just like I’m about to be with you. It won’t make it any easier on you, you have no hope of that after what you’ve done, I just want to know why”
He doesn’t attempt to answer for a few moments and you feel white hot rage bubble up in your veins at his silence. A snarl tears from you as you pull your knife from it’s strap on your chest and press it against his thigh in the exact same spot that Jaskier had taken the bullet.
“I’m sorry, I never-”,
“Never what?” you growl, viscous and sharp, as the knife slices a thin, deep cut, “fuck, and to think I felt bad about what I did to Renfri”
His eyes go wide for a second as he contemplates what that could possibly mean and you shoot him a sadistic grin in response, “She was strong willed, I’ll give her that, could’ve made it so much easier on herself if only she did as she was told, but she didn’t want you to hear her in pain. Stupid bitch”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you”
“Please-”
“You tried to take everything from me, and for what? Was it fucking worth it?” the knife twists deeper and Shelley howls in pain.
“I thought- I thought” his words are cut off by another cry as you pull your blade out and leave the wound gaping and open, gore now flowing thick and fast to the dull forest floor beneath.
“You thought what?”
“I- If you didn’t have them, you would come back”
“Come back? To what?”
“Me” it’s a whimpered confession, born of loss and sorrow, and if the situation had been different you’re sure you might even be able to feel some sympathy towards the deluded idiot. But right now, with the splattering of Jaskier’s blood not even 10 feet away and the hilt of the knife you’d used on Geralt still firmly in your grip, all you can feel is anger. You can’t help but to laugh, a hollow, empty bark that shows your incredulity at just how stupid this man could be.
“I’m not even going to entertain that with a response”
“Please, need you to know-”
“All of this for some deluded daydream. You had years, Shelley, years to reach out to me before I found Geralt, before I found my home. You let me think you were fucking dead until you got jealous? Fuck you” Rage permeates every word as you let the full extent of your fury be known, “I wasn’t expecting something so fucking stupid from you. I assumed Stregobor had some hold on you. But this? Of your own volition?”
There’s nothing else you can say right now, no way that words can express the pure hatred you feel for the man currently bound and bleeding at your feet, all that you have left to do is make him feel as much pain as you had before you end him. Your thoughts jump back to the bag at your side and an absolutely sickening grin creeps across your face.
“Do you want to see your precious Renfri one last time? I’m not even sure why in the fuck she was so loyal to you, not after what you just told me”
“Renfri, she- she’s here?”
“Of course, she’s going to watch what I’m about to do to you. Say hello Shelley, I’m sure she’s missed you”
His face grows even paler, though you’re not sure if that’s because of the blood loss or the head that you’re slowly lifting out of the bag to greet him.
“Now, she’s just gonna sit right here,” you set the severed head down on a tree stump close by, eyes pointed directly at Shelley’s now trembling figure, before heading to collect more tools from your collection, “while I get the information that I need from you”
He swallows thickly as you crouch down next to him to assume the same position you had been in previously and you’re thankful that he seems to have realised there’s no use in pleading with you. Smart man, just not when it really counts.
“I only have one very simple question- where is Stregobor?”
“I don’t know”
“Wrong answer” you hold up a small metal object just quick enough for him to see, before plunging it deep into the knife wound and he howls with pain as the jagged edges rip into the tender flesh, “try again”
“I don’t fucking know, fuck, I swear, please-”
“Wrong,” you twist the top of the metal device, “fucking,” you twist again, “answer” each twist causes the device to spread out, opening up the knife wound and tearing out new chunks of skin and muscle with each movement, “I know you know what this does, and I know that you aren’t going to enjoy it if I have to use more of them on you, so I’ll ask again. Where is he?”
“I swear, I fucking swear, I don’t know”
“Always were a stubborn fuck. No matter, I have plenty more toys where that came from”
The next one sinks into his shoulder, but unlike the one embedded deep in his thigh, this one cuts deep and encloses a thick swathe of muscle, before being ripped out violently. The spray of blood left in its aftermath has you smiling sadistically at Shelley who’s already starting to go limp in his binds.
“No, uh uh, you aren’t getting out of this so easily” another quick spear of the now dripping weapon into his other shoulder has him practically wailing, “I can do this all day, Shel, so you might as well save yourself the effort of trying to hide this from me”
“I- fuck, fuck, okay, I know where he is”
“I’m waiting”
He shakily breathes out the words that you so desperately needed to hear from him and you quickly text the information across to Geralt while it’s fresh in your mind.
“Well done,” you get back to your feet with a smile and begin to tidy up your supplies, “took less time than I thought”
“I- are you, are you letting me go?” The hopeful lift to his strained words has joy practically soaring through your veins. You can’t wait to crush that from him. But not yet.
“Well you did give me what I asked for. Do you think we’re even?”
“I don’t- uh- no, no I don’t”
“Good, glad we agree” before he can say anything else you pull your gun from it’s strap and aim.
“That,” you shoot his unmarked thigh, “is for Jaskier” he can’t hold back his scream of anguish as you inflict more pain on his already wrecked body, “and this,” you fall back to the now familiar crouch and slide your knife quickly and deeply between his ribs, “is for Geralt”
“P-Please, just, just kill me, fuck”
“You don’t deserve that luxury, not after what you did to me, to them, no. This is going to be as painful as I can make it,” your hand reaches down to put pressure on the head of the metal pear still stuck in his thigh and he hisses, a sickly sweet noise to your ears, before ripping it out in one fluid movement, “you’re fucking lucky Geralt isn’t here with me or I’d be ripping your damn ribcage open and pulling your lungs out like you deserve”
“Please” his words are hushed and you know he hasn’t got much longer left, not with the blood loss and the toll the pain will have taken on his body.
“Luckily for you I’m not strong enough to break ribs with my own hands, so this will have to suffice” you smile sweetly at him as you pull your knife out from its resting place in his chest and ever so slowly press it in, a fresh wound opening right next to the previous one; you repeat the motion over and over, new incisions lining his chest and welling fresh fountains of blood, until finally you feel him still beneath you.
A quick press of your fingers to his neck confirms he’s dead, no pulse to be found, and you let out a sob you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. Your hands shake as you grab at your phone to call Geralt, to let him know that clean up is needed asap and that it’s done, and the sound of his voice on the other end of the line helps to ground you from the spiral that you feel is fast approaching. He won’t be long, he says, Jask is currently being treated by the best private doctor that money can buy, he’ll tell you more when he sees you, and despite his words not being as hopeful as you’d liked his tone is reassuring and comforting in the way that only he can be.
You settle against an unmarked tree with a sigh, fighting the tears that are threatening to overtake you, and wait for Geralt to arrive.
#🥀#flowers of evil#jaskier x reader x geralt#geralt x reader x jaskier#xreader#jaskier x reader#geralt x reader#witcher#the witcher#dark geralt#dark jaskier#dark au
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Time for me to complain about THE IMMORTAL COUNT
You know a biography is bad when it says more about its author than it does its chosen subject.
Arthur Lenning lets you know he is a cradle Lugosi fan, even having met the man several times as a youngster in the 1940s. sometimes, fannish enthusiasm can enrich a critical study or biography. Other times, it comes off not unlike a Jack Chick tract: obnoxious, ugly, and unable to tolerate any view that so much as nudges its accepted ideology. Unfortunately, Lenning’s book is very much the latter.
Some positives first: the first chapters are very good, going into Lugosi’s childhood, his time on the Hungarian stage, his sad first marriage, his political entanglements, and his struggles to make it in Hollywood, where American xenophobia prevented him from being seen as anything but a heavy. These chapters are rich with biographical information, tend to be more objective, and gave me insight into Lugosi’s views on acting as a profession. In essence, it was actually a biography for the first hundred pages of this five hundred page book.
The moment Lugosi becomes a horror icon with the Dracula play, the book transforms from a biography to a fanboyish catechism. I understand the book’s full title is The Immortal Count: The Films and Life of Bela Lugosi, so I did anticipate some film analysis, likely observing what made Lugosi’s style unique and which films made the biggest impression on the popular culture. I did not expect 50% of the book to be plot summaries combined with the kind of fanboy commentary you can find on IMDB’s user reviews pages. Sometimes, Lenning is insightful, such as when he discusses the fairy tale motifs of White Zombie or explains how a movie is made “cinematic” through editing rather than camera movement when discussing the oft-praised Spanish Dracula. Other times, he indulges in trying to “improve” movies he doesn’t like, either by coming up with fix-it fanfiction rewrites of cheap 1940s filler features that make Lugosi more prominent or informing us that Lugosi should have played this or that role that Boris Karloff or Lon Chaney Jr. made famous because Lugosi is God and should not have been denied anything!
The hatred Lenning appears to bear Boris Karloff floored me because it seemed more based in jealousy for Lugosi’s sake than anything else. Karloff made more money than Lugosi, was more supported by the studio, and had a better career on the whole (even though he too ended up in some dire crap towards the end, but this does not suit Lenning’s narrative, so he never observes that). Any positive anecdote about Karloff is dismissed because Lugosi once referred to Karloff as “a cold fish” and who’s going to distrust Lugosi (even though Lenning himself admits Lugosi was envious of Karloff and often made things up about his own background make himself seem more interesting)?
Every story or remark that painted Karloff as an aloof snob is taken at face value. Lenning even claims Karloff’s politeness was a façade for a prima donna nature, hiding an arrogant man who reveled in being more successful than Lugosi. It’s absolutely childish how he chooses to make Karloff a cartoon villain in this, even mocking Karloff’s looks in comparison to Lugosi’s “attractiveness” and “sexual appeal.”
Now, I don’t believe Karloff was a saint whatsoever, and I’m sure he and Lugosi had an awkward working relationship at best, but the many interviews and anecdotes I have perused about Karloff over the years do not match up with how Lenning paints him here.
(Needless to say, when Lenning praises Karloff’s performance in The Body Snatcher, I was actually floored—was this the same author or had someone else typed that??)
However, I was most annoyed with his treatment of Lillian Lugosi by the end. For much of the book, he seems sympathetic to her: Lugosi was extremely controlling in their relationship, forbidding her from wearing make-up or curling her hair, buying all her clothes, growing easily jealous anytime she so much as went shopping on a whim for fear she was really seeing another man. Lenning, the veritable pope of the One True Church of Lugosi, even claims Lugosi seemed to have more regard for his dogs than he did his wife! Yet at the end of the book, when he cites her calling her second husband the love of her life, he snidely remarks that the guy was a drunk and really no better than Lugosi—because how dare she prefer anyone to Lugosi even after twenty years of putting up with his crap!
It’s hard for me to share Lenning’s disdain for Lugosi Jr either. Lenning paints him as a cold son and money-grubber only interested in Lugosi’s image for lucrative purposes, though to be honest, I rarely blamed Jr. for not being so close to his father. Lugosi was constantly traveling to do stage work, the two of them did not share common interests (more than likely due to Lugosi being such an older father), and Jr. was bullied at school for having Dracula as his dad, making their bond all the more awkward. I’m not saying he was totally in the right and as far as I know he could be some Snidely Whiplash money-grubber, but considering how biased Lenning shows himself to be when dealing with everyone else in this book, I have a hard time trusting anything he says about anybody. Either you’re a true believer or you’re a “cold fish,” I guess.
The most cringeworthy thing about this book is that Lenning makes himself a character in Lugosi’s life drama. He chronicles in detail the times he met the actor at performances of Dracula in the 1940s. This would normally be charming. Lenning instead casts himself as a holy figure, a sign to the saddened Lugosi that there is at least one “Lugosi-ite” out there adoring his films! He almost seems to suggest he is the son Lugosi should have had, unlike the unappreciative Jr. Why, Jr. didn’t even read the first edition of Lenning’s Lugosi biography! How awful!
(No, I’m not even kidding. He does complain about this! After claiming that Jr. attempted to control a conversation Lenning had with Lillian Lugosi, poor, poor Lenning says, “Once again he said that he had not read my book! (Perhaps he will spare himself from reading this update as well.)” I don’t know about Jr., but I wish I had spared myself the effort!)
This self-pitying, dare I say self-righteous, attitude permeates the book, making it unbearable and exhausting to read. Lenning makes snide remarks about those who don’t like Lugosi’s style or who dare to interpret events and anecdotes in ways that make Lugosi seem like the bad guy. He even calls some of his detractors “smart-ass critics.” I get being frustrated when critics are being smart-asses about things you like—I really do. I still haven’t fully forgiven Roger Ebert for his review of John Carpenter’s The Thing*… but when you’re writing a biography, is it really the time to settle personal vendettas? Is it really time to call people names like you’re still in middle school? Why not be the bigger person and show some class instead of making smart-ass comments yourself?
Ugh, Lugosi really needs a new biography. He deserves better than this fanboyish diarrhea. It’s sad, because it’s well-researched… but the author taints every event with his own rose-tinted view of Lugosi and his sheer disdain for everyone else save for fellow zealots.
Anyway, I’m done. Holy crap…
* This is a joke. Kind of.
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Whumptober 2020 (For the Greater Good) - Trail of Blood
So for this post I’ve kind of combined both number 9 and 10 into one. I used “trail of blood” from the tenth, but the overall theme of the ninth. Hope that doesn’t confuse anyone. Also I just got through watching My Hero Academia Season 4 for the third time.
I really hope anyone that bothers reading this MHA fic knows, but SPOILERS for the fourth season of the show. (Seriously, if you haven’t watched it, please do, it’s great.)
@whumptober2020
Warnings: blood, horror, body horror? description of injury
It is in uncertain times such as these that Yagi Toshinori finds himself unable to sleep. Even as his tired, ragged body cries out with every move, he forces it to sit up. His form is slouched, but not for long; his back stiffens and his chest creaks as several wretched, wet coughs bring up blood. Instinctively, Yagi covers his mouth. He cannot remember a time when the feeling of liquid and the scent of iron did not permeate his throat. It’s always there, now.
He had suffered another one of his nightmares, last night, and, though he’d be sour to admit it, he’s still shaken up. It was nothing new, at first, the same explosive phantom pain that had blown through his gut, followed by a blanket of cold. The ground had wrapped his body in a cloak of dust and dirt. His fingers twitched and scrabbled, nerves firing and adrenaline pumping. But as it faded away, as All Might was left, broken and bleeding, the scene changed suddenly.
That same wound is there, throbbing faintly as All Might uses the last embers of his strength in an explosive attack. All for One is pummeled into the ground. The taste of iron is with him, stronger than usual. His body, barely functioning, is left shaking on unsteady legs. With an incredible amount of effort, Yagi Toshinori takes up All Might one final time as he transforms and raises a fist. Then the world came crashing down.
All for One rises up from the crater which Yagi was certain would’ve finished things. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. All Might’s hated nemesis had twisted away, casting his cloying shadow onto a younger man, Nana Shimura’s grandson, Tomura Shigaraki. With hands carved from grief, sharpened in anger and filled with hatred, Shigaraki tears his way through the hero ranks.
The pale-haired young man destroys all that All Might had stood for, everything Yagi Toshinori had created. Hopes are dashed, dreams are torn to shreds and lives crumble to dust. As if in a trance, Yagi follows Shigaraki, watching helplessly as the former family-member of a friend delivers pain to those Yagi knew best.
Endeavor falls, with some help from the rest of the League, as do the heroes who had begun to call the UA High dorms their “home.” Then, Shigaraki turns to Yagi’s students. Buildings burned down to ash. Bright eyes dulled with pain. Bodies brutally torn apart. Blood on the walls, coating the floor and ceiling, too.
Yagi’s ghost wanders away from the horrid scenes, clutching at his middle. Then he sees it, the familiar crimson color trailing past, beckoning at him, “Follow.” He doesn’t want to. He’s afraid of what he might see, what he knows he’ll see.
Not that… please...
But his legs shuffle forward, heedless of his wordless screams. The room appears dark and gloomy, with the sweet stench of rot about it. Nana’s face, stilled in an eerie stoicism, stares down at her student from above. Nighteye does not watch his movements - there’s nothing but empty sockets glaring back. Blood trickles down through the tiles. Many faces are looking, now, Yagi tries and fails to ignore them.
Yagi Toshinori falls onto the ground when his legs finally give out, allowing him to come crashing down. The body of his friend, student, and pride, Izuku Midoriya, lays before him. It’s a peaceful, serene scene, which he can’t help but find jarringly suspicious, almost hideous. The surrounding horrors fade away. All that’s left is Yagi Toshinori and Izuku Midoriya.
It takes him a little while, but Yagi notices the small cuts which lay scattered about Midoriya’s small frame. In waking, they’re nothing more than scars, but here, the flesh is laid open. Rivulets spin from each scar to pool on the ground beneath the boy. Eventually, Yagi sees his own reflection in the gathered blood.
His face is drawn and skeletal, eyes sunken and hollow. His bones ache. His chest heaves with every breath. His muscles tire and sensations are dull. Yagi has given up so much for the safety of this world, sacrificed everything for the greater good. Before him, it was Nana; would Yagi suffer the fate which Nighteye had described? Now it’s Izuku Midoriya’s turn.
Yagi Toshinori is filled with dread. The boy is just that, still but a child. Yet he has seen a world in pain, seen people in need. He decided, just the same as his mentor, that he couldn’t sit idly by and watch it happen. This choice had been Midoriya’s, but it had also been Toshinori’s. Now, this child faces harder challenges than Yagi ever did. One day, perhaps, the world would need his sacrifice, too. All for the greater good.
#whumptober2020#no.9#for the greater good#trail of blood#my hero academia#mha#boku no hero academia#bnha#fic#yagi toshinori#all might#mha all might#blood#horror#body horror#injury#injury description#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers
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There are sexual harassers, assaulters, and rapists out there. Far more than will ever be reported. Far more than will ever be convicted. This is not a joke, and it is borne of a society which allows men to skate through life on blades of toxic masculinity over the slippery surface of privilege.
Men hate the phrase toxic masculinity. They think it means we are decrying anything that makes a man manly. This is not the case. We are defending your right to be manly, because you are a man. Even if you cry. Even if you don’t like sex. Even if you defy gender roles. Toxic masculinity is a set of expectations for men that have permeated generations, causing young boys to be raised to believe that that are not responsible for their own actions and that they must always be stoic. Men are brought up to believe that they are entitled to a women because that’s how things go: men are attracted to all attractive women and every woman in her right mind must be attracted to you too, because you are strong and manly and you have earned her respect simply by the virtue of being a man. And if you do not subscribe to these values, you are seen as less than. Under the ideals of toxic masculinity, men are shamed for or restricted from being gay, being trans, not sleeping around, having open and communicative relationships, being “just” friends with a woman, reaching out for help, acknowledging insecurity, expressing emotion, even liking a fucking color or a fruity drink.
It also has permeated generations of women, who have been told to wear longer skirts or a top with sleeves because boys will be distracted in school. It has affected women who have come forward to say that they have been violated, and yet no one will believe them. It affects women who want to be independent. It affects all women who have any form of a relationship with a man, be it familial, friendly, sexual, or romantic. For these women are expected to bear the emotional weight of human connection. It has affected every woman who has ever been told they were too emotional, despite the fact that many men have been brainwashed into emotional constipation that builds up until their feelings explode over the people they care about. It affects everyone.
And we all know about the effects that our society’s views on what it means to be a man has on the truly corrupted men. The ones who take these values and use them as excuses to violate women and men and children. We know about the rapists and the assaulters and the harassers (though many still seem to think it’s okay to turn a blind eye).
But we don’t talk enough about the everyday men. We don’t talk enough about the ones who still think it’s funny to make jokes about “go make me a sandwich” even though they’re overall not too bad. We don’t talk enough about the ones who don’t go ballistic when they’re rejected, they just get all passive aggressive and distance themselves. We don’t talk enough about the ones who won’t buy their wives and daughters pads or tampons. We don’t talk enough about the fathers who feel they have a right to “protect” their daughters from a perfectly healthy sex life. We don’t talk enough about the men who say they can’t watch that movie, it’s just for chicks. We don’t talk enough about the men who don’t know how to respond when a man comes out, or when a woman has a breakdown, or when a male friend wants to have a deep and meaningful conversation. We don’t talk enough about the men who we have deemed “not bad enough” to talk about.
Because they’re not bad. They are a product of circumstance. They haven’t done anything completely awful or illegal, so we brush it off. But therein lies the danger of toxic masculinity and sexism. It is not some mythical dark force of evil threat reaches into the hearts of men and turns them bad. It’s an ingrained belief system that most of the time produces some of these smaller faults in the actions of each of these otherwise good people. However, a stubborn adherence to its values and a culmination of all of the faults in one man leads to sexual assault, extreme violence, and hatred of anything perceived as “other.”
These normal men, the ones who are being judged by a lower bar, are capable of change. They have not done anything grossly wrong, simply adhered to what has been taught to them and it has made others uncomfortable. And there lies the need for feminism and equality (words which are synonyms, but have recently been perceived as otherwise by the eyes of toxic masculinity).
I have two brothers. They’re wonderful people. They have good hearts. They wouldn’t even do most of the shit I listed above. They’re both in loving relationships in which they treat their girlfriends with respect and care. They both cry on a regular basis. They both consistently have deep, meaningful, emotional conversations with others (including myself). They both wear pink, and care about their hair and clothes at least a little. They both are really sympathetic about my period and have gotten me Midol, tampons, and heating pads when I needed them. They both like rom-coms. They’re literally two of the most genuinely kind, thoughtful, generous, and loving people I’ve ever known.
And yet. They have these little things that have been taught to them. They think “toxic masculinity” means “men are awful.” They’ve definitely made judgmental comments about girls’ appearances before. They’re hesitant to believe that the effects of sexism reach as far as they do. They will stand up for any woman they know, they would never be actively sexist, and they would comfort and protect any woman who told them she had been violated. But they still think harassment is exaggerated. Stephen once proposed extended paternity leave during a discussion about the wage gap, as though it was a nonsensical idea, even though he’s expressed the idea that he might like to stay at home with his kids one day since he wants to be a writer and could do that from home. Nick once said that of course he doesn’t know how to sew up a hole in his pants, he’s a guy, so he asked me to do it. So I showed him how. Stephen and I have discussions about feminism and male privilege all the time, and he has made humongous steps of progress and come around on a lot of things, even if not 100%. Nick has stopped making “light-hearted” jokes he made as a stupid teenager because I told him they were offensive. I haven’t heard either one of them appraise a woman by her looks except to tell me how beautiful they think their girlfriends are in years.
Men are not inherently bad, which seems like a thing so obvious to say, but I just want to say it anyway. And they’re capable of change, and improvement, just as all humans are with all their flaws and all the faults that we have learned from society. This is why we need feminism. We need people to recognize that these are learned behaviors and ideals that can be unlearned. Because I will go to my grave believing that people are good. We make mistakes and we fuck up and we are formed by circumstance and sometimes some people don’t come back from that. But right there at the beginning, there is no inherent evil, throughout life, we do not become destined for corruption. People are good. Men are people, and when raised the right way and forced to confront the culture of sexism, they are good and capable of improvement.
This cancel culture we have subscribed to is ridiculous because it denies that people are good and doesn’t allow for growth. Some people are not to be trusted. I get it. And I get that there are things in this world that perhaps can not be forgiven. And there will always be people we can choose not to be associated with because of their choices. But the little mistakes? The medium mistakes? The behaviors we were raised to exhibit? Why on earth would you want to shun someone for those instead of trying to help them grow? People can learn from their mistakes, apologize, and become more aware and just. Why try to make someone’s life worse and call it justice when you could help someone make up for their actions while making the world a better place for all the people they know? And it would be a ripple effect.
Be a feminist. Change the world, one smaller issue at a time. Correct men. Correct women. Correct anyone of any gender. And let this apply to other corrupt systematic beliefs, like racism, homophobia, class discrimination, islamophobia, transphobia, all of it. Eliminate bigotry not by eliminating the bigots altogether, but by showing them how to unlearn their bias.
#this is too long and i dont know where it all came from but its how i feel#feminism#men#women#toxic masculinity#unlearn your bias#male privilege#sexism#cancel culture
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Graveyard pranks - Anxceit
Summary: Dimitri and Virgil both know that in the dark side of the mindscape everything is twisted. Graveyards are a place of comfort. Tormenting your friends means fun. Falling in love...well, that's difficult anywhere.
Warnings: Dark themes, Panic attack, Remus, Arguing with strong language, possible character death, buried alive, character growth
Notes: Deceit’s name is Dimitri
Ominously, The full moon hangs overhead. Accomplishing the opposite of its intended purpose by making the shadows deeper among the headstones and gnarled trees, instead of lighter. But it's all par for the course on this side of the mind.
The wind whistles through the night making the cold creep in under Dimitri's jacket and cape. But the chill doesn't feel perfect for his frame of mind tonight. Nope not one bit.
Dimitri let's his bare hand skim over the curved tops of rough stone headstones. He barely reads the names and dates anymore knowing the landscape all too well. Besides, it's not the occupants that frighten him. It's the events, the laughter, and smiles that are never to occur here again that truly haunt him.
The graveyard had been a team effort on all of their parts. As Thomas was introduced to spooky Disney graveyards with dancing skeletons and moved onto sinister cinematic cemeteries the place grew more intense and comforting for the dark sides. Remus would keep his creatures here letting them hunt on the fringes of the subconscious. Virgil would stoically sit on every piece of stone that wasn't meant to be sat on while he softly sang along to his music. Dimitri had a much more functional use for the grave plots. He buried the truth here. For every powerful lie to go well, the truth ended up six feet under.
They would play… okay, more like torment each other here in the permeating darkness. Dimitri chuckled to himself as his foot crunched an old mangled pink bow. Bending over, he took his bowler hat off, as he inspected it closer.
~☆~
"I can't believe you were right. It got all of them to sit there the whole time!" Anxiety laughed for the first time in a long time. Throwing the empty peanut butter jar over top of the iron gate.
"What like it's hard?" Dimitri scoffed as he brushed the excess wolf man fur off of his outfit.
"Come on! If you weren't scared of them then you've got to be scared of what Rem is going to do?" Anxiety playfully shoved Dee away. Dee's hands flashed out and held the newest dark trait closer.
"Remus could kill us, burn us alive but my lust for you will never be extinguished." Dee joked as he dipped Anxiety back. Pressing kisses to his exposed neck. Before bringing him back up, a small smirk on his face. The shadows under Anxiety's eyes grew more pronounced with the blush on his cheeks.
Dimitri sauntered past him playing hard to get. Waiting for the moment his crush ran after him wanting another kiss.
"Do you really that could happen? Do you think Rem is going to kill us?" Anxiety asked as his footsteps grew shorter, hugging his black on black plaid jacket around his middle. "But like actually kill us? We hurt his babies and then he'll make me watch as he axes you to sashimi bites. Making me eat you then burying me alive with you inside me…" his words rushing together as he escalated.
"Yes, because Remus is the perfect chef and the world's leading matchmaker. Plus, There's…" Dee was cut off as the night swells with roars and the ground starts to shake. Dee turned back around when he heard plastic sneakers scrambling up stone. Virgil was up and gone before he could finish his sentence out loud "...easier ways of getting me inside of you."
Dimitri sighed knowing Anxiety wouldn't come back out of hiding for awhile. Might as well enjoy the show. Stepping over to the closest tree, slithering up to find a sturdy branch.
Alone, He watched from up on high as sixty nine wolf-men stampeded past. Bright pink bows everywhere there was fur still attached. The delicate ribbons matching their fresh poodle style haircuts. Holding his gloved hand over his mouth to muffle his snickering as Remus ran past screaming.
"Get back here, you non mangy mutts. Daddy must make you filthy and terrible again."
~☆~
His grin shattered into a grimace. Throwing the old bow down, the silly prank faded to white noise as Dimitri realized where his feet had stopped. His yearning and hatred had lead the snake to their darkest joke yet.
Intricate designs around those fateful words, were starting to fade from constantly being touched. His nails, hard as diamonds, made the head stone's letters turn to gravel as he raked his nails into the grooves.
~☆~
Dee's throat felt raw from calling Anxiety's name. His feet hurt from walking. His levels of exhaustion had reached new heights. Dimitri had spent all day looking for their little gargoyle. With no luck so far Dimitri gave up as he spotted the graveyard.
'If Anx doesn't want to be found, then I'll never find him.' He thought as he opened the wrought iron gate.
"This has to be the greatest prank ever." Remus called out to Dimitri, waving him closer as the music started to build.
The beat and lyrics only adding to the maddening glee on Remus' face. Pulling him in close Dimitri became infected with the beat and electric vibe. His feet kicking up the fresh dirt in the air with each move. But as the spinning continued his nausea clears his head.
"Wait. Prank? What prank?" Dimitri shook his head as he questioned Remus' motives for the dance party.
"Well for this bitch! What did you think I was talking about?" Remus danced off to the side as he started to grind and hump the grave marker.
"Here lies my beloved: Virgil "Anxiety" Sanders."
Dimitri's vision swam. His stomach rolled. As he read the words and learned his lover's name for the first time. Then he spotted the small metal bell shaking furiously.
"No!" Dimitri cried clicking his fingers to bring Anx… No, Virgil to the surface. Nothing, the death bell continues to wail and shake. Trying to drop down to him or bring Virgil up yields no results.
The clang of two shovels falling over grabs his attention. Seizing both of the tools, Dimitri find his second wave of energy. Throwing one Remus' way and starts moving huge piles of loose dirt. But as the creative side starts to do drill team twirls with it instead of digging, Dimitri screams at him.
"Just fucking help! He is our friend! Being dark and being cruel are two different fucking things."
Remus sticks the shovel into the dirt. To lean against as he watches Dimitri dig himself down to his boy-toy.
"I don't understand why you're freaking out so bad when he is just going to end up back down there anyway." Remus yawns.
"Screw you! Fuck you! How could you?" Dimitri spat out between slinging shovel fulls of dirt over his shoulders and out of the hole. He kept praying to whoever would listen that the bell would keep ringing. The ringing meant Anx...Virgil was still alive down there pulling on the tiny string that lead to the surface. That lead back to life.
The hollow thud of metal hitting wood greets his ears. Throwing the shovel down, ignoring how the blisters that formed have started bleeding. Dimitri strikes his nails against the cheap plywood as it splinters and breaks apart. Pulling the broken pieces away.
A gasping sound and Virgil's tear stained face comes into view as the ringing fades like ripples across the mindscape. Virgil aides in his own escape by kicking and punching from the inside as Dimitri tears the pieces away until the terrified side pulls himself up out of his own casket.
The air is knocked out of Dee as Virgil clutches to him. Arms wrapped around his neck while Virgil's legs are trying and failing to wrap around Dee's body. So he relents and sits on the side of the coffin. Letting Virgil get as close as he needs.
"It's okay. I got you. Never going to let you out of my sight. That demented shit head is never going to touch you again." Dimitri promises as he is rocking Virge and ignoring the strong smell of urine or how fast his shirt is being soaked with tears.
"Why are making me the bad guy? See my hands are clean." Remus retorts as green slime slides off of his hands and splatters against the ground. "Well except for that. But I had nothing to do with Mayor McAngst ending up in the hole."
"If it wasn't you, then who was it Remus?"
"You."
"Fuck you! I would never. I've been looking for him all day!" Dimitri screamed back.
"I don't care. I just want to go home. Take me home, Dee." Virgil whimpers out.
"Hey, Dimitri tell me do you think of your dilapidated fuck shack as home too? Can you love him like he deserves to be loved?"
"Yes, I love..." Before he can get the lie out Dimitri is pristine, above ground, as the bell is frantically ringing again.
Remus starts cackling anew. Rolling on the ground, red in the face as if it's the funniest thing in the world.
Picking up the shovel again, Dimitri finally accepts the truth he was trying to bury. Virgil deserves more. More love and security than what he is capable of. Dimitri wasn't created to love, but to deceive. What true love comes from lying?
Digging his love free again; Dimitri doesn't answer a single question that Remus hurls his way between giggles. Hauling Virgil and then himself out of the hole. He holds Virgil's passed out body close as he walks him to the other side of the mindscape. Giving into his biggest lie yet.
"He isn't one of us."
Burying his heart as the light side takes Virgil away.
~☆~
Deep howls roll through the cemetery marking the time; the witching hour. Stretching his tired bones Dimitri shakes off all of the new memories of Virgil from his mind. Like how well he was thriving and how beautiful he looks in purple. Trying to ignore all of the hate in Virgil's words as he stands with his new family. Trying to repress how he himself was forced by his very nature to respond like a dick. Instead of expressing his truth. Dimitri shook with the injustice of it all with one hand on the head marker of the only empty grave.
"It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt, isn't that right, my love?"
Lightning cracks over head as the world turns bright in a flash, then is hurled into nothingness. The break of thunder makes the ground shake. Suddenly the wind whips up and surges around him. Dee holds onto his hat with one hand while the other is covering his mouth so he can still breathe.
Through the roaring wind, a noise was building. Dimitri could hear faint voices like a muffled conversation. Cupping his hand to his ear straining to listen. Dimitri's bowler hat takes flight off of his head. Hair whipping in his eyes, leafs and sticks being carried on the updraft are scraping at his face. Covering his face with both arms he protects himself. The voices turn from chatter then into soul wrenching declarations.
"I am Veritas, the daemon of truth. Your mouth is blasphemous. Your being an abomination. My scales must be balanced with your scaly head! I have come for my sacrifice!" The voices screeched together as one.
The daemon lorded over him from a top of the mausoleum. Lightning cracked over head again, as it bounded with ease all the way to the top of his beloved's tombstone.
"Don't even think of running. You can't save yourself. You're carcass will be drug off into the subconscious left to become a lowly function again and only your fleas will mourn you." The daemon brandished a dagger high in the air.
Dimitri's day of reckoning was here. Screaming from the depths of his essence he turned and fled. His whole body shaking but picking up speed with every foot fall. That is until he could hear laughter as the wind halted. Which made Dimitri wheel around, teeth bared, snake eye glowing bright yellow as his human eye glowed red with murderous intent.. This was the final straw Remus was going to…
"I got you so good!" Virgil laughed as he carefully dabbed at the stage makeup. Trying not to smear it with his happy tears. "You should have seen the look on your face. Fuck, I see why you always stuck around for the aftermath."
Then the air was knocked out of Virgil's body as Dee's fist connected squarely with his chest. As Virgil's world started to spin, Dimitri's seized the front of his costume, and crushed him to his chest in an embrace. Tugging the half face mask off, Dimitri touched the clean part of his face. Virgil could tell from that look that Dee was making sure it was the surly anxious side himself. Dimitri smiled when Virgil blushed and leaned into his touch. Dee let out an exhilarated sound that he couldn't hold back as the anger drowned in joy. His arms constricting around his former lover's body
"You shouldn't be here." Dee whispered against the side of Virge's neck as he laid the human side of his face against his costume.
"And you should stop lying to me." Virgil had to lean back to look the deceitful side in the face. Since he was not able to move any other part of his body due to all six arms holding him in place.
The flame of what they were caught in Dimitri's chest as Virgil licked his lips. His pink tongue such a stark contrast to the black lipstick. Dimitri pressed his lips against Virgil's before either of them could think. Lips moving with familiarity, a bite here and a tongue caress there. But the fire was snuffed out as fast as it was built. They couldn't go back. It defeated the purpose of their actions and choices. So Dimitri just enjoyed the smeared lipstick they were probably both sporting now.
"They're being good to you?"
"Yeah, it was hard in the beginning. But it's easier, in some ways now." Virgil hugged Dee back then pulled away. Working his way to standing back on his own two feet.
"Why? How are you here? The barriers have never faulted before." Dimitri asked as his mind recalled many nights were he tried to cross over to the light side without Thomas' permission. It never worked.
"The truth can't be buried or barred if everyone knows."
"You told him? Are you...were you cast you out and sent back here?" The anger in Dimitri flared for a whole different reason.
"No. It's okay. Well, I mean it'll be okay. But for now I can pass through the vale." Virgil threw the hood of his costume over his head and wiggled his fingers.
The snake side of Dee's face smirked as he sat down on a granite slab. The weight of the moment feeling like quicksand. Dimitri didn't have to lie on this side, or speak in riddles. He couldn't waste another minute.
"I'm really sorry. For how I act on the other side, the lies are as easy as breathing standing in front of Thomas. I'm sorry for how we ended it. I know it's not enough. I should have a speech made up…" Dimitri started to lament as a punch connected to his arm.
"I figured that out, Pat helped me. You can't build a life off of lies and panic." Virgil pulled the hood back down and started digging through hidden pockets
"Then will this be the last time you...that you pull a prank in the graveyard?" Dimitri's heart couldn't go to that finite place.
"Not as long as you still have those shavers." Virgil smirked as he pulled out a jar of wolf-man biscuits and a baggie of purple and yellow bows.
#virgil sanders#Deceit Sanders#Dimitri Sanders#Remus Sanders#Dark Sides#Anxceit#Dark themes#Panic attacks#tw: Remus#Arguing with strong language#possible character death#buried alive#character growth
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Betting on the Bullseye (22/30)
Summary: Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala for Boston's Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes.
What she truly doesn't expect is to actually like the man.
Rating: Mature
A/N: So, like, does anyone else wonder how an absolutely ridiculous concept that would mortify me to my core in real life (it mortifies me a little when I look at the summary) has turned into a thirty chapter story that is decidedly not about the prompt anymore? Anyone? No? Me either.
Found on AO3: Beginning | Current
Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22
Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs
“What about this one?”
“Too small.”
“This one?”
“Too expensive.”
“Emma.��
“Killian.”
“For fuck’s sake, you have to like something, Swan,” he mutters under his breath before slamming his laptop shut and running his hand through his hair, fingers sticking in the unwashed strands, while he tries to calm his breathing and himself before he truly goes off on Emma after having listened to her rejections on apartments for the better part of the last three hours. He’s rejected a few things too, but damn, they’re never going to find anything if it keeps going like this.
He’s just going to go off on Emma’s TV stand. Not break it or anything. Just complain to it about how they can’t find a home for it.
“Okaaay, so we need a break from apartment hunting,” Emma sighs, slouching down on the couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table, mismatched socks on full display to him. He wonders if she ever matches her socks. Probably not. It’s kind of charming. They’ve been looking online for hours, and she’s likely right. It’s nearly impossible right now. They need a breather. “What do you want to watch?”
“I feel like we need to talk about why we’re having issues finding a place.”
“Probably because we just decided to move in together yesterday, and you and I have totally different budgets.”
“I told you, love,” he sighs, twisting his head to look at her even as she avoids looking at him, “I want to buy a place. It’s better than renting. It’s equity, and we can renovate if we need to.”
“I can’t afford to buy these places, though. I know you can, but I’d like to contribute something.” Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes darting over to him before they look back at the television while her fingers tap against her legs, a series of nervous ticks if he’s ever seen them. He knew that was going to be a thing, but they’re not going to avoid issues anymore. They’re going to talk about them and figure them out even if it’s uncomfortable. “I’m not saying…I’m not saying I don’t have faith in us or whatever, but – ”
“Darling, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get both of our names on the deed, or just yours, or whatever the hell you want so that if we break up, you don’t have to worry about moving. Or hell, you sell it, and then you buy what you want.”
She finally looks at him then, a brow raised on her forehead so that it wrinkles, and he can do nothing but smile as he watches the features on her face change while she thinks. She’s going to agree. She’s going to be a bit of an arse about it, but she’s going to agree. He also knows that she’s likely going to be the one who ends up finding the damn place while walking down the street instead of finding one after hours and days and weeks of searching.
He’s probably getting a little too much enjoyment out of this.
He’s really damn excited to be looking for a place to live with Emma.
With Emma.
That’s just…that’s insane. And it’s wonderful. So wonderful.
He’s a sap.
“So what you’re saying is that if I rip your heart out, I not only get to keep the apartment, but I have the possibility to profit off of it?”
“Aye.”
Slowly but surely her lips begin to curve into a smile, her teeth showing and face scrunching up into a smile. God, he’d do anything to get to see that smile every day of his life. He’s working on it. He really is. “You are a sucker, KJ. You know that?”
He simply shrugs, moving his laptop over to the side before he slides over onto the cushions and pulls Emma to him so he can leave an obnoxiously loud smacking kiss on her cheek. He’s so goddamn happy to see her, to be with her both figuratively and literally, and he doesn’t care in the slightest over Emma teasing him or thinking he’s crazy. Really, he’s glad for it.
Emma is the woman he wants to be with. There’s not a doubt in his mind about that. He wants her to be the person he’s beside for the rest of his life even when they’re fighting, and while, yes, he knows that things could hit the fan in a spectacular fashion, he has hope. So, yeah, this could either be the best or worst real estate decision he’s ever going to make.
He’s thinking the best.
“I’m a sucker for you.”
“That’s only a good line when the Jonas Brothers sing it.”
“I could sing it if you want me to.”
She hums, closing her eyes and pushing at his shoulder until he moves back to where he was sitting. It’s only a few moments before Emma is curling in on her side and wrapping her arms around his waist while her head rests on his chest and his hand rests on the bare skin of her stomach under her t-shirt, warmth permeating from the skin while the smell of the vanilla in her shampoo reaches his nose.
“While that sounds like a fantastic idea and something I’m going to take you up on later,” she murmurs against the material of his t-shirt, “I think we need to keep looking at these apartments before you realize just how bad of a real estate decision you’re making here. But, like, later. I can’t look at another place where everything is monochromatic white.”
“Robin would be appalled by your hatred of the all white.”
“Does he know?”
“Know what?”
“That you might move? Babe, I know we’ve talked about it until our faces turned blue in the past twenty-four hours, but you’ve got to tell Robin and Will. And you’ve really got to tell your family, probably in person. I can go with you if you want. Maybe we can fly back on Friday. I’m sure our faces will have morphed to purple by then.”
“Yeah?”
“The purple thing? Yeah.”
“No,” he laughs, walking his fingers up her back, “the you coming with me to talk to my family this weekend.”
“I mean, yeah. Let’s keep looking for a place, maybe set up a few viewings for the next time you’re out here, but then we’ve got to tell your family and talk about it with them. I just hope they won’t hate me. I mean, I’ll still move to California, but I – ”
“They love you,” he interrupts, ignoring her offer to move to California. She’s offered enough times that he doesn’t know if he can hear it again. Boston is the best decision for them right now, and they’re sticking with it. “Aiden loves you as much as Leo loves me.”
“As reassuring as that is,” she sighs while nuzzling into his stomach again, her hand resting on his knee and tracing his skin with her fingernail, “I was kind of concerned with the adults. Should we tell my friends together too?”
“Nah, I thought maybe I’d just move and they’d figure it out when I showed up to every damn dinner.”
“It might take them awhile to notice.”
“Weeks most likely.”
“So maybe we should just tell them. I’ll get them a little card and some chocolate to soften the blow of finding out that I’ve decided to stick with ya, honey bunches.”
“Swan, I swear if you start calling me all of those ridiculous names I’ll – ”
“You’ll what? Break up with me? Can you wait until we own a fancy apartment so I can make some big bucks without lifting a finger?”
He should have never suggested that. She’d never do something like that, but she’s definitely going to tease him about it.
“I hate you.”
“I love you too, sweet cheeks.”
-/-
“Killy,” Leo screeches the moment they walk into the Nolan’s house the next night, David running behind him with wide eyes and a heaving chest. What the hell have the two of them been doing?
“Hi, buddy,” he laughs, reaching down and picking Leo up so he doesn’t run out the front door, all of the features on David’s face relaxing for just a moment. Dave looks far older than he did the last time Killian saw him, so the first few days of having more than one kid must have really taken their toll. “Did you miss me?”
“Yep. I have a brother.”
“I heard, little lad. You’re an older brother now, yeah?”
“Uh huh,” Leo sighs, relaxing in his arms and looking over at Emma who’s picking up the bags of groceries they brought even if Emma already brought over some frozen meals earlier this week. He figures if they’re going to invade parents of a newborn and a toddler, the least they can do is bring some food. “Is Superman here?”
Emma chuckles next to him, a glint of amusement in her eyes, and she moves her brows across her forehead. “No, but super Emma is.”
“I want Superman.”
“Leo,” David sighs, his eyes still a little heavy even as he greets Emma by kissing her cheek, “you have to be nice. Killian and Emma came to play with you.”
“It’s alright, mate. I’d want to see Superman over boring old me any day.”
“His clothes are a lot tighter than yours, so I second that.”
He rolls his eyes at Emma before he passes by she and David and makes his way into the kitchen with Leo, grabbing a bag of groceries from Emma on the way so he can unload them even with Leo babbling in his ear about anything and everything from his brother to his toys to the squirrel that was in the backyard yesterday. He and Leo have become good buddies over the past few months, and if it annoys Emma a little bit over how Leo will pick him over her, that’s only justified for how she’s stolen Aiden from him.
Not literally stolen, but that’s how it feels when Aiden would rather sleep on her chest than on his.
Then again, she’s got a fantastic chest…which is not at all the thing to be thinking when talking about a child’s napping preferences.
Then again – nope. Not going there.
“Where’s your mummy?” he asks Leo as he places the bunch of bananas on their countertop and stuffs the plastic bags in the container the Nolans keep of them under their sink. How the hell does he know where they keep their plastic bags?
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t,” he murmurs under his breath before he moves away from the counters and makes his way to the living room where he can hear Emma and David talking before he even gets to the archway.
“You’re sure about this?” David questions, arms crossed over his chest and back straight in what Killian assumes is his position for when he interrogates suspects. David at work has got to be a sight to see. Maybe he’ll ask to shadow him one day. Lie and say it’s for a role simply so he can mess with the man.
“I mean, yeah. I love him and want a future with him. It’s been so hard even when it’s been good, and it’s only going to get worse when he’s working more or when we’ve been together longer, I think.”
“And he didn’t want you to move to LA?”
“He did. I did. I didn’t want him to feel like he has to give up anything for me, but we both agreed here is better for now. Maybe in the future we’ll move there. I don’t really know. It’s a lot of logistics.”
“If this is what you want, I’m happy for you.”
“Please,” Emma laughs, her eyes glancing to him in a way that he knows is her telling him she’s been aware he’s been creepily lurking in the archway, “don’t you at all pretend that you’re not thrilled that Killian’s going to be around more. I know he’s your favorite of my boyfriends that I keep toting around on each arm.”
The cheeky little minx that is his girlfriend.
“He’s in the room, isn’t he?”
“I knew you loved me, Dave,” Killian chuckles, walking further in with Leo who’s been surprisingly quiet this entire time. Obviously, his bud is meant to be an eavesdropper too. “I was thinking about buying the house right next door to here. We can even connect the houses if you want. That way I can visit you at night so we can have a cup of tea and chat all about our preferences for running shoes.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“But you love me, right Leo? Does your daddy love me?”
“Yeah, Daddy loves Killy.”
“For f – ”
“Oh boy,” Emma smiles, shaking her head from side to side with the most precious smile tugging at her lips. “Babe, you’re going to make David curse in front of his kid. I suggest you don’t make his anxiety heighten by threatening to move in with him.”
“Not a threat, love,” he explains as he puts Leo down on the ground so he can play with some of his toys. “Just a very good offer to be roommates with the Nolans. Wouldn’t you like to do that?”
“There is literally no good way for me to answer that.”
He winks. “Exactly. So where’s Mary Margaret?”
“She and Brody are sleeping,” David explains as they all finally sit down, the couch moving under he and Emma’s weight. “They had a late night last night, so I hope she’s getting some sleep now. If she knew you guys were here, though, she’d be down here in a second, sleep deprivation not at all a worry, especially because you guys are apparently moving in together. She’d be all over that.”
“She’s far too invested in my life,” Emma jokes as her fingers start messing with the hair at the nape of his neck, shivers running down his spine with every delicate touch. God, she’s good at playing with his hair. She does this thing with her finger and damn, it’s amazing. She also does this thing with her tongue…but now is not the time for him to think about that. He’s obviously got to get his mind out of the gutter. “But she should definitely sleep. Is it about the same as with Leo?”
David shrugs while he wipes the sleep away from his eyes. “It’s different because we’re not as clueless and also have two kids to manage, but mostly it’s different because Brody is not at all as calm. It’s kind of like night and day, but we’ll figure it out. I think she’s honestly more stressed about us not having everything done because we’d put a few things off. He showed up a bit early to the party.”
“We can help, you know? That’s why we’re here. I didn’t buy you food just because I wanted to eat.”
“You ate a cereal bar on the way here,” Emma teases, and he twists his head to look at her and the same playful glint she had in her eyes earlier. He can’t stop thinking about how Emma was talking about how she wants a future with him without any hesitation in her voice. He knows that she wants it, knows that she loves him, but something about hearing her tell David about it has calmed him about this transition they’re about to make.
He was already calm. He’s just…he’s happy. Content.
“That was supposed to be a secret.”
“I’ve never been very good at keeping those.”
“Really now? Because unless you’re being weird and channeling Mary Margaret, I don’t think that’s true. Though, I’m kind of conflicted on whether or not I want you to be a good liar.”
“You probably don’t, KJ. Also, props on joking about Mary Margaret when David is right there.”
Emma raises her hand to give him a high five, and he laughs as he slaps her palm before interlacing their fingers and bringing her wrist to his so he can brush a kiss there.
“You come into my home, you steal my child away from me, you make fun of my wife, and worst of all, you eat my cereal bars.”
“It’s a hard knock life for you, Dave. Sorry about that.”
“You’re most definitely not.”
“You’ll never know because I’m a much better liar than Emma.”
“Hey,’ she groans, slapping his head instead of playing with his hair, “we just talked about how that was not a good thing.”
“For you. I said nothing about me.”
“Asshole.”
“Language.”
“David.”
The three of them spend the rest of the evening talking about everything from baseball to the apartments and houses they’ve looked at, David offering to let them know if he sees anything they might like, before Emma offers to go heat up one of the casserole dishes so that they can eat dinner. Mary Margaret eventually comes down with Brody, the little lad as small as can be wrapped up in his pajamas with a hat on his head. He looks just like Leo from what Killian can tell, and when Mary Margaret offers to let him hold Brody, he takes the opportunity, even if holding someone else’s newborn child will never not be terrifying.
Seriously. They’re so small and fragile, and no human being should ever have a self-destruct button on top of their head.
“I’m so happy for you guys,” Mary Margaret sighs as she takes a sip of her water while David and Emma are in the kitchen finishing up dinner. Brody is staring up at him in between his fits of sleeping, and Killian’s pretty sure he’s been running his fingers over the lad’s stomach for the past half hour. It’s weirdly soothing. “I know Emma would die of mortification if I made it out to be a big deal, but this is such a big deal. She trusts you and loves you so much, and it’s a nice thing to see after watching that not happen over and over again.”
He smiles at Mary Margaret, something soft to keep things calm, because when he looks at her, she might as well be radiating out of her skin with excitement and eagerness to talk about it. She and Anna would probably hit it off like mad. Or maybe they’d hate each other. There can likely only be so much positive energy in a single room at one time.
Maybe they’ll have to meet outdoors.
But she’s right. He knows all of the dirty details of Emma’s past like she knows all of his, and them trusting each other and loving each other is a big thing.
“Well, I’m grateful that she’s given me the opportunity to be that kind of partner for her,” he admits, getting up from the couch and carefully placing Brody in his seat on the coffee table. “I was so damn anxious after this weekend because I knew we’d have to make a step like this at some point, and while I’ve never really doubted that Emma wanted to be with me, that’s still terrifying, you know?”
“Absolutely. I haven’t always been an overtired mom with a so-called ‘settled’ life. David and I went through all of that too. We didn’t live across the country from each other, but a relationship is a relationship. Sometimes even the good things are terrifying.”
“You sound like Elsa.”
“Well, I’ve never met her, but I’m pretty much Emma’s Elsa. We’re obligated to give advice even if we have no idea what we’re saying.”
So maybe she’s like Elsa too.
“That’s reassuring.”
“That’s life. You guys will be good, and as much as I love my boys, I expect you guys to have a guest room for me so I can take a nap in a kid-free, husband-free space.”
“Of course we can do that, milady,” he laughs before taking a step forward and leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll add it to our list.”
“Good.”
“Though, you might be stuck with Emma’s awful mattress and bedframe, so I’m not sure how much you’ll want to be sleeping over.”
“If I can sleep diagonally, I’ll sleep on a bed of nails.”
-/-
“Okay, you’re weird.”
“Love, this is not weird.”
“It so is,” Emma laughs as they walk past a Starbuck’s at the airport, the line stretching around the ropes and out into the walkway. “Who in the world walks up and down the entire terminal to, and I quote ‘explore the architecture’ instead of sitting down and messing around with their phone?”
He shrugs before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her cheek underneath her baseball cap, rubbing his scruff into her skin simply so her entire face will scrunch up in the way that he likes. “I do. You see the most interesting things in airports. If you just sit at your gate, you miss so much. I mean, however will you know that you can get a customized Boston Red Sox neck pillow if you’re just waiting for your plane to take off?”
“I’m leaning so much about you today.”
“I don’t really appreciate your teasing tone there, Swan.”
“What?” she laughs, guiding them into a small bookstore. “It’s so true, KJ. You get anxious going through security even though you are a pro at traveling and then after that, you like to explore airports. You’re a fascinating man.”
“You’re too easily entertained. Why are we looking at books?”
“I need something to do on the plane. I’m not sure that ours has movies.”
“It does. I checked.”
“Oh,” she sighs, putting the book she was looking at down and clapping her hands together. “Then there’s no way in hell I’m paying fifteen dollars for a bad romance novel then. Let’s go get some coffee and a donut or something.”
“We ate before we got here.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t eat donuts, KJ,” she says as her eyes roll before she’s walking out of the store with her carry-on trailing behind here.
A woman on a mission for donuts.
Flying with Emma for the first time is definitely an adventure, and they haven’t even made it out of the shops yet. He’s honestly so amused by her all of the time, and he already knows that she’s going to buy a dozen donuts to eat on the plane even if she’ll only eat two of them and give the rest of them away.
Because a stranger giving away donuts while thirty thousand feet in the air is definitely something no one will find the slightest bit sketchy.
Emma doesn’t buy an entire dozen donuts or hand them out on the plane, but she does buy each of them one with their cups of coffee that they finish off while still exploring the terminal. He falls asleep about halfway through the flight, and when he wakes, their pilot is announcing their arrival time. It’s late even with the time change, so he and Emma hurry out of the airport and get back to his house before falling asleep without even bothering to change out of their clothes.
“Are you nervous?” she asks him the next morning as she brushes out her hair while he shaves for the first time in a little over a week, the red in his beard showing through more than usual.
He is a little nervous to tell his family that he’s moving, to talk about all that’s coming up, but he also knows that they likely expect it, especially Elsa. It doesn’t make the blow any less hard, but he does think it may ease it the slightest bit. If anything, he thinks that Will and Robin might take it the hardest, Roland even more so, and the guilt does weigh on him a bit. But this is the right decision. He knows that it is. They’ve talked about it, thought about it, and he wouldn’t be doing this if it’s not what he wanted.
It’ll be a new normal and it’ll take awhile to adjust to things, but he’ll figure it out. They’ll both figure it out. He’s not giving up anything. His life is simply going through another adjustment period. But this one is a good one.
“Aye, a little bit,” he admits, running his razor across his jaw, “but they’ll be fine.”
“They’ll miss you,” Emma sighs, putting her brush down and walking over to him so that she wraps her arms around his stomach and kisses between his shoulder blades before he can feel her nuzzle her face in his skin. “You’ll visit a lot though. I will too. And maybe we can get them to come out to visit us. I think they’d like Boston.”
“We do have a hell of a lot of miles that they can travel with.”
“Trust me, I know. I can cash them in for a bunch of Amazon gift cards, and I’ve resisted the urge.”
“The height of selflessness.”
When they get to Liam’s place for lunch, he and Elsa are standing in the garage going through storage containers, piles of them scattering the floor with their cars sitting in the driveway. It’s an absolute mess. He had no idea that they even had this much stuff out here, and he’s sure that they’ve likely already cleaned out half of it.
“Aren’t you supposed to be cooking, Jones?” he calls out as he slams his door closed. “I was under the impression that you guys were going to be feeding me today.”
“I swear to God, Killian, you better be talking to your brother and not me.”
“Of course I am, lass,” he promises, walking over to Elsa and kissing her cheek in greeting. “I like to impose as much difficulty on my brother as I can.”
“That’s why I love you,” Elsa sighs before he sees her turn her head to look at Emma. “Oh my gosh am I happy to see you,” she squeals, quickly running toward Emma and wrapping her in a hug while he does the same to his brother. “I know it’s been less than a week, but I was worried about you.”
He doesn’t hear the rest of what Emma and Elsa are saying as he talks to Liam, the music that’s playing in the background drowning them out as he focuses on Liam.
“So you’re good?” he asks, squeezing Killian’s shoulder while his eyes scan his face, slanting for a moment before widening so he can see the blue that he always associates with his brother. “You two are good? This isn’t a ‘we’ll still love you both even though Mummy and Daddy aren’t together anymore’ kind of talk?”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes the slightest bit as he shakes his head from side to side. He had talked to Liam a bit about what was going on, if only because he knew Elsa would let some of it slip. And also because his brother is his best friend who is privy to most of his thoughts. “No, it’s not that. It’s actually,” he turns his head to glance over his shoulder at Emma who’s still animatedly talking to Elsa, her hands flying all over the place while her face is brightened by her smile, “kind of the opposite of that.”
“Bloody hell. Are you getting married?”
His heart practically flies up to his throat, constricting his breathing for a moment before it settles back down into its regular resting place. That’s not…he wants to but – later. Later is the time to talk about that. “No, no. We’re not getting married, but we are, um…well – ” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. He most definitely did not plan on telling Liam standing in his garage with Queen blaring over the speakers. “I’m moving to Boston,” he finally blurts out, the words freeing once they slip past his lips and into the air.
Liam blinks a few times, his lips slightly parting before they close and press into a smile, one that opens up so that Liam’s entire face is full of smile lines before suddenly Killian’s being pulled back into a hug, the warmth that radiates from his brother enveloping him as Liam pats him on the back several times as he whispers in his ear.
“I’m so damn happy for you. That’s – bloody hell, Killian. I can’t believe you’re making this kind of commitment. I can, but God – that’s amazing.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Of course not. I’m going to miss you, and I don’t imagine my wife’s reaction will be quite this happy, but this is a good thing. You deserve it.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs into Liam’s shoulder before pulling back, stepping out of his embrace and reaching up behind his ear so that he can scratch the shell, the urge irresistible. This is going so differently than he thought it would, but he’s not dumb enough to complain or question it. “How do you suppose I tell Elsa?”
“Quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. She’ll lose her mind if you do a big build up.”
“Aye, I know. I just don’t want to shock her.”
“Killian Jones,” Elsa screeches, coming over to him and slapping his shoulder before she places her hands on her hips and stares him down in such a way that it seems like she’s the one who’s half a foot taller, “you’re moving across the country, and you’re just now telling me?”
His eyes dart over her head to Emma who’s standing with her arms crossed over her chest and her bottom lip tugged between her teeth. “I’m sorry,” she mouths, shrugging her shoulders.
Looks like they both had the same willpower to keep their mouths shut.
“What do you mean just now? It’s only been a few days, Els.”
“You should have told me right after you decided. I could have helped.”
“With what?”
“Finding you an apartment or a house, you idiot,” she laughs, pulling him in for a hug that’s much rougher than the one Liam just gave her. Though she be but little, she is fierce. “I’ve never been to Boston, but I have my realtor’s license. I can help. It’s literally what I do for a living.”
“Darling, I know,” he chuckles into her hair before pulling back. “You helped me find my house here, but we’ve only just started looking. I don’t think we need to call in reinforcements just yet.”
“Can you believe he’s moving?” Elsa sighs, looking over to Liam before she pinches his cheeks. She’s literally pinching his cheeks. Maybe they all do need a little space. “Our little baby is growing up so fast.”
“You’re both incredibly obnoxious.”
“It’s just because we love you,” Elsa promises, pressing up on her toes and kissing his cheek where she’s just left it red. “And Emma. We love Emma too.”
“Nice to know I’m not chopped liver or something,” Emma sighs, walking over to stand next to them with the softest, most content smile on her face, “which is a super weird phrase if you think about it.”
“Swan, you’ve got to stop thinking about the origin of phrases.”
“Why? They’re all so weird.”
“You know what else is weird?” Liam questions, pulling out his phone and sliding his finger down so that the music quiets. “We were going to have chopped liver for lunch, so this is a great coincidence.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Don’t even joke about that.”
“I’m never letting you cook again.”
“I’m obviously kidding,” Liam sighs, leaning down to pick up a box before he hits the button that closes the garage door. “I’ve got a roast cooking, and I’ll even let you guys open a good bottle of wine since we’re celebrating your move.”
“Oh, you’re so generous,” Emma jests as she walks to the door that lets them into the kitchen, patting Liam on the shoulder on her way. “I can’t believe I get to be the recipient to your kindness.”
“You’re being cheeky for someone who’s probably going to need my help learning what to do and not do when living with Killian.”
Emma pauses in the doorway, sticking her head back out from where she’d walked inside the house. She seems to be thinking of something to say, her brows furrowed together, but then her lips are curling into a wicked smile and he sees her wink. She winks about like him, though. It’s so damn obvious when it’s supposed to be subtle. He loves it.
“You say this, but I also have a very big advantage that you never had when it comes to dealing with the clean freak over there.”
“And what’s that, love?”
“When he’s mad at me, I can just have sex with him.”
He’s never seen Liam look so horrified in his life, his eyes blown wide and brows raised while his lips continue to open and close, whatever words he had dying on his tongue.
“Yeah,” Elsa sighs, patting her husband on the shoulder even as he stays frozen, “I always knew that I liked her. She can make you be quiet, and honestly, what more does a girl need?”
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(Read part 1 here.)
Rowan leaves the temple just as the twilight sky begins to fade into a soft pink above the horizon. It’s a chilly morning. The warmest part of the season has ended. He wraps his cloak tighter around himself, watching his breath form little clouds in front of him. He can still hear the sound of the whip in his ears. Better Axyll than me, is his first thought, though he doesn’t really mean such an cruel thing. A sickening pang of guilt and self-hatred wells up inside of him as he walks the cobbled streets toward the Yphe district, toward home.
[MORE]
He stops. No. He can’t go home. Not yet. Not with the way his heart is beating so fast, as if it wishes to pound its way out of his chest. He needs a place where he can calm down, clear his head, distract himself from the trauma he felt while watching Axyll take so many lashes.
He turns down a side street, averting his gaze as he passes the burnt-down apothecary where Axyll was apprehended the night before. The morning breeze swirls through his thin cloak, bites his skin. His power lingers at the tips of his fingers. He orders it back down. I’ve changed. It’s a lie, of course. Just another lie. Shame mixes with his magic as he regrets his action to detach Axyll from his misery. It’s a kindness he himself would have wanted after his father beat him, yet instead of pride, he feels repulsed by the thought of allowing his magic to resurface so much in one night.
Rounding another corner, he can see the little thatch-roofed cottage at the far end of the street. Despite the early hour, his friend will be awake. He’ll take Rowan in, sit him down with a warm cup of cider to take off the chill, listen intently as Rowan recounts the awful memories lurking inside his head for yet another time. There will be a while of peace, then Rowan will go home.
A few timid knocks and he hears a muffled “one moment!” before the door swings open. A young man stands in the entrance, a giddy smile on his face.
“I knew it was you,” he beams, gripping Rowan‘s elbows and kissing both of his cheeks in greeting. “I can always tell.”
He is clothed in embroidered green slacks and a guazy, transparent wrap that hangs loosely about his shoulders, seemingly one breath away from slipping down his arms. Rowan turns his gaze, hiding the warmth that has spread to his cheeks.
“Do you always greet unexpected guests in such unbecoming attire, Naz?”
“You come around here so often, I should hardly call you unexpected.” Nazareth’s lips curve up in a wry smile. “And I believe this outfit is quite becoming on me, don’t you?”
With a soft laugh, Rowan flings himself forward, pressing his hands against Nazareth’s chest and pushing him into the cottage. “You’re impossible. Someone might see you.”
“That, my dear Rowan, is the entire plan,” Nazareth replies. He slides his fingers across the golden choker around his neck. “How else am I to find someone who appreciates my beauty?”
Rowan gently kicks the door shut behind him, moving further into the cottage until he reaches the small room that serves as kitchen, living quarters and dining area in one. Already, he feels his mind clearing of its fog. The interior is much warmer and cosier than the chilly air outside. The scent of wood and exotic spices permeates the air, inviting and safe. “I would rather you find someone who will value you for more than your...your...”
Nazareth’s eyebrows curve upward. The right has a line shaved through it, and Rowan likes to regularly tease him about it. “Attractiveness? Charisma? Assets?”
“Holy stars,” murmurs the younger man, pushing Naz aside so he doesn’t see his smile. “You are full of yourself.”
He shrugs. “Perhaps. I don’t know. What’s this?”
Naz reaches to touch Rowan’s hair. The younger man shivers, but doesn’t pull away.
“What is it?”
A frown crosses his face. “You’ve got a bit of white in your hair, like mine only in reverse.”
Though he is a maji, he doesn’t bear all of the usual traits of one, as if his body refused to be constrained to either magic-wielding or magicless. He is a hybrid. Flecks of gold shimmer in his dark eyes, and his long, curled hair is snowy white save for a stripe of jet that hangs down over his left eye.
Rowan can’t help but think, if his father ever chanced to meet Naz, he would no longer consider his son to be as much a demon as he previously thought. Hybrids are outcasts, rare and seen neither as maji nor as normals. There are many insults directed at their kind. More than once while walking with Naz, Rowan has heard people mutter oksidizêrni — ‘oxygen thief’ — and spit at his hybrid friend as they pass by. Naz doesn’t seem to mind though. He shrugs off every slanderous word, wipes the spit from his face, and carries on with a prouder posture than before. Rowan doesn’t understand how he can be so beautifully proud, so carefree with the humiliation he receives every day.
“I...I used my...magic earlier.” Rowan looks down at the floor, guilt pooling in his gut. “I start to look like I did before if I use it too much.”
Naz reaches to lift his chin. He’s smiling softly, sadness in his dark eyes. “You mean you start to look like your true maji form.” His eyes flicker and his voice lowers further. “Never be ashamed of who you are.”
Rowan opens his mouth to say something, stops. He heaves a long sigh. “I’ll fix the white bits before I leave.”
Removing his hand from Rowan’s chin, Nazareth shrugs. “I will respect your choice. Now, what are you here for?”
Rowan doesn’t answer right away. Instead he heaves another long sigh that turns into a yawn. “May I have some cider? I’ve been up all night.”
With a slight nod, Nazareth pulls out two chairs at the small handcrafted table, one for himself and one for Rowan. Once they are seated, he flicks his wrist and fiery orange magic spreads through his palm and up the length of his fingers. Two steaming clay cups of cider appear in the center of the table. Rowan takes one, holding it in his hands for a long moment to let the warmth seep into his shaking hands before he takes a sip. Naz watches him, a soft smile on his lips as he plays with one of the many gold studs that line his ears.
“It’s delicious,” Rowan murmurs as the spicy liquid slides down his throat, warming his chest. “You should really consider selling these at the marketplace. With the cold months coming, you would probably make a fortune on something as good as this.”
Nazareth seems to contemplate this for a moment, then relaxes in his chair. He brushes a hand through his curls.
“While you and your compliments are ever welcome,” announces Nazareth. “I don’t believe you showed up at my doorstep before the seventh hour for a mere cup of cider, hmm? So, out with it, my friend.”
Silence for a moment. Rowan taps the side of his cup with his fingers. How much to divulge? At such an early hour after a sleepless night, he is bound to say everything on his mind if only to clear his mind enough to rest. Instead, he chooses his words carefully.
“There is a boy I knew,” he begins. “From before. I say knew as if we were...as if we were friends, though in truth we rarely spoke to each other. Axyll is his name. He was an apprentice at the apothecary. Let me read from the astronomy books while his master was away.”
“And something regarding this boy troubles you?” encourages Nazareth. His voice is gentle, reminding Rowan of his own tone while he tried to comfort Axyll.
Rowan grits his teeth and sighs. “He was taken by the Maji Council last night. The most divine one believes he has information about the Other—”
“The Otherworld,” Naz interrupts, startling Rowan, whose eyes widen. “I am correct, am I not?”
“You...you know of it?”
Naz shrugs his shoulder. The edge of his tunic slips down around his arm and he absentmindedly tugs it back up. “Nine, the master you speak of, said—”
Rowan’s chair screeches across the floor as he shoots up from the table. “Stop! Say no more!”
Naz stares at him. “What’s wrong?”
The younger man only shakes his head. If the council learns of Nazareth’s knowledge of the Otherworld, they will come for him, take him from his home, force him to share his information. If he refuses, they will punish him just as they’ve punished Axyll. Holy stars, they’ll order Rowan to beat Nazareth, to take a whip to the only companion he has. And he can’t...he can’t.
“Rowan.”
“No.”
He turns away, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. Trying to be stronger than he is. He hears Naz leave his chair, the soft pad of his bare feet on the wooden floor, and then Naz is standing behind him, arms locked loosely around him. His forehead rests in the space between Rowan’s neck and shoulder.
“Rowan, please. Tell me. Speak your fears aloud and they will not seem so daunting and unconquerable.”
For a long while, Rowan remains silent, blinking back the tears welling up in his eyes. He remembers the cruel things his father did to him. The scars he’s never let anyone else see. The way his skin crawls at the sight of a whip. He shivers and Nazareth pulls him closer, murmuring reassurances.
“It’s alright, Rowan. You’re here. You’re with me. Whatever is going on inside your head, you can tell me.”
“I can’t,” Rowan moans. “I don’t...I...I don’t know how to say what I’m thinking.”
The other man shifts, cupping Rowan’s chin in his hand and gently turning his head so they’re eye to eye. The gold in Naz’s eyes glimmer in the soft light. “Then don’t speak. Show me.”
His lip trembles. “But the magic—”
“Your father isn’t here. He never has to know. Understand?”
Rowan shuts his eyes, nods once. For the second time today, magic floods out of him, surging into Nazareth. His power transfers the horrible scenarios he’s played out in his mind, the memories of the night before, the awful nightmare of his father’s wrath, which he can’t forget. Nazareth sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, fisting Rowan’s cloak as he experiences the rush of torturous information. Rowan jerks away. The magic disappears from his hands. Naz moans, sways a moment, then falls to his knees. Rowan kneels beside him, hands gripping his friend’s shoulders.
“I...I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I didn’t think...I’m sorry...too much.”
Naz waves him off. “I am...alright.” Then he looks up at Rowan, eyes full of concern. “The council is looking for a way to the Otherworld?”
Something twists inside Rowan’s chest. He hesitates.
“That means...” Naz bites his lip. “They seek anyone who has information.”
Rowan nods. “They’re not going to ask nicely.”
“I see.”
He leans forward, eyes locking with Naz’s. The gold in his friend’s eyes flicker like stars against a black sky. “Do you know something about the portal to the Otherworld?”
He is breathless, silently praying his friend knows nothing more than he himself. Then again, Axyll remembers nothing and he‘s lying in a cell beneath the temple, bloodied and beaten.
“Know something about it?” Naz blinks. The gold flecks shine brighter. “I’m the one who opened it when Nine needed to escape.”
#whump#whumpblr#my ocs#rowan#mine#past trauma#otherworld#illesindam#and introducing...#nazareth#because i can’t stop myself from making new ocs
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Malk’s top ten ships
So @parttimebetawarrior did it and I’m nothing if not a copy-cat so I decided to be a pain in the butt and write a thing about my favorite fictional ships. Come to me tomorrow and this list will probably change and jumble around, but they’re still relationships I love from stories that helped me out.
So check it out if you want.
10)Yukiteru Amano/Yuno Gasai
Future Diary has a lot, and I mean a lot of problems. The girls are all fetishized to an uncomfortable degree, and a lot of the diary powers only make sense upon multiple readings viewings, and there are points of it that are just interesting drags.
But the relationship between Yuki and Yuno, as deeply unhealthy as it is (deliberately so) is a fascinating story of two terrible people falling in love. Do either of them deserve love? Maybe not? Does love make them better? Absolutely not. But they still need it in a world that has been cruel and awful to them, and maybe that’s the only thing that matters. Especially to a pair of broken, horny teens.
Plus they actually bang, and when was the last time that happened in a manga?
9)Rock/Revy from Black Lagoon
Two for two in unhealthy ships. Revy is a gunslinging berserker who has never known a peaceful life and Rock is a brilliant but repressed office worker who gets dragged into the crime-ridden streets of Roanapour. It’s a classic story of people from different worlds coming together like you see in movies like Titanic or Romeo & Juliet.
What makes Rock and Revy different though? Well, violence honestly, and each character’s relationship to it. Revy both disdains Rock’s previously peaceful lifestyle and is envious of it. She respects and even loves Rock in her own broken way, but can’t get over his naivete and his privilege that keeps him from understanding why she would do something like graverob. Rock knows he should be horrified and disgusted by what Revy does, but finds her and her way of life incredibly seductive.
8) Shirou Emiya/Rin Tohsaka from Fate/Stay Night
Yeah yeah, I’m tsundere-loving trash, what do you want from me? These two are great together though, and they compliment each other both in a relationship and combat, and it’s fun to see Shirou’s cool-headedness and dumbass bluntness bounce of the much more self-aware and insecure Rin.
And they respect one another, though for Shirou that respect takes some earning. There’s a journey here of both of them learning and becoming better people, as they fight through the insanely complicated world of Fate. Plus, Shirou grows up to Archer. He ages well. Good going, Rin.
7) Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams from the Addams Family
Ah finally, a healthy one. They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re a functioning family unit. For all the weirdness of the Addams and how much people are freaked out by them, they’re undeniably healthy: endlessly loving and romantic to each other and equally doting on their… less healthy children. They do them and they’re happy, especially when they’re doing each other, and that’s what a good relationship’s all about.
6) Kobayashi/Tohru from Dragon Maid
Another anime with a lot of problems, namely in its loli and shota shit, but the relationship between Kobayashi and Tohru is something that makes the show more than worth it.
People argue about the sexualities of the character so I’m just going to say that I see Tohru as a lesbian and Kobayashi as bi. Much like the Addams, what makes this relationship work for me is the combination of the fantastic and the domestic. Tohru is a dragon with cosmic powers that cooks steak for her career woman girlfriend, and despite being a bit of a grump, Kobayashi is fascinated and engaged with Tohru, even though Tohru needs to learn to turn it down. There is a genuine tenderness to the relationship and a message of not just understanding each others’ differences, but learning to love them.
5) Peter Parker/Mary Jane from Spider-man
Okay, this relationship has been through its rough patches: retcons, a miscarriage, and that godawful ‘smoker’ subplot, but there’s a reason people keep going to these two: They work so well together.
People say Gwen Stacey is the best Spider-man girl, but they forget that Gwen’s hatred of Spider-man kept her from ever being able to love Peter Parker in his fullness and kept Peter from being able to be honest with her, but Mary Jane is the one who could take Spider-man and Peter Parker as a whole, noble, messed-up package.
Peter Parker, the self-obsessed nerd and Mary Jane the empathic party girl complement and teach each other. Mary Jane can understand and be there for Peter in a way others can’t, and Peter can bring the quiet intimacy she can never have in her life, though admittedly that comes with the stress of a superhero husband.
4) 2B/9S from Nier: Automata
And back to my horrifically unhealthy ships. Nier: Automata’s a heavy game, dealing with existentialism and the cycle of violence. I’m pretty sure I’ve talked these two to death time and time again, but I love repeating myself so:
2B and 9S are creatures created for violence to do violence, specifically for a repetitive, cyclical war and have been defined by that their whole life. Through that entire thing, what have they had except for themselves? When you factor in the violence and resentment that has a weird parallel with a lot of real life relationships, you get something that feels raw and violent, but nonetheless filled with love and pain. That’s what the world is after all: it’s cruel and filled with pain and everyone is going to hurt you, even the one most important to you. But there’s hope and there’s love and we can keep going for that.
3) Kraft Lawrence/Holo The Wisewolf from Spice & Wolf
Spice & Wolf gets a reputation which, while not entirely undeserved, has more to do with its marketing than the content of the show. It was a show that surprised me so much the first time I watched it. I didn’t realize a romance show could be like this. I didn’t know fantasy shows could be like this. I didn’t know anime could be like this. It was so down-to-earth and subdued and, despite its fantastic setting, real.
Then there’s Lawrence and Holo. While Holo’s definitely a magical girlfriend who comes out of nowhere, it avoids the anime cliches. She doesn’t bring Lawrence into a world of adventure or save him, but rather they enter a partnership, and in the most brutal terms, that is what a relationship is. It’s a level of maturity that permeates the relationship that I love. There is friction and dire points, and the characters screw up, but in understandable ways, and they work to amend it. The anime isn’t above some ‘hurr durr I walked in on her naked’ nonsense, but the two handle it like adults rather than like overactive cartoon characters. Lawrence himself will also actually flirt back with Holo and comment on her ‘nice tail’ ho ho ho. It’s nice to see a male lead in an anime that’s somewhere between completely agency-less and a predatory creep.
In any case, if you haven’t seen Spice & Wolf, please see Spice & Wolf, it’s the best romance anime made.
2) Okabe Rintarou/Makise Kurise from Steins; Gate
Hot damn, where do I start with these losers? I’ve made no secret that I find a lot of parallels between these two and my own relationship, an abrasive nerd who shows affection by being verbally obtuse and somehow has managed to gather a group of friends through some weird force of personality and a charming brilliant girl who gets easily flustered by the teasing, but also enjoys terrorizing the other party as well. I love the model of bickering made out to be flirting, and it never feels more genuine than here/
Beyond that, they’re just purely lovable people and their entire progression of romance just feels, again, real. They feel like real people feeling real emotions. They’re not as mature as Lawrence and Holo, but they do care and grow and ultimately, the show becomes about what you will do for the most important person in the world to you, as well as understanding what makes someone the most important person in the world to you.
If you haven’t watched Steins; Gate WATCH STEINS; GATE
1) Minato/Aigis from Persona 3
I played Persona 3 during a very hard time in my life. So that probably influences stuff, but boy. These two, guys. These two.
Minato and Aigis approach life in a weirdly similar way. Aigis has just entered into understanding what life is and Minato is a step away from the ledge at the point where they meet. Aigis is single-minded, and Minato is detached… it seems at first that the relationship is superficial, and later it is.
Being close to Minato hurts Aigis numerous times, including the most painful final time, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have done it or that it was worthless. Persona 3 is a game about how life will hurt you, but life is still worth living. That’s Aigis’ last lesson to learn by the end of the game. She ends up fighting not for the world of humanity, or even her friends, but for one man she found. And you don’t need to save the world to find meaning in life. All you need is something simple, like someone to take care of.
And damn are those not some of the best words ever put in a video game.
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human pride seeks to rule the world
but Love seeks to humble us.
our Creator is the very Breath of Life itself and the True nature of earth and its grandeur is meant to spark reverence in the heart & mind.
and the nature of Love is always True:
“Don’t you know that when you allow even a little lie into your heart, it can permeate your entire belief system?”
Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 5th chapter of the Letter of Galatians:
[A Life of Freedom]
At last we have freedom, for Christ has set us free! We must always cherish this truth and firmly refuse to go back into the bondage of our past.
I, Paul, tell you: If you think there is benefit in circumcision and Jewish regulations, then you’re acting as though Christ is not enough. I say it again emphatically: If you let yourselves be circumcised you are obliged to fulfill every single one of the commandments and regulations of the law!
If you want to be made right with God by fulfilling the obligations of the law, you have cut off more than your flesh—you have cut yourselves off from Christ and have fallen away from the revelation of grace!
But we have the true hope that comes from being made right with God, and by the Spirit we wait eagerly for this hope. When you’re joined to the Anointed One, circumcision and religious obligations can benefit you nothing. All that matters now is living in the faith that works and expresses itself through love.
Before you were led astray, you were so faithful. Who has deceived you so that you have turned from what is right?
The One who enfolded you into his grace is not behind this false teaching that you’ve embraced. Don’t you know that when you allow even a little lie into your heart, it can permeate your entire belief system?
Deep in my heart I have confidence that the Lord, who lives in you, will bring you back around to the truth. And I’m convinced that those who trouble you, whoever they think they are, will bear the penalty!
Dear friends, why do you think the religious system persecutes me? Is it because I preach the message of being circumcised and keeping all the laws of Judaism? Not at all! Is there no longer any offense over the cross? To tell you the truth, I am so disgusted with all your agitators. I wish they would go even further and cut off their legalistic influence from your lives!
Beloved ones, God has called us to live a life of freedom. But don’t view this wonderful freedom as an excuse to set up a base of operations in the natural realm. Constantly love each other and be committed to serve one another.
For all the law can be summarized in one grand statement:
“Demonstrate love to your neighbor, even as you care for and love yourself.”
But if you continue to criticize and come against each other over minor issues, you’re acting like wild beasts trying to destroy one another!
[The Holy Spirit, Our Victory]
Let me emphasize this: As you yield to the dynamic life and power of the Holy Spirit, you will abandon the cravings of your self-life. When your self-life craves the things that offend the Holy Spirit you hinder him from living free within you! And the Holy Spirit’s intense cravings hinder your self-life from dominating you! So then, the two incompatible and conflicting forces within you are your self-life of the flesh and the new creation life of the Spirit.
But when you yield to the life of the Spirit, you will no longer be living under the law, but soaring above it!
The behavior of the self-life is obvious: Sexual immorality, lustful thoughts, pornography, chasing after things instead of God, manipulating others, hatred of those who get in your way, senseless arguments, resentment when others are favored, temper tantrums, angry quarrels, only thinking of yourself, being in love with your own opinions, being envious of the blessings of others, murder, uncontrolled addictions, wild parties, and all other similar behavior.
Haven’t I already warned you that those who use their “freedom” for these things will not inherit the kingdom realm of God!
But the fruit produced by the Holy Spirit within you is divine love in all its varied expressions:
joy that overflows,
peace that subdues,
patience that endures,
kindness in action,
a life full of virtue,
faith that prevails,
gentleness of heart, and
strength of spirit.
Never set the law above these qualities, for they are meant to be limitless.
Keep in mind that we who belong to Jesus Christ have already experienced crucifixion. For everything connected with our self-life was put to death on the cross and crucified with Messiah. If the Spirit is the source of our life, we must also allow the Spirit to direct every aspect of our lives. So may we never be arrogant, or look down on another, for each of us is an original. We must forsake all jealousy that diminishes the value of others.
The Letter of Galatians, Chapter 5 (The Passion Translation)
Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 3rd chapter of the book of Jeremiah about returning to God by forsaking lies:
God’s Message came to me as follows:
“If a man’s wife
walks out on him
And marries another man,
can he take her back as if nothing had happened?
Wouldn’t that raise a huge stink
in the land?
And isn’t that what you’ve done—
‘whored’ your way with god after god?
And now you want to come back as if nothing had happened.”
God’s Decree.
“Look around at the hills.
Where have you not had sex?
You’ve camped out like hunters stalking deer.
You’ve solicited many lover-gods,
Like a streetwalking whore
chasing after other gods.
And so the rain has stopped.
No more rain from the skies!
But it doesn’t even faze you. Brazen as whores,
you carry on as if you’ve done nothing wrong.
Then you have the nerve to call out, ‘My father!
You took care of me when I was a child. Why not now?
Are you going to keep up your anger nonstop?’
That’s your line. Meanwhile you keep sinning nonstop.”
God spoke to me during the reign of King Josiah: “You have noticed, haven’t you, how fickle Israel has visited every hill and grove of trees as a whore at large? I assumed that after she had gotten it out of her system, she’d come back, but she didn’t. Her flighty sister, Judah, saw what she did. She also saw that because of fickle Israel’s loose morals I threw her out, gave her her walking papers. But that didn’t faze flighty sister Judah. She went out, big as you please, and took up a whore’s life also. She took up cheap sex-and-religion as a sideline diversion, an indulgent recreation, and used anything and anyone, flouting sanity and sanctity alike, stinking up the country. And not once in all this did flighty sister Judah even give me a nod, although she made a show of it from time to time.” God’s Decree.
Then God told me, “Fickle Israel was a good sight better than flighty Judah. Go and preach this message. Face north toward Israel and say:
“‘Turn back, fickle Israel.
I’m not just hanging back to punish you.
I’m committed in love to you.
My anger doesn’t seethe nonstop.
Just admit your guilt.
Admit your God-defiance.
Admit to your promiscuous life with casual partners,
pulling strangers into the sex-and-religion groves
While turning a deaf ear to me.’”
God’s Decree.
“Come back, wandering children!”
God’s Decree.
“I, yes I, am your true husband.
I’ll pick you out one by one—
This one from the city, these two from the country—
and bring you to Zion.
I’ll give you good shepherd-rulers who rule my way,
who rule you with intelligence and wisdom.
“And this is what will happen: You will increase and prosper in the land. The time will come”—God’s Decree!—“when no one will say any longer, ‘Oh, for the good old days! Remember the Ark of the Covenant?’ It won’t even occur to anyone to say it—‘the good old days.’ The so-called good old days of the Ark are gone for good.
“Jerusalem will be the new Ark—‘God’s Throne.’ All the godless nations, no longer stuck in the ruts of their evil ways, will gather there to honor God.
“At that time, the House of Judah will join up with the House of Israel. Holding hands, they’ll leave the north country and come to the land I willed to your ancestors.
* * *
“I planned what I’d say if you returned to me:
‘Good! I’ll bring you back into the family.
I’ll give you choice land,
land that the godless nations would die for.’
And I imagined that you would say, ‘Dear father!’
and would never again go off and leave me.
But no luck. Like a false-hearted woman walking out on her husband,
you, the whole family of Israel, have proven false to me.”
God’s Decree.
The sound of voices comes drifting out of the hills,
the unhappy sound of Israel’s crying,
Israel lamenting the wasted years,
never once giving her God a thought.
“Come back, wandering children!
I can heal your wanderlust!”
* * *
“We’re here! We’ve come back to you.
You’re our own true God!
All that popular religion was a cheap lie,
duped crowds buying up the latest in gods.
We’re back! Back to our true God,
the salvation of Israel.
The Fraud picked us clean, swindled us
of what our ancestors bequeathed us,
Gypped us out of our inheritance—
God-blessed flocks and God-given children.
We made our bed and now lie in it,
all tangled up in the dirty sheets of dishonor.
All because we sinned against our God,
we and our fathers and mothers.
From the time we took our first steps, said our first words,
we’ve been rebels, disobeying the voice of our God.”
* * *
The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 3 (The Message)
A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, August 16 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms
A post by John Parsons that looks at the cross in Jerusalem and the sacred Body:
Shavuah tov v'chodesh tov, chaverim. If you are following the weekly Torah schedule, you will recall that in last week's Torah reading (i.e., Shoftim), Moses defined an extensive system of justice for the Israelites and pointed to the coming Messiah who would be the rightful King of Israel: "The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brothers -- it is to him you shall listen" (Deut. 18:15). In this week's portion (i.e., Ki Teitzei: כי־תצא), Moses returns to the immediate concern of life in the promised land by providing additional laws to be enforced regarding civil life in Israel. In fact, Jewish tradition (following Maimonides) identifies no less than 74 of the Torah's 613 commandments in this portion (more than any other), covering a wide assortment of rules related to ethical warfare, family life, burial of the deceased, property laws, the humane treatment of animals, fair labor practices, and honest economic transactions.
Of particular interest is the statement that a man who was executed and “hanged on a tree” (עַל־עֵץ) is cursed of God (Deut. 21:22-23). According to the Talmud (i.e., Nezakim: Sanhedrin 6:4:3), the Great Sanhedrin (סַנְהֶדְרִין גְדוֹלָה) decided that “a man must be hanged with his face towards the spectators” upon a wooden stake, with his arms slung over a horizontal beam. It should be noted that while this is technically not the same thing as the gruesome practice of Roman crucifixion, the reasoning based on this verse was apparently used to justify the execution of Yeshua (Mark 15:9-15; John 19:5-7; 15). The exposed body was required to be buried before sundown to keep the land from being defiled. Besides the shame and degradation of this manner of death, the one so executed would be unable to fall to their knees as a final act of repentance before God, thereby implying that they were under the irrevocable curse of God (קִלְלַת אֱלהִים).
In this connection, we should note that Yeshua was falsely charged with blasphemy before the corrupt Sanhedrin of His day (Matt. 26:65; Mark 14:64; John 10:33) - an offence that was punishable by stoning (Lev. 24:11-16). However, since the Imperial Roman government then exercised legal hegemony over the region of Palestine, all capital cases were required to be submitted to the Roman proconsul for adjudication, and therefore we understand why the Jewish court remanded Yeshua and brought him to be interrogated by Pontius Pilate. Because Roman law was indifferent to cases concerning Jewish religious practices (i.e., charges of blasphemy), however, the priests further slandered Yeshua by illegitimately switching the original charge of blasphemy to that of sedition against Rome. The Sanhedrin undoubtedly rationalized their duplicity because the Torah allowed for an offender to impaled or "hung on a tree" (Num. 25:4), and since they were unable to do carry out this judgment because of Roman rule in the area, they needed Pilate to condemn him to death by crucifixion (Matt. 27:31; Mark 15:13-4; Luke 23:21; John 19:6,15). Note that crucifixion is mentioned elsewhere in the Talmud (Nashim: Yevamot 120b) regarding whether a widow can remarry if her husband had been crucified, as well as by the Jewish historian Josephus. The Talmud furthermore alludes to the death of Yeshua where Yeshua is said to have been crucified on “eve of Passover” (Nezekin: Sanhedrin 43a). [Hebrew for Christians]
and another set of posts by John about the heart returning to our Creator:
The sages say that teshuvah (return) was created before the world itself, as it says, “Before the mountains were born, or you brought the world into being, you were the Eternal God who says: “Return (שׁוּבוּ), O children of man” (Psalm 90:2-3).
There is a deeper blessing that preceded our exile... The Lamb of God was slain from the foundation of the world, and God clothed humanity in divine sacrifice from the very beginning (Gen. 3:15,21; Rev. 13:8). The water of life (מַיִם חַיִּים) flows from the original orchard of Eden to the world to come (Gen. 2:10; Rev. 22:1).
The LORD subjected creation to vanity for the sake of hope (Rom. 8:20), for the revelation of his greatness, as he descended into its depths to return and restore all things to himself. God decreed to enter space-time as the Son of Man, the “Second Adam,” to become our Savior and healer. He came to reveal the face of God to us (2 Cor. 4:6). Yeshua “descended in order to ascend” so that we could know God’s compassion, love and healing through his "mesirat nefesh" – his total sacrifice of body and soul – to return us to God. [Hebrew for Christians]
Right now, if you are seeing this, affirm that the Lord Yeshua is your deliverer and that you trust in Him for eternal life. As he promised: “I tell you the solemn truth, the one who hears my message and believes in the One who sent me has (i.e., present active indicative) eternal life and will not be condemned, but has passed over (literally, “crossed over”) from death to life” (John 5:24). Note that the verb translated “has passed over” is “perfect active” that expresses completed action: “this one has already crossed over from death to life.” In other words, the gift of eternal life is an accomplished reality though it is only experienced as we truly surrender to the love and grace of God from a heart of faith. The “basis” of life is now radically new and of a different order. As the apostle Paul later summarized: “For it is by grace you have been saved (i.e., a perfect passive participle that denotes completed action done on your behalf with effects that continue to the present) through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Eph. 2:9-10). I’m so glad it’s not the strength of my grip that keeps me holding on to God, but the strength of His..... [Hebrew for Christians]
8.15.21 • Facebook
Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research
August 16, 2021
Fearing God for Nothing?
“Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, Doth Job fear God for nought?” (Job 1:9)
Satan’s challenge brings up an important question: Why should a person serve God? His question suggests that Job had no real love for God; his righteous behavior was motivated purely by a desire to receive material blessings.
Job’s friend Eliphaz apparently had precisely the outlook on life that Satan wrongly accused Job of. Eliphaz believed God took no pleasure in human righteousness. He believed a person should serve God purely out of self-interest, a desire that God would reward him with material prosperity (Job 22:2-3, 23-30). God has created the world such that wrongful behavior normally leads to unpleasant consequences while upright behavior normally brings good results (Proverbs 12:21). However, Eliphaz was fundamentally wrong; God did take pleasure in Job’s righteousness (Job 1:8; 42:7).
Death and suffering are results of sin (Romans 5:12). The first people God created rebelled against Him and brought death and suffering into the world (Genesis 3). However, suffering is not necessarily occasioned by a specific sin in the life of the sufferer, as Eliphaz and his two friends seemed to believe.
A person who truly loves God will serve Him in good times and bad times. In this sin-cursed world, sometimes wicked people prosper and righteous people suffer, but Job recognized that perfect justice awaits the day when the Creator returns to Earth (Job 19:25-27). This is probably the reason Job maintained his faith even when God allowed Satan to take everything—including his children and his health.
Job often spoke rashly from his pain (Job 6:1-5; 7:11). Yet his declaration of faith in God is a wonderful example for all believers: “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him” (Job 13:15). WP
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The unfaithful Wife ( Jimin/Oc )
Chapter 8
"You look beautiful." Jimin whispered, taking my hand and helping me up from the bed. I grimaced.
"I don't want to be. I'm not comfortable in these clothes." I said nervously, looking down at the dress. It wasn't in anyway sexy, which i liked. Just a simple peach colored gown that fell in soft waves all around me, loose fitting and fluid. The skirt had an uneven hem and I especially liked the fact that it didn't really show a lot of skin. I'd always prefered that kind of fashion.
But still, that was five years ago. Over the years, my wardrobe had been limited to whatever clothes fit at the charity center and then , serviceable maternity clothes that opened at the front so i could feed my son, and then shades of grey and brown that wouldn’t look too bad when they were stained with flour and food coloring. The debutante days were nothing but a vague memory : days filled with hairspray, mascara and gowns that shimmered and dazzled, felt like mist on my skin and moved like water across my legs.
I swallowed. I had been a beautiful young girl , I thought miserably. Beautiful , innocent and so crazily in love with the handsome young prince I had married.
The prince was still handsome, I thought vaguely, staring at him as he adjusted the belt around his trim waist. He hooked his thumb into the waistband, smoothing out the creases till the perfect white fabric of his shirt blended seamlessly with his slacks.
Jimin looked breathtakingly gorgeous. He had on a simple white silk shirt, buttons undone till mid chest and an expensive blazer and perfectly fitted slacks. He'd styled his hair to fall perfectly into his eyes and I swallowed a bit when I saw the twin piercings in each ear, glinting under the light of the bedroom.
"Like it..?" He winked, fingering the metal knobs enticingly and I felt blood rush into my face.
"I uh..it looks good." I looked away.
He laughed.
"We had sex less than five hours ago. On that bed. How are you still so shy?" He grinned, pulling me close and wrapping both arms around my waist making me yelp. I relaxed marginally.
"Is sex all you think about?" I teased.
"Not all the time.. Only when you're in my line of sight." He nipped at my lower lip.
"I'm flattered. Shouldn't we be leaving...?" I pointed out. He hesitated .
"You're okay right?" He smiled.
I nodded.
When we reached the place, i let Jimin hold me close, arms wrapped in a way that was definitely too ...racy considering how formal the settig was . but i couldn’t bring myself to care. I needed his presence because going back into the place felt a bit like jumping into the ocean.
The party, supposed to involve only our closest friends, was held in a ballroom in the most elite Five star hotel in SEoul. I felt nervous, naturally. The last time i had seen these people...it hadn't been pretty. But Jimin was right. Because I was on his arms, no one dared say anything. And while plenty of the women, who had no doubt aspired to be the next Mrs. Park Jimin, shot me vindictive glares that weren't very subtle. But no one said anything and Jimin kept me very close to himself throughout the night.
We were almost done , on the way out, just saying good bye to everyone when it happened.
"Hi there. Jimin. Lovely to see you."
I froze in place and so did Jimin.
But there were cameras all round, not to mention people watching, so I struggled to stay calm.
"Lee Tae Min ssi..." I bowed , flinching when he took my hand in his , lifting it up and kissing my clenched knuckles while Jimins grip on my waist tightened painfully. I choked a bit and he immediately let go.
"Nice to see you , Tae min ah..." Jimin said curtly.
"When your wife told me you guys were going to be here tonight, I just had to come. i haven't seen you in a long time and I couldn't not offer my congratulations on such a happy occasion." Taemin's gaze stayed fixed on me and I could feel everyone begin to start whispering behind us.
I stared at him, stunned at how good he was at lying.
Jimin stared at him and then , before he could hide it, his glance fell to me , momentarily but the cloud of suspicion was so clear that my heart stopped beating.
"Thank you." He said stiltedly.
“Will you make the best man again?” He smiled softly and Jimin stiffened , fists clenched as he ground his teeth.
“I’m going to butcher you if you so much as breathe in her direction...” He whispered. I could feel my heart speed up, hands instinctively reaching for jimin who shook me off. I felt suddenly lost and stranded.
Taemin smiled.
“Every single guy here knows that your wife doesn’t want to be with you. It’s obvious in her eyes. I mean... when you guys first got together... she used to be practically gagging for it...” He grinned.
“Jimin, Don’t!!” I dived for him, but it was too late, Jimin’s fist hitting Taemin’s jaw squarely and sending the other crashing into the table behind him. Hushed whispers went through the place and the accusatory eyes lined up, just the way they had years ago, landing firmly on me. I bit my lips. I could read the hatred and repulsion in their faces.
You’re the reason everything goes wrong, everytime.
“ If you talk about her like that again, I’ll rip your fucking tongue out!!” Jimin snarled .
What happened next was a blur. Jimin was stalking away angrily and I followed him in a trance.
I desperately wanted to stop shaking but Jimin didn't touch me at all, staying away as we climbed into the car. A tense silence permeated the air as I sat next to him in the car.
"I didn't tell him about tonight. " I said , voice cracking.
Jimin didn't reply and the ache in my heart just increased ten fold.
Finally he reached out, one finger looping around the small band that held my hair up in a half-ponytail. I shivered as he slowly pulled it off, eyes fixed on me as my hair came undone, falling around my shoulders in a soft wave. He reached out, thumb pressing into my lower lips and pressing hard, smudging the plum lipstick into my skin.
“I’ve wondered that myself, you know. If you really don’t want to be here. ” He said thoughtfully.
I tried not to visibly flinch.
“I...do.” I said helplessly. not sure how to convince him.
“Because you’re not leaving. “ He hissed furiously and I recoiled.
Jimin’s attraction to me had always been scary. Heavy and overbearing, the weight of his gaze, the tug of his fingers when i strayed too far, the push of his hands on my waist as he pinned me into the bed, as though scared I would change my mind and want to leave.
I pressed myself against the door, fists clenched against my knees as he stayed stiff and unyielding, eyes boring holes into my skull.
“I don’t want to leave...I never wanted to leave. You threw me out then, don’t you remember?!” I said bitterly.
“Because you fucking let that bastard touch you!”
“I did not!! I never!!”
“Oh, shut up will you!! It took me a day to get you into my bed after you came back !! I bet it was just that easy for him to fuck you back then!!” He shouted.
I froze in disbelief, the words sinking in like bullets.
“ What....What did you just say?” I said stunned.
Jimin looked surprised as well, as though not fully certain he’d said that. The regret was sweeping in swiftly, his eyes softening and his arms coming up to reach out for me but i pressed back, my veins filling with ice.
“You.. You begged... I didn’t want to sleep with you...” I said , my mind crumbling in on itself.
“Minnie.. no.. That’s not what I meant.. Please..just...”
“You told me that if we slept together we would forget.. that you would forget.. that you’d never throw it in my face again... you promised...” I whispered in disbelief.
But i was the idiot , wasn’t I? When had Park Jimin ever kept his bloody promises? Till death do us part, he had promised on our wedding day and then he’d dropped me like a hot coal .
"I didn't. i mean.. if you did ask him to come that's up to you. I don't know how close you were to him in the past five years, I.."
I couldn't stop myself, I hit him .
"You bastard, who do you think you are!!" I screamed.
Jimin looked stunned.
"Minnie! "
"I hate you!! I hate you so much..." I was so furious I couldn't see straight,
"Minnie , wait..listen...i didn't mean it that way..."
"You liar!! You're a fucking liar!! You don't trust me any more than you trusted me back then!! Which is to say, not at all!!" I shouted, kicking out wildly.
"Fuck.." He tried to keep me still, wrapping strong arms around me his muscular chest making it impossible for me to get away from him. i finally gave up, gasping .
"Drive to a hotel." He said tensely, clicking the intercom of the car.
I glared at him.
"We're over. We're done." I said furiously.
"Stop that...." He said angrily .
I turned away, hurt, broken and so horribly horribly upset it was impossible to breathe.
This isn't going to work, I thought miserably as tears began to sting my eyes again.
“We can start over...i shouldn’t have said that.. let’s start over...” He was saying.
How many times? I though weakly. How many times would he shatter my heart and ask me to start over?
“I want to leave. I’m going to leave....” I said softly, still buried in the warmth of his chest.
"You have to stop saying that... Minnie I'm sorry about what happened, I really , I was an idiot . I shouldn't have said that. I should've trusted you, I know. . I.. you know you're more important to me than anything else, don't you?" Jimin begged and I stared at him helplessly. I wanted to believe him but something had shattered inside me.
It wasn't just that. My heart hadn't been beating right , right last week when his mother had thrown all those poisonous words at me. It was an odd sort of revelation, the knowledge that while she had been an absolute monster at it, she had also been heartbreakingly right.
Park Jimin will always believe others before me.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"I can't marry you. " I said again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The plate of untouched food in front of me looked about as appealing as sawdust. I didn't want to eat. I wanted to leave. I wanted to get away from Jimin and this world that had tossed me out without a fair trial. That had judged and sentenced me to exile without hearing my case. And no matter how much he regretted it now, Jimin had been a part of it.
"Don't say that!! For fuck's sake, stop saying that, will you?!!" He shouted and I turned away from him in defeat
He stood there, looking frazzled, hair standing on end because of the million times he'd run his hand through in frustration. He was still dressed in the shirt and slacks from last night. Jin Soo was off on a trip to the zoo with his aunt and cousins. We were both alone in the house and it was already a little past two in the afternoon. We hadn't slept , had spent the whole night with me sobbing in a corner of the bed while Jimin sat on the floor next to me apologizing. I had no idea what he was apologizing for. Had no idea if I even wanted him to apologize. All i knew was that I couldn't do this. Not even for my son.
"You can have him on weekends. You can visit him anytime you want." I said stubbornly. " He loves you very much, and I'm not going to take him away from you. But I can't marry you. " I said again and Jimin looked stricken.
"For the last time, I want you !! I love you!! Why won't you listen to me..."
I shook my head.
"You love me. I love you too. So what? We're not... we're not strong people Jimin. Your mother is right. Think about it. One day someone is going to walk up to you and make an off-color remark about me? What will you do? Get angry? Knowing you, yes. You'll throw a punch. End up in the news for all the wrong reasons. And whether you like it or not, you'll feel like I'm the reason you're in trouble . That if i hadn't cheated on you, none of this would happen. Also, someday some guy is going to walk up and proposition to me again. it will happen. And I would definitely resent you for putting me through that. We're not strong at all, Jimin. You and I.... We're weak , where it matters the most. " I shook my head .
Jimin opened his mouth to argue but I held my hand up.
"You don't trust me. Whether you want to admit it or not, it's true. And honestly, I can't invest emotionally in you, not when there's a chance that what happened five years ago can happen again. You think i don't see the worry in your face every time I go out to take a call. You think I don't see the way your gaze hardens when you see me texting someone? It's not your fault. You went through something once and it's terrifying, the fear that I'll cheat on you again.." I laughed bitterly, shaking my head.
"That's not it.. You're blowing this out of proportion. " He said angrily and I gave him a miserable groan.
"This won't work. Remember what you said... that because we want it, it could work?? Well that's not how reality works, okay? Sometimes you can want something with all your heart but still it doesn't happen. Because it isn't meant to happen. Like the way i wanted you to believe me. , five years ago. Like the way you want us to start us to start again , now. It's not going to happen. It's not . And you need to accept that."
Jimin didn't say anything. He looked unstable , swaying a little as he moved to collapse on the nearest chair.
"Don't leave me , Minnie...." He whispered finally.
i suddenly had a very, very clear flashback to five years ago. On my knees in front of Jimin. Begging him with the same words. " Don't leave me Jimin."
I shut my eyes in despair. Five years later and the tables had turned. But it somehow hurt more now than it had five years ago.
"We're just... we're not supposed to do this. We were meant to meet, to fall in love, to have a child and to break up. That's all there is to it. Our story ends there. It isn't meant to be relived Jimin... It won't have a happy ending just because we decide to relive it." I said softly, tears streaming.
“Minnie.. are you okay?” He said suddenly, and I blinked.
The world spun then and I tried to reach out and hold something but my vision kept tilting and a second later i was on the carpeted floor, head throbbing. it took me a second to realize I'd toppled over and hit my side on the table as well, the skin over my hip now throbbing.
“Minnie!” He shouted , gathering me up but my vision was still blurry.
"It's okay..I'm fine. " I pulled myself up to a sitting position and the moment i did I became very aware that I was in fact, not fine.
The world tilted again and everything went black.
~~~~~~
AUTHOR’S NOTE : Some one asked me why my stories were so angsty, was i a very sad person...?
Guys, no!!
I’m a fluff ball in real life? Seriously my husband and I make water balloons out of condoms, that’s the kind of dork i am... :D
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